Page 54 of The Devil Knows Her Name

Oh, I thought.

“Just really vivid dreams,” he said finally, although I was no longer waiting for an answer. “Dreams that didn’t even feel like dreams. Like I was sure you—sure it was actually happening, so when I woke up I didn’t really know if I was awake. It was hard to tell what was real sometimes, and it was every night. Has that ever happened to you?”

“Yes. Although more often I have moments when I’m awake that feel like dreaming. But you said ‘was’; are you not having these dreams anymore?”

He paused, frowning. “Well, I guess—I guess not. Not the past couple nights.”

“So maybe somebody really did try to curse your house.”

“Didn’t feel like a curse to me.”

This last was murmured under his breath as I walked away, my hands full of fresh bandages and a syringe of antibiotic slurry.

There was only one animal left to treat, and it was the groundhog I’d come to dread dealing with. Most animals habituated to the daily routine quickly, allowing me to clean and dress their wounds even if they didn’t like to be handled, but almost every time I went into the groundhog’s pen, she acted like she’d never seen me before and this was all brand new. Her struggling made it harder to get a good fit on the bandage, which inevitably led to her fussing with it, which in turn led to me having to redress it.

She was in a fine mood today, burrowing into a corner of the pen at the first sight of my makeshift exam table, then coming around with a snap of her huge, blunt teeth the moment she felt my hand. There was a moment, not the first, when I thought about just leaving her be for the day, but it had been an uphill battle against infection that I was finally winning, and I wanted this animal healed and out of my barn as soon as possible.

I managed to avoid her teeth as I snipped off the remains of the last bandage, which wrapped around her wounded shoulder and then around her neck and chest like a sling. There was no sign of pus on the cotton, which was good, and although there was new, pink flesh visible, I didn’t want to leave it exposed. After a few minutes of struggling, I got a few swipes of salve on the wound, and I had to seize her by the scruff to get the antibiotic down her.

“Everything okay?”

David had appeared in the door, no doubt drawn by the groundhog’s furious squeaking and chittering.

“She’s not my favorite,” I grunted, yanking my hand back to avoid another snap of teeth. “And I’m not hers.”

“Can I help?”

The answer, of course, was no. If she took a swipe at me, that was simply part of the job. If she bit him, an unlicensed minor with no training, that opened a Pandora’s box—my license could be revoked, his parents could sue me, Broder would finally have a real reason to fire me.

“I’ll just sedate her,” I said, but I hesitated. I’d sedated her yesterday, and two days before that. I couldn’t keep doing it. Besides, I was nearly done; all I needed was another hand so I could hold her still and finish the new bandage.

I glanced at David. He must’ve sensed my indecision, because he was still standing in the door, eagerness shining in his eyes.

“Listen,” I said. “No, stop smiling. Listen. If I let you help, you cannot tell anyone. Not your parents, not your friends. I could lose my license.”

“Okay.”

“No, no. I need to hear that you understand.”

“I understand, Tess.”

“Okay.” I readjusted my grip on the groundhog, abandoning the bandage and the strip of vet wrap and holding her steady with both hands. “I’m going to hold her still, and you bandage her up.”

“I don’t know how,” he said, coming forward anyway.

“I know you don’t; I’m going to walk you through it.”

For the next five minutes, our heads were bent together over the table. His hands seemed huge to me, but his fingers were nimble, his movements surprisingly sure. I told him where to position the wrap around her body, which direction to move his hands so they didn’t pass too close to her face and tempt her to bite, how tight to make the bandage. He did everything I said, his lower lip drawn between his teeth in concentration, asking, “Like this? Like this?” at every juncture. He seemed almost desperate to please me, and every time I said, “Yes, like that,” I sensed a spark go through him.

How well you listen, I couldn’t help thinking. How obedient you are.

I had meant it when I told him there was nothing he could’ve done to stop his father’s plans even if he’d known—it seemed clear that Zeke’s hope for a legacy was in his church, not in his son. The only opinion that mattered to Zeke was his own, and everyone else could be with him or against him. Any protest from his son would be dismissed as betrayal.

And yet this offering seemed too precious to pass up, as if a lamb had climbed upon my altar and put its own neck on the block. Could I not find a way for him to help me? Could I not make him feel useful? From that, perhaps real salvation could emerge—perhaps he would find the weakness that would allow me to triumph.

“Tess? Is that good?”

I snapped back to reality. “Yes, yes, that looks good. Take a step back.”