"Yes, you may," Alessia answered. "But only if you are a very good girl for the rest of the day and we have no more tantrums."

"Fine," Portia answered, sounding distraught at the idea.

"Good," Alessia replied, and knocked on the door.

Morgana opened the door immediately, though she startled a little when she saw Alessia. "Sorry, I thought you going to be my husband." Nervously, she touched her hair. She looked more or less herself, but her clothes were slightly rumpled from sleeping in them. "Will you come in?"

"Unfortunately not," Alessia replied. "I hate to trouble you," but Portia has been cranky all day and I think she might be running a little fever, which is no surprise after all the excitement yesterday."

"I am not," Portia answered. "I'm not excited."

Alessia gave Morgana a Look. "I was wondering if you might have anything for that?"

"Just a fever? No sore throat? I think I can manage something for that." She looked over Portia, mock-critically, and put her wrist against the little girl's forehead. "You're not sick, are you?" she asked Portia.

Portia pouted. "I'm not sick," she answered, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Go-Good neighbor," said Alessia. "I don't know what you use here, so I didn't know what to ask for. I don't think she's sick, just wound up."

"Gyroscopes wind up; I don't," Portia said irritably. "No sore throat. My finger hurts, though," she said, and held up a finger with a long scrape on it. "It got shut in the door."

"Doors do that." She stepped back to her trunk. "If you were really sick," she added brightly, "I'd have to soak your socks in vinegar. Very effective. But stinky." She squinched up her nose, then turn back with a little violet-colored bottle. She covered the mouth with her fingertip and tipped it upside-down. "I'm going to have to paint you."

Portia looked skeptical. "Paint me?" she asked. "As in put paint on me or make a picture of me?"

"Put paint on." She dabbed a dot of violet-grey paste onto Portia's temple. It was cool to the touch and smelled very strongly of mint. "Except it's not really paint." She dabbed the other temple. "Don't touch or you'll smear. And believe me when I say it doesn't taste nearly as sweet as it smells." She straightened back up. "That'll draw it out," she told Alessia. "Probably calm her down a bit, too. When it stops feeling cool, just wash it off."

Alessia smiled, and nodded. "Good neighbor," she said.

Portia tipped her head from one side to another, as if she could see the spots if only she got her head at the right angle. "It smells nice. How does it work?" she asked.

"The paste draws all the heat out of your skin while it's drying," she said. "That's the best I can describe it. Mostly I don't like giving little girls medicine. You mostly fix yourselves."