Today's Reading
Next, she flitted to the damaged tissue of the heart, finding it warped compared to the rest of the anatomy. It stood out like a wrong note in a smooth melody, discordant every time her influence passed by. She didn't salvage what had already died, but the muscle clung to its livelihood, and she bolstered it: scaffolding the structure of the heart chamber, reinvigorating it with electricity.
At last, Nhika pulled away, not daring to expend any more of her own energy. But she'd done enough for the woman to recover. She drew a deep breath to regain her grounding in the world around her, her senses slow to return as they trickled through a wall of nausea. The silk sheets came first, crisp underneath her, and then the firmness of her feet against the floor. Her chest deflated with fatigue and she felt the knot of hunger in her stomach expand, reaching her skull as a headache.
She smoothed the hair out of her face, her palm coming away with a sheen of sweat from the effort. "Your husband owes me a great deal," she huffed, mostly to herself. Through her fatigue, Nhika smiled; it had been a while since she'd healed another. This was what her ability had been meant to do, after all. It was not, however, meant to be used in secret, hidden away behind placebo oils and false examinations.
She stood shakily, drawing out tinctures of licorice and eucalyptus and leaving them at the bedside table. As she turned to leave, the woman gave her first indication of life, a noise in the back of her throat as she flinched. Nhika felt a bite of jealousy—that this illness had been so simple to heal, where her mother's had not.
She went for the door, but when she turned the handle the man was already there, opening it from the other side. They blinked dumbly at each other for a moment, and Nhika narrowed her eyes, wondering how much he'd witnessed. He only stepped past her and into the room.
"How is she?" he asked.
"Seems like you were correct about the micromes. The tinctures I left on the table should work. I'll leave a card with instructions for their use."
"And how much do I owe?"
"Seventy chem," she said. As she watched him draw out his wallet, her eyes narrowed.
Gloves. He wore gloves. Did he have those on before? No—she'd seen him hold his wife's hand without them. And now that she scanned him over a second time, she noticed how his collar had been tightened around his neck and how he'd put shoes on, even though they were indoors.
He handed her the chem and she snatched it a little too quickly. Nhika backed toward the door, but he held out a gloved hand to pause her.
"Won't you teach me how to use the tonics?" he asked. He was stalling.
Had he called the constabulary? Did he suspect what she was?
No, of course not. For people like him, her kind didn't exist anymore. He would be calling the constabulary on a myth. But then again, he had been superstitious enough to hire a yarb doctor.
"You'll find it intuitive," she said, inching toward the door. He stepped forward. Would he grab her?
When she reached for the handle, he drew a kitchen knife from the folds of his robe. His arms shook, his grip poor. Nhika scowled, her fingers flexed in anticipation beneath her sleeve.
"What's this?" she asked, forcing disinterest. Underneath it, she hid the quiver of her hand, knowing she might have to use her gift in a way her grandmother had never approved of. "What did you do?"
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"You're one of them, aren't you?" he demanded, the trembling of his jaw betraying his fear. Ah yes, fear—the form his gratitude took after she'd saved his wife from a sure death. Nhika remembered now why she'd stopped bothering with the others, why she'd left them with only placebos and tea oil. Wretched little heart, indeed.
"You'll have to be more specific," she seethed, drawing backward. "Do you mean Yarongese? Yes, my family is from the island. A sham? Certainly not, you'll find my methods tried and true. Before you hurt yourself, sir, I'd advise you to put down the knife." That last part was more for her sake; she didn't want to sour her act of healing with an act of violence, though she wouldn't hesitate to defend herself, if it came to that.
"No," he said, jabbing the knife through the air. "I know what you are. 'Bloodcarver'."
"Bloodcarver?" She scowled at the word. "There's no such thing." Nhika was giving him a final out. A smarter man would've known that bloodcarvers didn't exist anymore, that they were a breed that fell with the island. But the man's ignorance was wide enough to come full circle and he was somehow, miraculously, correct.
"I saw it, what you did to her," he insisted, jerking the knife.
...
