The Witching Hour (Lives of the Mayfair Witches 1)

"She isn't brilliant. That's what people think, but there's more to it. She's some sort of mutant. No, seriously. She can study the research animals and tell you what's going to happen. She would lay her hands on them and say, 'This drug isn't going to do it.' I'll tell you something else she did too. She could cure those little creatures. She could. One of the older doctors told me once that if she didn't watch it, she could upset the experiments by using her powers to cure. I believe it. I went out with her one time, and she didn't cure me of anything, but boy, was she ever hot. I mean literally hot. It was like making love to somebody with a fever. And that's what they say about faith healers, you know, the ones who've been studied. You can feel a heat coming from their hands. I believe it. I don't think she should have gone into surgery. She should have gone into oncology. She could have really cured people. Surgery? Anybody can cut them up."

(Let us add that this doctor himself is an oncologist, and non-surgeons frequently make extremely pejorative statements about surgeons, calling them plumbers and the like; and surgeons make similar pejorative remarks about non-surgeons, saying things such as "All they do is get the patients ready for us.")

ROWAN'S POWER TO HEAL

As soon as Rowan entered the hospital as an intern (her third year of medical school), stories of her healing powers and diagnostic powers became so common that our investigators could pick and choose what they wanted to write down.

In sum, Rowan is the first Mayfair witch to be described as a healer since Marguerite Mayfair at Riverbend before 1835.

Just about every nurse ever questioned about Rowan has some "fantastic" story to tell. Rowan could diagnose anything; Rowan knew just what to do. Rowan patched up people who looked like they were ready for the morgue.

"She can stop bleeding. I've seen her do it. She grabbed a hold of this boy's head and looked at his nose. 'Stop,' she whispered. I heard her. And he just didn't bleed any more after that."

Her more skeptical colleagues--including some male and female doctors--attribute her achievements to the "power of suggestion." "Why, she practically uses voodoo, you know, saying to a patient, Now we're going to make this pain stop! Of course it stops, she's got them hypnotized."

Older black nurses in the hospital know Rowan has "the power," and sometimes ask her outright to "lay those hands" on them when they are suffering severe arthritis or other such aches and pains. They swear by Rowan.

"She looks into your eyes. 'Tell me about it, where it hurts,' she says. And she rubs with those hands, and it don't hurt! That's a fact."

By all accounts, Rowan seems to have loved working in the hospital, and to have experienced an immediate conflict between her devotion to the laboratory and her newfound exhilaration on the wards.

"You could see the research scientist being seduced!" said one of her teachers sadly. "I knew we were losing her. And once she stepped into the Operating Room it was all over. Whatever they say about women being too emotional to be brain surgeons, no one would ever say such a thing about Rowan. She's got the coolest hands in the field."

(Note the coincidental use of cool and hot in reference to the hands.)

There are indications that Rowan's decision to abandon research for surgery was a difficult, if not traumatic one. During the fall of 1983, she apparently spent considerable time with a Dr. Karl Lemle, of the Keplinger Institute in San Francisco, who was working on cures for Parkinson's disease.

Rumors at the hospital indicated that Lemle was trying to lure Rowan away from University, with an extremely high salary and ideal working conditions, but that Rowan did not feel she was ready to leave the Emergency Room or the Operating Room or the wards.

During Christmas of 1983, Rowan seems to have had a violent falling out with Lemle, and thereafter would not take his calls. Or so he told everyone at University over the next few months.

We have never been able to learn what happened between Rowan and Lemle. Apparently Rowan did agree to see him for lunch in the spring of 1984. Witnesses saw them in the hospital cafeteria where they had quite an argument. A week later Lemle entered the Keplinger private hospital having suffered a small stroke. Another stroke followed and then another, and he was dead within the month.

Some of Rowan's colleagues criticized her severely for her failure to visit Lemle. Lemle's assistant, who later took his place at the Institute, said to one of our investigators that Rowan was highly competitive and jealous of his boss. This seems unlikely.

No one to our knowledge has ever connected the death of Lemle with Rowan. However, we have made the connection.

Whatever happened between Rowan and her mentor--she frequently described him as such before their falling out--Rowan committed herself to neurosurgery shortly after 1983, and began operating exclusively on the brain after she completed her regular residency in 1985. She is at the time of this writing completing her residency in neurosurgery, and will undoubtedly be Board-certified, and probably hired as the Staff Attending at University within the year.

Rowan's record as a neurosurgeon so far--though she is still a resident and technically operating under the eye of the Attending--is as exemplary as one might expect.

Stories abound of her saving lives on the operating table, of her uncanny ability to know in the Emergency Room whether surgery will save a patient, of her patching up ax wounds, bullet wounds, and skull fractures resulting from falls and car collisions, of her operating for ten hours straight without fainting, of her quiet and expert handling of frightened interns and cranky nurses, and of disapproving colleagues and administrators who have advised her from time to time that she takes too many risks.

Rowan, the miracle worker, has become a common epithet.

In spite of her success as a surgical resident, Rowan remains extremely well liked at the hospital. She is a doctor upon whom others can rely. Also she elicits exceptional devotion from the nurses with whom she works. In fact, her relationship with these women (there are a few male nurses but the profession is still predominately female) is so exceptional as to beg for an explanation.

And the explanation seems to be that Rowan goes out of her way to establish personal contact with nurses, and that indeed, she displays the same extraordinary empathy regarding their personal problems that she displayed with her teachers years ago. Though none of these nurses report telepathic incidents, they say repeatedly that Rowan seems to know when they are feeling bad, to be sympathetic with their family difficulties, and that Rowan finds some way to express her gratitude to them for special services, and this from an uncompromising doctor who expects the highest standards of those on the staff.

Rowan's conquest of the Operating Room nurses, including those famous for being uncooperative with women surgeons, is something of a legend in the hospital. Whereas other female surgeons are criticized as "having a chip on their shoulder," or being "too superior" or "just plain bitchy"--remarks which seem to reflect considerable prejudice, all things considered--the same nurses speak of Rowan as if she were a saint.

"She never screams or throws a tantrum like the men do, she's too good for that."

"She's as straight as a man."

"I'd rather be in there with her than some of these men doctors, I tell you."

"She's beautiful to work with. She's the best. I love just to watch her work. She's like an artist."

"She's the only doctor who's ever going to open my head, I can tell you that."

To put this more clearly into perspective, we are still living in a world in which Operating Room nurses sometimes refuse to hand instruments to women surgeons, and patients in Emergency Rooms refuse to be treated by women doctors and insist that young male interns treat them while older, wiser, and more competent women doctors are forced to stand back and watch.

Rowan appears to have transcended this sort of prejudice entirely. If there is any complaint against her among members of her profession it is that she is too quiet. She doesn't talk enough about what she's doing to the young doctors w

ho must learn from her. It's hard for her. But she does the best she can.

As of 1984, she seemed to have escaped completely the curse of the Mayfairs, the ghastly experiences that plagued her mother and her grandmother, and to be on the way to a brilliant career.

An exhaustive investigation of her life had turned up no evidence of Lasher's presence, or indeed any connection between Rowan and ghosts or spirits or apparitions.

And her strong telepathic powers and healing powers seemed to have been put to extraordinarily productive use in her career as a surgeon.