Casey was no doctor, but he'd certainly seen field injuries before.  He grimaced as his wife swayed, unsteady.  "Sit, sit."  He insisted, easing her down to the ground.  His gun tumbled from his bloody fingers, and he raised his hands -despite his own protesting wound- to compress either side of the wound in his wife's shoulder.  The instruction from the officer was met with a terse glance, and nothing more from Casey.  His focus was all on his wife, pale as she was.  Wracked with worry, the wounded wizard let his hands down from her wound carefully, eyeing the injury in case it needed further attention.  In an emergency he could cauterize a wound, but he was far from qualified for medical attention.<br/><br/>"Rachlings.  I knew he was up for parole, but with all the madness going on..."  He shook his head.  "Don't worry yourself over it.  I'll tell you all about it later.  You rest."  He eased himself to the ground beside his wife.  Was he okay?  Certainly not.  Somebody had just tried to kill his wife.  That they'd almost succeeded with him meant considerably less.  "I'll live,"  He promised, lifting a hand to touch experimentally at the tie, soaked through with blood 'round his upper arm.<br/><br/>"I've got to track him down."  The blonde said, fuming, and began muttering more to himself than to his wife.  "Shot him twice.  He'll need medical attention."  Casey gritted his teeth.  "We should get you out of the city 'til this blows over, Evie."