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Rhonda looked down at her sleeping baby pressed against her chest and kissed her brow. “Her fever’s already down. You’re a miracle worker.”
Or cursed, but it was kind of the same thing. Though I couldn’t explain Jessilee’s lower temperature. “I’m glad she’s getting some rest. I hope you can too.”
Rhonda looked at Isaiah, who was relentlessly chasing Tara to no avail. “I won’t rest until that child graduates.”
I laughed while saving Tara as she darted toward me. I scooped her up, and she curled against me.
Isaiah was jumping for her, shouting, “Kitty!”
“Let’s go,” Rhonda said to him. With tears in her eyes, she faced me. “I can’t thank you enough. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“There’s no need to thank me.”
“Miss Sorrel, the world needs more good folk like you.”
There were better people than me. I’d met many of them during my travels. But it panged my heart that there wouldn’t ever be anyone else like me. No one for me to pass my knowledge and know-how down to. The gifts I’d been given that could help the world would be lost forever.
After they left, I had a need to look at the book that silently governed my life. Maybe if I begged it enough, it would tell me what to do. Though I feared that just as much, as it would mean the curse was alive and well. Perhaps, though, it could tell me how to break this curse—without having to kill anyone, that is. Or maybe there were some instructions in it that I had missed. I don’t know. All I knew was that I felt out of sorts.
I sat on my bed and looked around to make sure no one was looking, which was ridiculous. When I saw no one, because I was going crazy and imagining things, I twisted the knob to unlock the hidden drawer to my nightstand. It was a clever design. It made it look like there was only one drawer when there were really two. There the green book rested, as always. I picked it up, held it to my chest, and closed my eyes as if I could make a wish on it and have it come true.
“What do you want from me?” I said out loud. I flipped to the back of the book, as if my pleading would make the book finally speak. With one eye open I peeked, hopeful. I was once again disappointed and relieved. “Is the curse dead?” I whispered. Still nothing. “How about, can I have Eric, pretty please? Maybe you can tell me if he likes me or if I’m just a fool.” Silence. Not even a scribble of gold. I shook the book. “Why have you stopped speaking? Is it me? I feel like it is. It seems I’m destined to have everyone in my life go silent. I know it’s ridiculous to pine over a man I haven’t even known for two months, and talk to a book while I’m at it, but I thought we had a connection. And when I say we, I mean Eric and me. Though I do feel connected to you somehow even though you’ve ghosted me too.”
I lay back on my bed, holding the stupid book against my chest. “You know, it’s funny, I really believed my dad when I was a little girl and he told me I was special and would break this curse. But maybe my mom was right: he was a mortal man caught up in this curse, trying to give me some hope, even if it was false hope.”
I sat up, shoved the book back in the hidden drawer, and slammed it shut. “You can sit in there for eternity for all I care. Or at least until we move. Which, thanks to you, will be sooner than I want. I’ll be giving you the silent treatment from now on. You can see how you like it.”
I couldn’t believe I had resorted to talking to a book. It was official, I was crazy.Chapter NineteenEric
As soon as Eric heard Sorrel leave, he stepped out of the shadow of her bed that was created by the light filtering in from the large window. Eric always found it ironic that light created the darkness in which he lurked. He shook his body, trying to get feeling back. Anytime he slipped into the shadows it was like his entire body fell asleep. It prickled and stung until the blood properly flowed through him again. The longer he stayed in the shadows, the longer it took for him to feel normal. It would take several minutes after following Sorrel all day. He had jumped from one shadow to the next, even if it was the tiniest sliver, as if he were playing a dark, twisted version of hopscotch.
