Page 6

Kerry

Over the next few days, a Council member, two veteran wardens, a priest, and a couple of professors from the university tried to visit me.

Hank sent them all packing.

The only person he allowed in was this healer named August Richter. When I asked why, Hank propped one shoulder against the door to my bedroom. For a warden, he was real good about not coming in without permission, which I appreciated. I guess he knew I needed my space to be my space.

“You don’t seem to be handling going cold turkey too well, so I invited him over.”

“He brought me a pack of smokes?” I was hopeful, but shoulda known better.

When he shook his head, I sighed and slung my legs over the side of my bed and walked out to the living room.

I was wary at first, not used to anyone but Hank in my prison, but the healer seemed chill and wasn’t pushy or loud. It helped that his white hair, round belly, and red cheeks made me think of Santa Claus.

“You know, even human prisons allow the inmates to have cigarettes,” I grumbled.

“No more smoking, son.” August shook his head. “I’ll take away the addiction and you won’t crave nicotine anymore.”

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Look at it this way,” Hank grinned and I knew, just knew , he was gonna say something stupid. “Girls don’t like kissing a mouth that tastes like an ashtray.”

“Screw you,” I grumbled.

The last thing I wanted was to kiss a girl. Just the thought of it made my stomach churn. First, no girl in her right mind would ever wanna kiss someone as broken as me. Second, I’d have to get physically close to one, and that wasn’t gonna happen.

I didn’t want anyone to touch me.

Not ever again.

Which was gonna make this healing session kinda interesting.

August took all the fun out of it, though. Saying Hank had told him about my “issues” with personal space, he took a small bottle out of his pocket, screwed off the lid, and fished around inside it for a few seconds. When he pulled out a tiny wand with a ring on the end, Hank snickered.

I glared at them both.

“I poured my power into the bubbles,” August explained. “You only need to stand there. It should heal your mouth, too.”

Okay, that would make it worth it. I could eat better if my teeth weren’t all so busted up and rotted, so I nodded.

A bunch of golden bubbles floated straight toward my face. I waved one hand to bat them away, and they burst all up and down my arm, stinging like hornets. Then the pain hit my mouth, and I had to hold back from hitting August in his mouth.

“Aha! I knew it would hurt less that way!” He looked proud of himself.

“Oh, it hurts all right.” I managed not to add ‘numb nuts,’ probably because of his Santa Claus appearance, but I thought it. “I just got used to the pain. Be glad it don’t set me off no more. Even without my power, I go hard when I throw down.”

August didn’t seem to get what I was saying, but Hank cut his eyes at me and I knew he heard me loud and clear. Which was good. I wasn’t big on repeating myself.

“August is the one who laid hands on you after the exorcism,” Hank told me, prolly as a distraction, “and drained himself down to nothing just to keep you alive.”

My eyes narrowed. I’d seen nephs drain themselves before: It hurt and took days to recover from. Why would he do that for me?

“What do I owe you? For that and today’s healing?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He waved a hand. “I’m always happy to help.”

He headed toward the door before I could say more, and I didn’t trust that. He had no reason to save me then or help me now.

I have to remember I owe him so I ain’t surprised when he comes collecting the debts.

After that, when I wasn’t learning from Hank, I was either sleeping or eating, both of which he said were normal for my condition. I had to admit, I was so thin that it worried us both, and Hank shoveled food into me as often as possible. With my mouth fixed, I could eat better, which helped. I was also keeping a little more down each time and could last longer between meals without feeling sick. All the protein helped me grow stronger and, as my energy went up, I could stay awake for longer and longer periods of time.

Thanks to Hank’s constant care, I started to feel well for the first time in years, but it was the angel’s morning visits that helped me start to feel human again.

#

“I made a friend yesterday,” she said as she tugged on a stubborn weed. “Her name is Bridget Carnahan, but everyone calls her Gigi. She’s on my floor in the dorm and works at the school store with me. She invited me to meet her boyfriend at breakfast today. I was worried about being the third wheel at first, but it’s not like that with them. I can’t remember his name, but it’s Greek.”

The angel stopped talking for a minute, and I watched as she pulled on a long, woody vine that seemed to have a thousand little roots, each one deeper than the last. I tilted my head, curious what she was gonna do.

She stood and wrapped it around and around her fist, grabbed on with both hands, and yanked, putting her back and legs into it, too.

Nothing happened at first, but then the root broke and she tumbled onto her butt, a rain of dirt bouncing on her sunhat and arms. She sat where she was for a moment, then scrambled up with a worried face.

I let out a quiet bark.

It took me a few minutes to realize it was a laugh, and that shocked me. I didn’t think I’d ever laugh again.

I remembered the days just after the exorcism. I’d fallen into a black pit, despair clinging to me like tar, and couldn’t move. Just as my head started to slip below the surface, she came back into my life and saved me again.

The memory of that day—and every one after as she worked in the garden—filled me with hope.

At first, I’d tried to ignore her because I didn’t like wrestling with my confused thoughts and unfamiliar emotions, but that didn’t last long. Soon as my eyes popped open each morning, I all but fell out of the bed to get to the front window, worried I’d overslept and missed her.

Last week, she had started talking to herself instead of just humming and singing. Now, she talked all the time, mostly about her mom, who’d died in a car crash four years ago.

I understood that loss all too well. The sharp shock followed by a hollow ache that never really went away. What I didn’t understand was her guilt over it. She seemed to think it was her fault. She said she’d been away on a school trip and, if she’d been home, she coulda saved her mom.

Another one of her favorite topics was Uncle Paul, who she lived with after her mom died. She said he ran a martial arts studio and had given her some training, mostly geared toward self-defense. I hoped he’d taken a good look at her—maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet and it’d be generous to say she topped five feet—and taught her the dirtiest and quickest way to take down an attacker, then run.

Sometimes she talked about school. She’d been nervous, not knowing what to expect and half-wondering if it would be like this imaginary wizarding school she’d been obsessed with when she was younger. In the end, she was relieved to find out it was like any public high school in the U.S.

Can’t say that would have relieved me .

Yesterday, she’d rambled on about taking the exam to see what her power ranked and seemed proud and surprised that she was the only North American healer to score a ten in a century or more. I’d smiled, happy just because she was happy—and I’d had no idea what to do with that feeling.

“Anyway,” she said now, “Gigi is so beautiful, the word doesn’t even do it justice. I mean, there’s cute, there’s pretty, there’s sexy, and then there’s beautiful, right? And she’s the kind of beautiful you only see in Hollywood or on the runway. She’s too curvy to be a model, though.

“Did you know that, until very recently, most fashion models had to be a size zero? A zero! I’m so far from that, I’d look like a rhino next to one! And Gigi’s short, too, just a couple of inches taller than me. I read somewhere that models have to be something like five eight.

“So no modeling for her, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s so gorgeous, I was too intimidated to talk to her at first. Fortunately, she started talking to me at work one night.”

Heh . She hasn’t taken a breath yet.

“Hey! I do remember Gigi’s boyfriend’s name! It’s Jax. I think I’ve seen him in my gym class. I’ll have to pay more attention today. Anyway, I’m so happy she wants to be my friend. She has a quiet personality, just like me.”

She laughed and the sound went right through me.

“Although you probably don’t think of me as any kind of quiet with as much talking as I’m doing today. Sorry, Kerry! I ramble on when I’m happy.”

Wait.

I blinked.

What?

Something twisted up in my chest.

She… She said my name.

I’d thought she was just talking to herself as she worked, but no. She knew I was there, knew I was listening, and she talked to me.

Whatever was jammed up in my chest twisted tighter, and I slid down the wall.

Was she cosying up to me because she wanted something? But what? I had nothing valuable here. Maybe she was setting me up for something? Nah. I couldn’t believe that, either. My nose told me she was purer than anything I’d ever known.

But nobody can be that good, can they? To talk to the guy who nearly murdered her? To treat him like a friend? To sing for him?

Except I had proof right outside my window that at least one girl in the world was that good.

And I don’t even know her name.