Page 16 of House of Crimson Hearts
But I swear sometimes the doctors don’t know what they’re talking about. They swindle your money and give you liquids that smell suspiciously like watered down whiskey and fermented herbs. At least the healers mix the brews in front of you, and you know what’s going into them.
I hobble past a couple of shops, one filled with stones and crystals, another selling elixirs. But neither are quite right. Then I see a little healer shop nestled in the heart of the row. The sign hanging above the door says ‘Healing Hearts’ and beneath it in tiny letters it says: in association with the Randalls.
I hesitate before entering. Would Mother throw a fit at me for using a store owned by the Randalls? She does so hate them. I decide that whatever healer is in there just works for them, they’ve probably never even met a Randall. Besides, Mother would be more furious if I return home unhealed.
I step inside. Despite the four walls around me, the shop is light and breezy. Sun streams in through the glass-fronted window and fills the space with warmth. There’s a fire burning. It sits in a metal stove in the hearth, the door ajar, spilling warmth into the shop. Crackles and embers drift up into the chimney like little dust motes.
“May I help you?” a woman says.
I startle as she appears from a door at the back of the shop, and I’m unable to find words to respond. My lips part as I take in her appearance.
Her hair is mousy, falling in thick locks that flow like the shallow waves of warm oceans. Her eyes are the deep blue you only find in secluded lagoons. I’m drawn to them, to her. Unable to look away, to think or breathe, I draw a ragged breath in, gulping for air and words.
“Are you okay, miss?” she says.
“What? Yes.” No. It appears I’m not. But I don’t want to alert her to the strange thoughts racing through my mind. To the fact that if she hadn’t spoken, I may have continued stepping closer and closer until I’d simply fallen into her eyes and buried myself in her soul. What in Sangui City’s name is wrong with me?
“I see, so, then have you come to get assistance for another person?” she says.
“What? No.” Oh. I see the mistake I’ve made. Heat flushes my cheeks. “I apologise. Let me try again. I was umm…”
“The pain? It disturbs the thoughts,” she says, pointing to my leg. One of her eyebrows quirks up in a smile. Is she mocking me?
“Right. Yes. That. The pain. That’s actually what I’m here about. Do you have some herbs that would ease the swelling, perhaps?”
“Of course,” she says.
My eyes fall to her plump lips. There’s a light rouge colour on them or something that makes them glisten. Heat rises up my neck so fast I have to adjust my dress collar. What a peculiar reaction I’m having to the shop.
“I’m sorry, I’m feeling a little… umm. Could I trouble you for a chair?” I stutter.
She bustles around the shop, moving jars and herbs and bags of I don’t know what, until she’s moved everything onto a counter at the back and cleared a chair for me to sit on.
It’s placed behind me, and she slides her hand over my arm, helping me lower down. Where her palm meets my bare forearm, a furnace erupts.
I gasp. She glances up at me.
“The pain. My ankle,” I splutter.
It is most definitely not my ankle. It’s the shock of her touch. I’ve never experienced a sensation like it. Perhaps it’s her healer skills. It’s bizarre. I’ve seen a handful of healers before and none so enigmatic as this. She must be truly powerful. The gods must have bestowed an enormous gift of magic on her.
“Are you… you must be a d—” I stop and lower my voice, knowing it’s a dangerous thing to name such a creature.
“A dhampir? Yes,” she says.
“Your touch is…”
She smiles, dragging her eyes away from me. “Ah. That’s not… I’ve not drawn upon my power yet. I need blood for that.”
“Oh,” I say and sit up. Realising that if it wasn't her magic, then I don’t want to consider why her skin was so warm, so electric.
Suddenly, I’m uncomfortable, hotter than before and wish to leave. I should just get this over with as fast as possible and get back to the manor. I’m sure she will have further preparations for me to contend with.
“Well, anyway. I have an issue. I fell at the marriage ball last night and my ankle… it’s rather bruised and swollen. Could you…?” I say.
“Certainly. I’ll need to see the ankle in order to assist.”
I nod and draw my dress skirts up to my knee. A strange thought occurs to me. That I’m rather glad I’d bathed last night and took extra care to raze my legs. Preferring them to be smooth rather than the stubbled mess they were before the ball. I shake the thought away. Of course, it matters not what my legs are like. This woman is a healer. She cares nothing for the state of my limbs.
