“Darling, I need you to look at me,” Mildred directs the way a mother does to a young child, hunching over so she’s eye level with Callie.
She whimpers, but sleepily focuses her gaze on Mildred’s.
“Good, darling. Very good. Any headache, nausea, dizziness?” she asks, gently lifting Callie’s head toward the light.
Callie listlessly shakes her head, then starts shivering.
“Can we get her dry and into some warm clothes now?” I ask, realizing what Mildred is doing is important, but Callie is also freezing standing here nearly naked and wet.
As if only now realizing the body holding Callie up can speak, Mildred straightens and clears her throat. “Yes, of course. You can get dressed in the spare room while I help Callie.”
Callie’s fingers claw into my flesh, in case I might have forgotten what I promised. I rub her upper back, careful of the scratches, in a soothing circle.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t leave. I promised her I wouldn’t,” I announce, hoping that Mildred won’t make me explain.
It’s hard enough to ask for such a thing, let alone have her vulnerability explained to others. Even to those she cares for, but I’m not budging. If Callie wants me to stay, then I’m staying.
“I see,” Mildred replies, her gaze taking in Callie’s clawed fingers.
“Careful. The last time she said that, D and Con went flying across the front yard,” Felix jokes, though his voice sounds strained.
Looking to the open doorway, I find both Nolan and Felix have unreadable expressions, but Nolan pulls out a tight smile and says, “We’ll leave you to it. Let us know if you need anything.”
“Wait. How’s Donovan doing?” I ask before he can close the door.
“Being his normal pain in the ass self,” Nolan laughs, with one hand resting on the doorknob. “He’s annoyed he has to lie on his stomach for several hours with his wing in a splint. Mildred threatened to make everything he eats for the next week taste like broiled tomatoes if he didn’t behave.”
“Do you think she can really do that?” Felix wonders out loud, and Nolan helpfully repeats the question.
“Hope he never finds out,” Mildred replies deadpan, and I can’t tell if she’s serious or not. Stepping back so that Callie and I can get out of the tub, she then mutters, “He’s just lucky that I didn’t have to break it again to set it properly. I understand why he did it, but dematerializing his wings only accelerated their healing.”
“I’ll be sure to remind him every time he complains,” Nolan declares with a smirk.
“I should do it,” Felix comments with a grin. “He can’t hit me or throw things.”
“And it’ll be hilarious when he tries,” Nolan snickers, closing the door behind them.
“Yes, well, let’s get everyone properly dressed, shall we?” Mildred suggests, her lips pinched while she holds out a towel.
This won’t be awkward at all.
I jostle Callie again, and she tilts her head back to look up at me in a tired daze. “I’m going to need you to stand on your own and let your aunt help you get dried off and dressed,” as her brows begin to furrow, I add, “I’ll be right here. You’ll be able to see me the whole time, okay?”
She bites her lip and nods, standing up but with drooping shoulders like she’s about to fall asleep on her feet. I take the towel from Mildred and hold it open for Callie, closing my eyes and leaning my head back toward the ceiling so there’s no doubt.
There’s a loud slap of wet towel meeting the tub, and Mildred gasps as Callie takes the towel from my hands.
“She’s not healing,” I announce, assuming that’s what the gasp is about. “We don’t know why.”
“It’s for the same reason she’s so exhausted,” Mildred answers with a strange range of emotions in her voice: sadness, joy, hope, fear and worry. “The binding spell broke. For good or ill, she’s now the one in control of her magic.”
Callie makes a kind of squeaky hum in her throat and touches my arm. Through my lashes, I look down enough to check if she’s covered, which she is, before I step out of the tub. Wobbly following suit, she looks so small… almost frail, and the urge to take care of her every need swells inside me.
“I’m… I’m so tired,” she whimpers, leaning hard against the counter.
“I know, darling,” Mildred whispers, picking up another towel and drying her hair, arms and legs. “You’ll be able to rest soon.”
I take what looks like her sleep shirt, a deep maroon, long sleeved thermal, from the counter and help her put it on over the towel. She sighs into the warm, soft fabric and a small smile grazes her lips.
