Page 2

Chapter 2

Doctor Zacharias’s Diagnosis

A s I burst into the waiting room in my balaclava, the vet technician behind the front desk freezes, her eyes widening. I guess I do look like I’m about to rob the place.

I set the hissing kennel at my feet. “Help. My cat has something contagious, and now I have it, and I’m sorry for coming here with an infectious disease but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Okay,” she says flatly—and oh, the things this young woman must have seen to react so calmly. She reaches for a clipboard, glancing past me to where half a dozen people with dogs and cats fill the sterile white room. “We have a bit of a wait, but—”

“I can’t wait.” I’m breathless as panic tightens my chest and the boils prickle my skin. “I need to cure her as soon as possible. You don’t understand.”

I’m not sure I understand, but what I know is that the bus broke down on the way here, and while walking a half-hour in the rain, my shoulder got clipped by a car mirror, I stepped in something brown and sticky, and I rolled my ankle on the curb hidden beneath all the dead leaves. And I swear to God, this is Lucy’s fault. In the four days since I adopted her, each day has been worse than the last. It feels like my luck is about to run out at any moment—like the kennel at my feet is housing a ticking bomb.

“I can relay your concerns to the vet,” the vet tech says, her calmness infuriating, “but we have a priority sequence—”

I splay my gloved hands on the desk, standing on my toes to lean closer. “This is your new top priority!”

She pushes the clipboard toward me, her expression blank, totally impervious to my panic. “Please fill out this intake form, and we’ll get you into the queue.”

Frustration and disbelief bubble inside me. Sweat prickles under all my layers. Can’t she see my desperation through the slit in my balaclava?

The clipboard slips off the counter and lands on the toe of my sneaker, corner first. Pain jolts through my foot and up my leg. “Motherf…”

I grit my teeth against it. The stroke of bad luck isn’t even surprising.

“I don’t—have time—for paperwork.” My voice is quiet and desperate. With how things are going, I’ll bleed out from a paper cut if I try to fill it out.

Another vet tech, a twentysomething woman with a purple bob, sidles behind her and rummages through a file folder, casting me nervous glances.

“I understand how stressful it is when our pets are unwell,” the first one says, her expression pitying.

The door to an examination room opens, and an elderly man walks out carrying a chihuahua. Flanking him is a middle-aged man in a white coat.

The vet!

“My kitten is making me break out in boils!” I shout, stepping closer. I peel off a glove to show him my disgusting, lumpy hand. “It might be a parasite or something, but—”

The vet puts his palms up. “Miss, I need you to wait your turn—”

“This is urgent!” I’m aware of the eyes on me and the hush that falls over the room. But public humiliation is the least of my worries right now.

“You’re at the emergency clinic,” the first vet tech says, standing. Her calm demeanor is starting to crack. “Everything here is ur—”

“My window opened without my control when I was trying to crate her,” I say. “Her food bowl melted to the floor this morning. I found a dead scorpion in my slipper last night with her little teeth marks. A scorpion . In Canada . Doctor, please.”

The entire waiting room goes still. The vet drops his hands, staring at me.

My insides twist. I shouldn’t have said all those things. How must I sound?

The doctor turns to the vet techs, his expression solemn. “Get her into quarantine. Call Doctor Zacharias.”

Both girls freeze. Their shoulders tense, their eyes going huge. They exchange a glance I can’t interpret. Fear? Excitement? Both?

Whatever their reactions mean, it doesn’t matter. He’s put a name to the solution: Doctor Zacharias. My savior.

Without a word, the girl with purple hair leads me into a windowless room at the back of the office. Pictures of puppies hang on the pastel blue walls, an attempt to cheer up the clinical space. The door slams with a little too much force.

Hollow silence and the buzz of fluorescent lights replace the comforting hum of people. Alone with Lucy again, I shiver, my jeans damp from the rain, cold sweat prickling beneath my ski jacket.

I place Lucy’s kennel on the metal examination table, the thump filling the room. I sit in a creaky wooden chair, vigilant, scanning for anything that could hurt me. Medical supplies are safely inside jars, cupboards, and drawers .

My gaze snags on the ceiling tile overhead. Is it a little loose?

I shift the chair so I’m not underneath it.

The kennel is eerily silent. I peek in to see Lucy sitting on the fleece blanket, staring at me with that purple glint in her eyes. Her little tail swishes, promising violence if she gets free.

Bouncing my knee, I pull out my phone. It’s 8:44—and the battery is at ten percent.

“No…” I moan. My lifeline to Hazel is slipping away.

Dread turns into irritation. I know I plugged in my phone last night. But with the luck I’m having, what did I expect?

I message Hazel, feeling less alone knowing she’s expecting an update.

Katie

Waiting in a quarantine room for an on-call specialist to arrive

Hazel

Praying for you

Katie

At this rate, I’m going to miss my morning lectures… and I have midterms next week… ugh

Hazel

You’ll be ok. Can you ask a classmate to send you their notes?

Katie

I don’t know anyone in my classes

My face burns, shame creeping up as Hazel takes a minute to reply. She’s likely shocked and confused that I haven’t made friends in the six whole weeks since term started. Meanwhile, she goes to parties every weekend and makes friends in every class.

A twinge of envy bubbles up. Not all of us can be social butterflies.

Hazel

I promise it’s easy to make friends in university. Everyone is in the same boat. Say hi to the person next to you in class, and say yes to department events. Trust me.

Katie

Ok ok. I will

Even the prospect makes me shift uncomfortably.

Growing up in Toronto together, I got used to having Hazel as a crutch in social situations. She’s popular; I’m a wallflower. She talks; I tag along. That’s how we work. I meet new people through her. That’s why university would be easier if she were here—but she got a scholarship to the University of Toronto, and I got a scholarship to the University of British Columbia. As much as we wanted to attend the same institution, we both knew it would be ridiculous to prioritize our codependence over our future careers. So here I am, a five-hour flight away from my family, bestie, and everything I’ve ever known.

Footsteps approach on the other side of the door. “Yes, Doctor. Quarantined.”

I jolt to attention in the chair, putting my phone away. My savior is here—even as the word quarantine hangs like a death sentence.

The door swings open, and a tall woman in an open white lab coat, black V-neck tee, and tight jeans strides in, clipboard in hand. Her muscular arms fill out the lab coat, and her long legs are—um—very nicely toned. Is it hot in here?

“Miss Alexander?”

I meet her eyes, and my heart does a backflip. “H-hi. Yes. Hi.”

“I’m Doctor Zacharias.” Her voice is a low purr, rumbling through me and down to my toes.

This woman… is going to make everything better .

This woman is also making my brain stall.

She oozes confidence, turning my knees to jelly as I look up at her. It’s hard to breathe as I take in her features—her light, freckled skin, arched eyebrows, straight nose, and God help me, her heart-shaped lips. Behind copper eyeshadow, her dark brown eyes seem to glow, pinning me in place, warning me to answer every question she asks. Her thick brown hair is swept deeply to one side, all the volume and length cascading over her left shoulder. A few small braids peek through the locks, woven with strands of green and yellow. I never thought side-swept hair would be my downfall, but that was before I met this woman side-sweeps were made for.

She turns to close the door, giving me half a second to compose myself.

Despite the maturity in her eyes, she must be only a couple of years older than me, maybe in her early twenties. How does a person become a vet so young? Shouldn’t she still be in school? Personally, I’m expecting to be in university for seven years before I can start my career as a psychologist.

I perch forward in the chair, suddenly invested in her life story. But as she looks at the kennel, I shake myself back to reality, remembering why I’m here.

“Thank you for waiting,” she murmurs.

“No problem.” My voice is muffled through the balaclava.

Oh God, I’m still wearing the balaclava and ski jacket in front of this gorgeous woman.

She leans down to peer into the crate. Lucy yowls and hisses, and the whole thing shakes as she lunges at the door. Her paw swipes through the grate, claws extended.

Doctor Zacharias doesn’t flinch. She just studies the kitten with a neutral expression. Either she’s seen this before or she’s really good at pretending this isn’t alarming. “Tell me what you’ve been experiencing since getting the cat. ”

Interesting wording. Not “tell me the cat’s symptoms,” but rather, “tell me what you’ve been experiencing.” I think I’ve found the right person.

“It started when I adopted her four days ago…”

She lays the clipboard on the examination table, and with deft fingers, grabs the penlight from her breast pocket and shines it into the kennel. Lucy hisses.

Considering they called this room quarantine , she’s dressed casually. No mask, no gloves. It’s comforting—like maybe I panicked too much.

Then Lucy makes a low, threatening growl, and that cold fear returns.

“Go on,” the vet says, her dark gaze flicking to me. The look both reassures me it’s safe to continue while giving me no choice.

“She’s been acting rabid, but it’s more than that.” It’s hard to look at someone so effortlessly gorgeous while I’m at my lowest, so I relay everything that’s happened to the tile floor, scorpion in my slipper and all.

I expect her to recoil or gasp, but her demeanor doesn’t change. “I see.”

Should I be reassured or annoyed by how calm she is? “Have… have you seen this before?”

“Maybe.” She clicks off the light and straightens up, facing me with crossed arms. “Where did you get her?”

I furrow my brow at her non-answer. “The shelter. Someone found her abandoned in a box outside an apartment building and brought her in.”

“Alone or with a litter?”

“Alone.”

“And out of all the cats at the shelter, why did you adopt this one?”

Another interesting question. “I… thought she was cute?”

“But what attracted you to her? Why did you get this cat in particular?”

The way she purrs the word ‘attracted’ makes my heart miss a beat .

I try to find words to explain the pull I felt toward Lucy. She’s adorable, but a lot of adorable kittens were up for adoption. Something drew me to her like a paperclip to a magnet. “I don’t know. I just liked her.”

Doctor Zacharias’s eyes remain as enigmatic as ever, so I can’t tell if this answer is sufficient. Or why it matters. This whole line of questions is weird.

She scans my outfit, a cute crease appearing between her eyebrows. “Take off your coat and show me the boils.”

Embarrassment and dread churn inside me. Why does the second half of that sentence have to be a thing?

With a sigh of resignation, I shed my winter garb, letting the cool air hit my irritated skin. I’m clammy because it’s nowhere near cold enough to wear all these layers.

I can feel Doctor Zacharias’s gaze like a flame as it roves over my body—all five-foot-two of me, small and defeated. Our eyes meet, and something flickers in hers. Disgust? Pity? I look away, not wanting to know.

She clears her throat and bends closer to study my arms. She doesn’t touch me, just looks with the same focus as when she examined Lucy.

The closeness sends a pleasant ripple through me. I’m not prepared to be hit with her scent—warm, calming, like a mug of herbal tea in the winter. I want to lean in and inhale deeper. But I don’t because that would be weird.

She straightens up, taking a step back. “Those will go away by tomorrow. They aren’t contagious—just a reaction. Avoid showering or putting any lotions on for the next twenty-four hours so you don’t agitate them.”

Relief washes over me so intensely that I slump back in the chair. I didn’t realize how much I was bracing for the worst until now, as the tension drains from me and leaves me tingly. I can handle not showering or moisturizing for a day. It’s not like I’m going anywhere like this.

She scans the clipboard. “Are you okay other than that? No other health problems came up?”

Other than the absolute chaos of the last four days? Other than all the stuff that made me question reality? “All good.”

“Your breathing feels normal?” Her concerned tone makes me melt a little.

I nod. “Is that a symptom?”

“Sometimes.” She scribbles something down. “Well, Miss Alexander, I was called in because my specialty is rare infectious diseases. I’m sorry to say your cat has carried a disease into your home.”

“Oh.” A strange feeling settles in my gut—not fear about being told it’s a disease, but some kind of… disappointment. The straightforward diagnosis isn’t enough to explain everything that’s happened.

She wraps her slender fingers around the kennel’s handle. “I’ll take the cat to the lab for testing—”

“Take her?” I straighten up as if zapped, my voice rising as panic grips my throat. “Is she going to be okay?”

She raises one of those perfect, arched eyebrows. “You want her back? After the way she’s been… behaving?”

I stand, ready to seize the kennel. “Yes! She’s my kitten!”

The vet’s brow pinches in bewilderment. “But she’s…”

Something in my expression makes her trail off.

Indignation rushes through me, sharpening my next words. “People would never abandon a loved one because they’re sick, so why would I do that to my pet? This lack of empathy is everything that’s wrong with the world!”

Her mouth opens a little as if she’s surprised by my outburst. But as heat rises in my cheeks, she softens and drops her gaze. “You’re right. I—I’m sure I’ll be able to cure her, Miss Alexander. I’ll have the front desk call you when she’s ready for pickup. I promise she’ll be in good hands.”

I nod, a little embarrassed by the tone I took with her but grateful for her response.

An ache forms in my chest as she steps back with the kennel. As chaotic as Lucy was, she was still my furry companion, and now I’m returning to an empty house.

“What’s the disease called?” I ask, my mouth dry. I’ll feel better if I can look it up when I get home.

“I’m afraid I can’t disclose that.”

My heart sinks. What kind of doctor withholds critical information from a patient? I narrow my eyes and take another approach. “What diseases do you specialize in?”

“Ones most people have never heard of.”

“Try me,” I shoot back.

The corner of her mouth quirks, but she just lifts the kennel to peer into it again. Lucy growls.

Annoyance twists in my gut. I don’t like her lack of answers or eye contact. Is her work so classified that an infected person can’t know what they’ve contracted?

“You’re young to be a vet.” It’s not an accusation, exactly, but this is all really weird.

“I did an accelerated program.” She’s still inspecting Lucy. “I knew what I wanted to be from a young age.”

I cock an eyebrow. “So you’re a genius too?”

“What do you mean, too ?”

Heat rushes into my cheeks. She must know she’s a knockout, right? Like, people must always tell her she’s the full package of looks and brains?

I cross my arms, wincing as the boils press against each other, and redirect the topic. “I guess that makes sense. I also knew what I wanted to be as a kid. I’m taking psychology, and I used to make my sisters lay on the couch and tell me their problems like I was psychoanalyzing them.”

There’s a pause, and the heat in my face intensifies. I was hoping to make her laugh. She doesn’t.

Well, we found out why I hate talking to strangers. Dammit, Hazel.

Abruptly, she grabs my upper arm, pulling me toward her. My heart jumps, both at her strong hand and the suddenness.

As our chests bump, a burst of debris smashes over the ground and hits our ankles. The loose ceiling tile I was afraid of lies in a dozen pieces, a cloud of dust rising.

I cough and wave my hand, turning my face to avoid inhaling it. Doctor Zacharias’s expression hasn’t changed—like she’s as unsurprised by the event as I am. Did she even flinch? The way she grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the way was so calm, like she might as well have said, “ Ah, yes, this again. ”

We’re close enough that I can feel the heat of her body. As we lock eyes, she drops her hand, leaving my arm tingling.

She nods firmly. “We’ll call you when your cat is cured and ready for pickup.”

She leaves the room with the kennel, plunging me back into silence.

I huff, my frustration replaced by a hollow sense of loss. I didn’t expect to be returning to my place alone today.

I step around the debris and shrug into my jacket, today’s events swirling through my head. Doctor Zacharias’s vague diagnosis isn’t enough to explain it all. Rather than answer my questions, she planted a seed of suspicion. What’s she keeping from me?

I pull out my phone and open the browser. Something is going on—something bigger than a disease. She’s hiding the truth, and I’m going to figure out what it is.