Page 21 of Healed By the Grumpy Elf

The school corridors are eerily quiet as I follow the sound of high-pitched giggles. This isn't normal laughter. It has the manic, uncontrollable quality that confirms what Maeve already told me. The sound grows louder as I approach a classroom at the very end of a long hallway.

I pause at the doorway, momentarily arrested by the scene before me.

Maeve moves with surprising efficiency through what can only be described as chaos. At least a dozen children occupy makeshift beds on the floor, their faces glowing with luminescent freckles. Several float a few inches off their mats, giggling uncontrollably. Two pixie girls drift near the ceiling, holding hands and spinning slowly.

And in the center of it all, Maeve. Her red curls have completely escaped whatever attempt she made to contain them. They form a wild halo around her flushed face as she moves between patients, checking temperatures, offering reassurance, and occasionally grabbing a floating child by the ankle to gently pull them back toward the ground.

She hasn't noticed me yet. I allow myself three seconds to observe her. I try to tell myself that it's strictly for professional assessment, but even I'm not about to believe a lie like that. Her smile stretches those full lips and her summer dress hugs her breast before widening in an elegant swoosh around her knees.

That summer dress makes something wild and dark churn inside my gut. Something new. Or something I never knew was there in the first place.

I want to run my hands under the hem of that dress, run my fingers along that silky skin. Feel all that lush flesh give way under my touch.

As I watch her, it's like my vision reduces to a tunnel and the edges blur until all I can see is her. I know it's wrong, but I can't help it.

Then she finally glances up and sees me. Something electric passes between us. Her green eyes widen slightly before returning to normal.

And my own strange fascination is broken. It's broken, but I know what this means.

All the symptoms are there. All the signs are as clear as in a textbook. This is a sickness and its name is True Mate; its end result will be the loss of my sanity.

I have to be careful. The least amount of time I spend with her, the better. Before I cross a threshold I won't be able to walk back from.

On this resolution to have as little contact with Maeve as possible, I enter the quarantine classroom.

"Dr. Reizenhart." She straightens, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"Maeve." How I love the sound of her name on my tongue. I step into the room, already surveying the patients. "How many casesdo you have?"

"Ten so far. All showing classic symptoms. Uncontrollable laughter, luminescent freckles, and as you can see—" She gestures toward the ceiling where the pixie girls float. "Spontaneous levitation when experiencing positive emotions."

I set my bag on a nearby desk and pull out my stethoscope. "Patient zero?"

"Likely Millie Primrose." Maeve points to one of the floating pixie girls. "She presented first, followed quickly by Zinnia Sparkletoes. Both kindergarteners, both from the same class."

I nod, impressed despite myself at her clinical assessment. "Let's start with them."

Maeve calls up to the floating pixies. "Millie, sweetie, can you come down for a moment? Dr. Reizenhart needs to check you."

The smaller pixie girl with dark curls and violet eyes descends reluctantly, her iridescent wings fluttering as she giggles. "Is he the doctor who makes kids eat vegetables or they die?"

I'll never get rid of this, will I?

I groan as Maeve shoots me a look that's half-apologetic, half-accusatory.

"No, honey. Dr. Reizenhart is here to help you feel better."

The pixie child, Millie, floats down and lands next to Maeve. I notice the way she instinctively reaches for the nurse's hand, her small fingers wrapping around Maeve's. She's still giggling every few seconds and her face is covered in bright freckles that sparkle.

I crouch down to the child's level, noticing how her freckles pulse with light in time with her laughter. "I need to examine you, Millifred. Please remain still."

The child's giggles intensify, but she manages to stay relatively motionless as I check her temperature, examine her glowing freckles, and listen to her heart and lungs. Her pulse is slightly elevated, typical with Pixie-Pox, but her respiratory function seems normal.

"Have you been drinking and eating at all today?" I ask, shining a penlight into her eyes to check pupil response.

"Not since morning." Millie tries to answer seriously but dissolves into giggles again. "Every time I try, I start laughing."

I exchange a glance with Maeve and her grim expression confirms my own suspicion. Pixie-Pox is not inherently dangerous, but children suffering from severe cases often become dehydrated and weak due to the inability to eat and drink.