Page 15 of Of Flames and Fallacies (Arterian #1)
fifteen
KATEENA
“Don’t touch anything without my permission or instruction,” Marge barks.
I retract my outstretched hand. The bottle I started to inspect has a thick green liquid inside, swirling with flecks of fizzled light.
Marge rips the bottle from the shelf in front of me and tucks it back into a corner of a high up cabinet. She locks the cabinet door and shoots me a glare.
“Sorry,” I whisper. Turning away, I awkwardly search for something else to do.
She returns the key to a pocket hidden in the side of her dress. “Do you know what ginger looks like?”
“Ummm, it’s red, right?”
The exasperated sigh slipping from Marge tells me it’s not the answer she was looking for. Shit. She’s already going to know I’m faking my medical background and it’s not even noon on day one.
“I’m going to go gather some from the forest.’’ She points a black gloved finger at a basket across the room.
When I don’t move, she snaps her fingers impatiently for me to fetch it for her.
Marge grumbles, “I can’t quite send you out yet since you don’t know what to look for.” She scoops the basket from my hand. “If someone comes, tell them I’ll be back within the hour. If they’re bleeding, hold those rags to the wound and apply firm pressure. If they’re dying…well…”
She grabs her staff, and I catch the last half of her sentence before the door shuts. “May the gods be with them.”
I wait a few moments after the door is shut before slumping back into a chair, unsure of what to do with myself. Temptation urges me to see what other odd potions and oils are stashed in the cabinets. A stab of homesickness hits me as I think of Willard and how willing he would have been to show me everything. More than willing—perhaps ecstatic.
The longer I sit, the heavier my blinks become, and I stifle a yawn. What little sleep I did get last night after seeing Daeja was interrupted by dreams of fire. And of my mother, my brother, the little girl and her family. Their screams were as audible as if they stood in the room with me.
“Daeja?” I test. “ Can you hear me from here?”
“Yes!”
A smile pulls at my lips hearing her voice. I glance down at the band around my finger, wondering what it means. If it is somehow connected to the blue flame, and what might have happened if I were the one to touch the flame instead.
“What was it called that you gave me last night?”
“Chicken?”
“Yes. What do chickens look like?”
I can’t contain my snicker. Luckily, I don’t have to with Marge gone. “Well, they come in all sorts of colors. They’re birds, so they have wings and—”
“Like me?”
“No, they have feathered wings—”
The door swings wide open, and a man stumbles in. I jolt at the violent entrance. He’s tall. Maybe a few inches shorter than Cole. His mass of walnut brown hair is swept every which way, and his cold and calculating green eyes rake across the room. We lock gazes for a brief moment, and his eyes flare with what almost resembles shock. He looks away quickly, gaze darting to the cabinets.
Darian.
“Marge,” he hisses out between gritted teeth and takes a few staggered steps toward me, his hand bracing his left thigh.
A large, dark stain blots his black pants, a glint of metal lodged into his leg. I hurry to him and offer my forearm to brace himself against me. He refuses me with a scoff. Droplets of blood splatter against the ground in his wake as he sweeps the room.
“She’s out gathering ingredients in the forest,” I mutter quickly.
Darian nearly falls into a chair with a grimace.
I scurry over to snatch a rag on the table near the window. “I can go get her—”
“No,” he barks. “Just get me the bottle in the back left of that cabinet over there. It’s a green bottle with no label.”
“I’m not allowed to administer medication without Marge.”
“I don’t give a shit. Do as I say,” he growls. His menacing green eyes dart over to me through lowered dark brows.
My hand clenches around the rag, tilting up my chin in defiance. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I don’t take orders from—”
“Sorry? And who are you?” he sneers. His attention focused back on his thigh as he tries to apply pressure with his hand around the dagger.
I hold out the rag to him. “I’m Katerina—”
“Listen, Kateena,” he hisses. He still doesn’t bother to look me in the eyes as he wipes a bloody hand on his pants.
I’ve met men like him before. Snide, rude, and arrogant. It’s a wonder how he got through the door with that big of an ego-filled head.
“Kat- ER -ee-na,” I correct with an eye roll.
“Yeah, yeah, sure. Anyway, make yourself useful, be a good girl, and go grab that bottle before I bleed to death.” He flicks his fingers off to the corner.
I bite my tongue to keep the ticking anger at bay, temptation luring me to throw the damn rag at him. But before I can, a movement at the door catches my attention.
Marge walks in with a basket stuffed with snipped greenery and foliage. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Darian?”
I motion to his leg. “He’s been stabbed.”
Marge waddles over, craning her neck before she sucks her teeth. “Katerina, I’m going to need you to help me by pulling the dagger out slowly. Once we have it removed, I’ll have to stitch it quick and wrap it. Do you think you can do that?”
“Yes,” my voice is small.
Marge works at her cabinet, pulling materials from the drawers and doors. My pulse skitters at the thought that this is the first chance to prove myself. My gaze flickers to the metal lodged into his flesh, and I gulp.
Marge returns and places items on the table next to us. Darian shakes his head at the sight of the needles, and I drop to crouch in front of him. I circle my hand around the handle of the dagger but don’t touch it yet.
“Ready?” Marge asks.
I nod.
“Go.”
In the moments I close my fingers around the hilt, Darian shifts his gaze back to me.
His lips twitch into a ridiculously sinful smirk. “I love the look of you between my legs. Maybe while you’re down there—”
I glare up at him and twist my grip on the dagger ever so slightly.
He throws his head back with a yell and slams a fist into the arm of the chair.
Asshole. That was for Cole, and for Archie. And...maybe for myself, too. Perhaps it’ll teach him to mind his tongue.
After I retract the dagger, Marge presses a rag into the gaping wound, and I back away. Marge blots and sews, blots and sews. Her skillful gloved hands work nearly mechanically. Darian occasionally grimaces or clenches his fists, staring off at a wall as he sips from a flask he’s pulled from his black vest.
Once he’s stitched, Marge applies an ointment and instructs me to grab the bandage she’s set aside. As soon as she completes his wrap, Marge wipes her hands clean and returns back to her collection from her outing.
“Probably should tell you to stay off your leg for a few days to let it heal. But there’s no point since you won’t listen to me anyway, right?” she asks.
Darian rises with a grunt and a sickly sweet smile. “You know me better than anyone, Margie.”
He limps past me, not a word or another look toward me. When the door closes, Marge huffs.
“Wicked thing. For your first patient, that was impressive. Had it been me, I might have relocated that dagger into his neck if he talked to me like that.” She pulls out contents from her basket and begins to line the countertop with it all.
I shrug. “Well, I guess there’s always next time.”
A hint of a grin twitches on her lips before it’s gone. “Alright, I’ll need your help to reorganize what we have since you’ve managed to take over our supply room. Come over here and start putting these up into the top right cabinet.”
We pace back and forth to organize supplies. She shows me various things she collected, and where it all belongs in the healer’s quadrant. At one point, my hands start sweating from the nerves of needing to remember it all. A bottle slips out of my grip, shattering onto the floor.
Marge isn’t afraid to let me know she’s not pleased about that before sending me off for the rest of the day.
Guess I’ll try again tomorrow.
I have some free time before dinner, so I return to my room to read another journal entry. Hope flickers within me at the thought of finding something that could tell me about Daeja or the blue flame.