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“What’s the symbol for?” He pointed at the white mark as they made their way past the iron gate.
“It signifies the fracture of the peace treaty with the shifters. It gets painted on the door of every victim of their attacks.”
Gavin hummed and kept his doubts to himself. He wasn’t here for politics. In fact, he’d had enough of that. His only job was to save the life of a child.
He ducked through the front door of the small house, under icicles that dripped frozen water onto the skin of his neck. A small hand wrapped around his biceps, stopping him before he’d fully made it in.
“Mr. Gavin, are you leaving Scoria tonight?” Laura’s voice was a whisper, rushed past tight lips. “Because of the people that checked into the inn last night?”
He turned fully toward her. “I don’t know. I have to talk to Violet and see how she’s doing first. But we can’t stay for long.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
A trace of suspicion caressed the back of his mind. “Why are you asking?”
Laura took a deep breath, focusing on the white paint that still shimmered wet on the door. “Would today be enough to heal Myna?”
Ah. The questions made sense now. Of course, she would be worried one day of healing wouldn’t be enough, and if he was honest with himself—he didn’t think it was. “I don’t know yet, not without seeing her first.”
“If you could stay in my place—along with your wife, of course—do you think you might reconsider staying a couple more days?”
“I can’t promise that, Laura.”
Even though outside it had been freezing, the atmosphere inside the house felt worse. The home was built for shorter people than him, and all its angles and corners were crooked, like a block puzzle put together by a child. He wondered if these humans were magical without knowing it, as it seemed like only their sheer willpower was keeping the building standing.
He paused a couple steps in when the heavy scent of rot and death welcomed him like an old foe. His gut twisted—not because he was unused to the smell, but because he knew that whoever was upstairs moaning in pain had little time left. He’d been expecting the voice of a child, but the reality of hearing it was far worse than he could have imagined.
A woman walked down the steps with the slow gait of someone who was defeated and ready for the nightmare to be over. She paused midway, clutching the banister with a white-knuckled grip. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and tears streamed down her round cheeks. “Who is this?”
Laura sighed while she shrugged off her coat and dropped a basket with supplies on the table. “This is Mr. Gavin. He is a healer, and he can help Myna. He has… magic.”
The woman on the stairs paled and took a step back up. “We don’t want magic in this house.”
“Belle…”
“No, Laura. Magic and magical creatures are all the same. They curse us and take from us, the weaker kind.”
“I understand you’re scared,” Gavin said, “but if your daughter was bitten, she needs my help. I might save her life.”
A child’s screech of pain bounced off the walls of the small place as if in answer.
Belle was racing up the stairs in an instance, not sparing them another glance. Meanwhile, Gavin’s magic buzzed around his hands in a light shade of gray that made the air crackle around them. The urgency that burst through him vanquished all other thoughts or polite conversation. “I’m going upstairs to help your niece.”
No law in the world of Caztian, magical or not, could prevent a healer from helping a child. Plus, all magical healers knew and held onto the same principles. Heal first and ask for forgiveness later. Sometimes those who were sick or suffering weren’t in the right frame of mind to make the correct choices. He’d rather save a child and face the scorn of a mother blinded by fear of what he was than forever regret not saving someone’s life.
The feel of the room upstairs was just as odd as the rest of the house, but he no longer cared about its defiance of physics. He chased the trails of a soft aura that flickered in and out of the child lying in the bed. The soft yellow light of a gas lantern in the corner broke apart the long shadows of the furnishings.
It was hard to mask his concern with a friendly smile, especially with the girl’s rattling cough. “Hey, what’s your name?” He kneeled at her side.
She looked up at him with wide blue eyes, and her frail body wracked with shivers that rocked the bed. “M-Myna.” Her expression, though pained, was alert.
“I’m Gavin. Your aunt has brought me here to help you. May I look at your wound?”
Myna flashed a nervous look at her mother who stood by the foot of her bed. Belle did a poor job at masking her panic or frown, but she nodded either way.
“You’ll only look, right? Not hurt me like the other healer?”
“Myna…” her mother warned.
