Page 112 of Depraved Boys

“Resorting to mumbo-jumbo, Brunswick?” muttered Cormac.

Leopold narrowed his eyes at the other boy. “Traditional Chinese Medicine has been in place a lot longer than Western Medicine. While they were curing diseases with tried and tested protocols, doctors in the West were bleeding people with leeches and boring holes in their heads.”

Cormac muttered something unintelligible and turned back to the lecture.

As soon as the bell rang, I placed my books in my bag and stood facing Leopold’s table. “Were you talking about acupuncture?”

His aquamarine eyes sparkled, and a smile curled his full, kissable lips. “There’s a lot more to it. Tui Na massage…” His gaze dropped down to my chest. “Dermal friction, and cupping.”

A pulse throbbed between my legs in time with the pounding of my heart. I walked around the table and gave him a playful nudge. “Now I know you’re making it up.”

All the levity in his expression vanished, and concern shone in his eyes. “I’m serious about the TCM. Why don’t we go down to London on Saturday and visit Master Chang? He might be able to tell you what’s wrong.”

Cormac snorted. “He sounds like an expert in Kung Fu.”

“No, he’s experienced in Fu Kyu.”

“Leopold?” I whispered.

Although Cormac had started the snide comments, Leopold had been the first to resort to profanity. Hypocritical, I knew, but Cormac’s resentment of the boys was understandable. Something had happened to his sister, and they had been involved to some extent.

Leopold inclined his head. “My apologies, Mr. Gibbons. Please insult me as you will. I, as a gentleman, have shoulders broad enough to withstand your insults.”

Cormac walked away.

I placed a hand on Leopold’s bicep. “Sorry. I keep taking his side.”

He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pressed a kiss on my forehead. “Gibbons has more problems than I can imagine. Understandably, you’d want to protect him.”

My stomach muscles clenched with guilt. Over the past few weeks, Leopold had become more to me than Sebastian’s sexy friend. While I still didn’t know as much about him than I would have liked, there was a kindness beneath his flirtatious exterior that warmed my heart.

He had been so generous and loving and patient during the Christmas break, and seeing him bicker with Cormac tore me in two different directions.

We continued down the hallway wrapped around each other.

“As I was saying before the interruption, Master Chang might be able to give you an alternative diagnosis. And he also combines TCM with conventional medicine.”

“He’s a western doctor, too?” I asked.

“Which is why he’s so popular.”

“Do you think I’ll be able to get an appointment so soon?”

A lazy smile spread across his features. “Master Chang is on retainer for Brunswick Bank. He’ll make time for you if I call.”

On Saturday, Leopold borrowed Sebastian’s Jeep for the journey south, and we set off at five in the morning to reach a row of Georgian houses on Harley Street, a prestigious road in London famous for private and specialist doctors.

Not so strangely, the headaches faded to a background ache for the journey, confirming my suspicions that Brittas Academy, and not my injuries, was the cause of my problems.

Master Chang was a lot younger than I had expected. He was a tall, Chinese man who wore a white doctor’s coat over a matching tunic and pants, and spoke with a slight American accent. While Leopold leafed through magazines in a plush reception area, the doctor took me into his room.

With its jasmine-scented air, white walls, and massage table, it reminded me of a spa. But the posters of skeletons, acupuncture points, and the spine reminded me that this was a place of treatment, not relaxation. My throat dried as I looked around for acupuncture needles, but I couldn’t find any.

“I’m going to ask you a series of questions about your health,” said Master Chang. “Most won’t be related to your head, but I need to get a full picture of Willow Evergreen.”

With a shaky smile, I nodded and prepared myself to respond to his inquiries.

After asking a bunch of questions, including some hair-raising inquiries about my periods, urination, and bowel movements, he finally focussed on my headaches and spent more time examining me than the neurologist at the Royal Infirmary.