“I wanted to put it in his eye.”
“Hmm, nasty.”
“I know.” I sank a little into the shame of it.
“We all want to lash out at the world sometimes. It’s the actual lashing out that gets you into trouble, not the wanting bit.” She huffed, still inspecting my hand. “That boy is a little shit. Though the little shit has his own problems. That’s why he’s such a little shit. But he’s not worth going to prison for.”
“Rowan said something similar.”
“Rowan’s a wise lad.” She nodded to herself. “A hard-won wisdom, at that. If only someone had intervened earlier.”
She gave me a knowing look.
“I think he tried to warn me.”
“It’s hard to hear what you’re not ready for.”
I shifted uncomfortably in her gaze. Sitting with this woman felt like being caught between the shower and my room without a towel. No, worse; it felt like all my skin was see-through and my insides were visible for all to see. All my guts and lungs and piss and shit and stomach contents. And my heart, beating fast, like a bird trapped in a net, so small and so exposed. I wanted to tell her, please let me put my skin back on.
She straightened up and sighed.
“At least it’s a clean hole straight through. Lucky you used a leatherworking needle. Needs cleaning though.”
With a surprisingly quick movement, she reached over to a side table then dumped a small glass of clear liquid on the wound. Vodka. It burned immediately. White light flashed behind my eyes. I screamed.
“I know, I know,” she said as she took a napkin and started to wipe the dirt and grime away from the edges. “It needs to be done. Got to clean it before we can heal it.”
She sniffed the puncture then squeezed the edges. I bit my other hand to stifle a cry. A rivulet of blood and plasma dribbled down my wrist.
“No pus,” she said. “That’s good.”
She dabbed a medicinal-smelling ointment onto the wound. It instantly cooled the stinging flesh. The relief was so good I could have groaned. My muscles relaxed and I sank back into the chair, blossoms of sweat clinging along my back, now chill on the opposite side of me to the fire. I watched as Callie-Ann gently applied a sterile patch to my now clean hand and wrapped a bandage around it.
“That should do you for now, but you’ll want to go see a proper doctor.” She leaned back into her chair and let me reclaim my hand. “Not today, though. Today you have work to do.” She fixed me with a look. “So, now we’ve fixed one wound, what’s this Roger tells me about you having some bother with your neighbour?”
Finally!
I leaned forward, voice barely rising above the crackle of the flames in the hearth.
“The thing is,” I said, licking my lips, trying to think of another way to say it and failing. “I don’t think she’s human.”
The old woman’s eyebrows raised.
I didn’t know if she thought I was crazy or what; I didn’t care. I hadn’t come this far to start clamming up now.
“She rustles around the house next door at all hours, even when it seems like she isn’t in. She can change her appearance. One minute she was mousey and odd looking, the next she was like some supermodel. She broke into my home—”
Callie-Ann’s mouth flickered slightly.
“She broke through?”
“Yes. And then I—” Oh God, how could I explain this? “I hurt her. It was an accident. I got startled. But I was also really angry at the time. And drunk. Not that that excuses anything—”
Callie-Ann waved my excuses aside. “How did you hurt her?”
“I put an axe in her head.”
The old woman’s eyebrows really raised that time.
