Page 76 of Hex You

She squeezed Xena’s hand as she hooked her fingers over the cotton collar. Yes, her sister was dying. But not right now. Hunter wasn’t ready.

She still has time. She still has time. She still has time.

Hunter pulled down the fabric. Red lines like cat scratches shot out from the pink scars. Around them, crimson speckles painted Mercy’s skin. The poison was spreading, wrapping around her blood vessels and squeezing until they popped.

Hunter bit the sides of her tongue. She would stay even and calm. She could grieve later,awayfrom Mercy. Right now, her sister needed her to be strong.

“How much does it hurt? On a scale of one to ten,” Hunter asked. Their mother used to ask the same thing. Hunter wasn’t sure what Abigail used to do with the information (hell, she didn’t know what she would do with it), but the question alone used to make her feel better. And that’s really all she could do for her sister.

Mercy released a deep, pent-up breath. “It’s better now.” A weak smile curved her lips. “About a four.”

Xena glided her thumb back and forth across Hunter’s hand. The encouragement was just what she needed.

“You should call me Dr. Hunter,” she said, gently smoothing Mercy’s collar to its original position. “I mean, obviously.”

Mercy’s laugh was bells chiming—a celebration of life. It was the best thing Hunter had ever heard. “You haven’t even prescribed anything.”

“I was getting there.” Hunter wrinkled her forehead and chewed the inside of her cheek as she thought about what their mother would have done. “A poultice!” she shouted, extending her index finger.

Mercy grimaced. “You are the absolute worst at making poultices.” Her brow knit and her frown deepened. “The last one you made smelled like pee.”

Hunter’s mouth gaped. Her poultice-making skills were just as good as Mag’s. “You have no room to talk, Miss Magic Cat Pee Tea.”

Mercy sucked in a breath. “I will have you know that my teas are very therapeutic.”

Khenti made a choking sound, and both Hunter and Mercy erupted into giggles.

It was almost like old times. Almost.

Mercy placed her palm over her scars, her smile fading. “I’m worried, H.”

Hunter swallowed. “Me, too.”

Emily and Jax shuffled back into the room, tentative smiles stretching each of their faces.

“I have supplies,” Jax said, holding out a stack of dish towels.

“And I found this.” Emily shook a bottle of pills and squinted down at the label. “I’m pretty sure it’s Advil, but it looks super old.” She scratched the back of her head. “Do pills really expire though?”

Hunter got up from her spot and held her hand out for the bottle. The ghostly outline of an A and a few numbers were printed on the torn and faded label. The Goodes didn’t tend to use pharmaceuticals, so she wasn’t surprised that their only bottle of whatever it was was probably older than she was.

“I have no idea what this is, but it looks ancient.” She handed the bottle back to Jax before heading to the kitchen. “I’m going to make a poultice, and it’s going to be wonderful!” she called over her shoulder.

She walked straight to the pantry, stepped inside, and closed the door. She needed a few moments alone, a few moments to figure out her future.

“It doesn’t matter,” she finally said to the rows of canned tomatoeson the shelf in front of her. “As long as I take out Amphitrite, it doesn’t matter what happens to me.”

But what if I fail?

Hunter gripped her pendant, hoping for a sign. None came. Her fate was up to her.

She swallowed and exhaled a deep breath between pursed lips.

“‘Cowards die many times before their deaths.’” She whispered the Shakespearian quote aloud. “‘The valiant never taste of death but once.’”

Plan made, Hunter sank to the floor between bins of onions and potatoes, drew her legs into her chest, and cried for her sister.

THIRTY-TWO