What in the name of Shierla was going on? The boy with mental issues had taken a nasty fall through a skylight and into a glass table, nearly killing him and bringing out the worst in the vampire. On top of that, The Company was almost there. Thinking quickly, I took another expanding bag out of my other pocket, this one serving as a first aid kit. I rushed over to the boy and pulled out a jar of healing cream (yeah, pixies aren't very creative in naming stuff).
As I rubbed some of the cream on the boy's wounds, closing them up, I noticed his eyes: one green, one blue. My father had eyes like these; he was the last person I saw before I was taken. I had to look away to avoid crying.
Now that I thought about it, it wouldn't be that far-fetched for the boy to have some pixie blood in him. After all, I could sense a great power in him. His family wouldn't be the first human lineage to have a pixie or two in it; countless pixies in history had fallen in love with humans.
The last of the boy's gashes sealed up. He gasped in a huge breath, showing that the cream had been effective. "Let's just hope he doesn't show any side effects," I muttered.