Page 35 of The Thirteenth Child
“He won’t see me,” he promised quickly with a snap of his fingers. Merrick remained visible but there was a strange feeling to the cottage. The air flowed off me differently, as if I were the only onehere.
“I still see you,” I hissed.
“But he won’t.”
He.
There was a he somewhere who needed me.
The concept made my stomach quiver with nerves.
“Go on,” Merrick nudged, sensing the hesitation.
I bumped my hip against a side table as I hurried to the front door. I’d only just arrived in Alletois. I wasn’t familiar with the layout of my own house but already was being asked to leave it to tend to someone I wasn’t sure I knew how to treat.
“Now or never,” I muttered to myself, and opened the door.
The boy on the other side had his fist raised, ready to knockonce more, and nearly struck me as the swinging door surprised him. He was flushed and out of breath, his collar damp and gaping.
He was the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen.
His skin was a rich chestnut and he had a head of thick, dark curls. His eyes were warm and brown and a faint scar traced across his cheek. I wanted to ask him how he’d gotten it. I wanted to ask him that and a dozen more questions.
After a year spent all alone in the Between, I was hungry for conversation. For companionship. For—
“Where’s the healer?” he asked, between deep gulps of air.
“Here. Me. That is…I’m…I’m the healer,” I stammered, feeling more incompetent with every syllable that fell from my lips.
“You are?” He peered at me dubiously.
I couldn’t blame him. He looked about my age, and I couldn’t imagine anyone allowing us to be trusted with anything of importance.
“I…I am,” I said, deciding. I offered my hand, feigning confidence. “I’m Hazel.”
“Kieron.” He looked over my shoulder, as if searching for someone else.
“And you…you need help?” I looked him over. He didn’t seem ill, but I wondered what I’d see if I cradled his face in my hands.
He shook his head. “Not me. My uncle. He’s taken sick. You must know him. He lives just over the ridge, there,” he said, pointing toward the tree line on the far side of the meadow.
“I…I am new to town.”
“But you can help him?”
“I…” I faltered, unwilling to commit to something so unknown. “I’ll need to gather some supplies first. Come inside and tell me what’s ailing him.”
“He’s burning up with fever,” Kieron said, stepping ahead of me to open the screen door with unconscious chivalry.
“Thank you,” I murmured, ducking beneath his arm. Unreasonably, my cheeks flushed. He was so much taller than me, with the broad shoulders and lean muscles of a farmer’s son. I idly wondered what things they grew, what crops they kept.
I wanted to know everything about him.
I opened my mouth, just about to ask about the scar, when clarity washed over me.
Now was not the time. Not with an uncle, sick and unwell. Not with that worry creasing the corners of his eyes.
I tossed aside my fanciful daydreams and headed into the workroom, certain I remembered seeing a leather valise and an arsenal of dried herbs and stoppered bottles. “Fever?”
