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“Tempest, we’re gonna do this how Dr. Olivet wants. This is my house.”
“Those are my parents,” I said. “My brother. If…”
“It’s all right,” Dr. Olivet’s soft voice sounded behind Pat. Pat looked over her shoulder. Dr. Olivet came to the screen door beside Pat.
“Come on,” Pat said. “We can talk outside.”
Dr. Olivet stepped out. She looked Anson up and down, her eyes settling on the patchwork of scars cutting through his face.
He never so much as flinched as she went to him. Didn’t try to stop her as she lifted a gloved hand and traced the line of the deepest scar that ran through his left cheek and the bridge of his nose.
“Those aren’t cuts, are they?” she asked. “Those were burns. Like lightning.”
Anson jerked away. Dr. Olivet was undeterred. She grabbed Anson’s right hand, turning it over in hers. She traced a large vein in his wrist where it ran up his forearm.
“Will you give me a sample of your blood?” Her tone took on a new urgency. Not panic or alarm. If anything, she sounded excited.
Anson fixed his gaze on me. A muscle in his jaw jumped. “If you think it will help them.”
“Them?” I said. “How the hell can anything inside of you help them?”
“Pat?” Dr. Olivet said. “Can you grab my bag?”
A moment later, Pat joined us. I watched with renewed anger as Dr. Olivet drew a vial of Anson’s blood. She placed it in her storage container along with six other vials, including my own.
“What can you tell us?” I asked.
Dr. Olivet didn’t answer at first. She busied herself putting away her vials and potions, then closed her bag.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” she finally said. She took a seat on one of the rocking chairs Pat kept on the wraparound porch. The things were older than I was. Sturdy. Built and caned by Pat’s father eighty years ago or so. Pat sat in one beside her.
“It’s a virus,” I said. “You can tell that much, can’t you?”
Dr. Olivet shook her head. “Actually, I cannot. I need to run some tests on the blood samples I took. It could be viral, yes. But my strongest sense is this is magic-based. And your theories are right. It’s fae.”
“Based on what?” I asked.
“Based on the fact that a fresh drop of Dragonblood didn’t cure them.”
“Fresh blood?” Anson said. “Where did you get fresh Dragonblood?”
“That’s none of your business!” I shouted. I was not about to betray our alliance with the Brandhart dragon family to him.
“What concerns me,” Dr. Olivet went on. “Is that the Dragonblood seemed to make both of your parents worse. It caused your mother enough pain that she woke up, if only for a second. I don’t think it will do any good to try more of the stuff. What we need is the source of the magic.”
She was staring straight at Anson.
“You?” I said. “Are you saying he brought it here?”
I launched myself at him. Pat deftly stepped between us. I caught myself just in time before barreling into her.
“Enough!” she said. “I told you. Whatever devil this boy has in him, we need him for now. We need his strong back. I can’t take care of these people and this farm on my own. Neither can you.”
“She’s right,” Dr. Olivet said. “You’re going to need all the help you can get. Keep fluids in them. Monitor for any signs they’re getting worse. As long as your family can still eat, there’s still hope, Camilla. Whatever this is, I believe your family is stable for now. It’s not progressing. I need time. It will take me a day or two to examine everyone in Wild Lake. I’ll have to do it alone. I won’t risk bringing any other shifters here. Just because I think their illness is magic-based, doesn’t mean it isn’t contagious to outsiders.”
“What do you need?” Anson asked.
“Time,” she said. “I fear more than we have. I’ll finish my examinations. I need to analyze these samples. Then hopefully I’ll know more.”
