Page 14 of Anomalies

Nurses in bright red smocks move past us in a flurry, all of them freezing in their tracks when they see the two of us at the front desk. The routine is the same—they bow to Callan and stare awkwardly at me.

“Ah, Gemma. Of course.” The nurse rifles through whatever papers she has on her desk. “She’s had a busy morning, Captain, I don’t know if she…"

They begin speaking too low for me to hear, which is fine, because I’m not listening.

The windows here are frosted glass, dulling the shine of the afternoon sun enough that it isn’t blinding to look into. A few potted plants line the windowsill, drinking in the sunshine, their soil likely just as rich as it is outside. There’s a blue pot of bright pink Zinnias, rounded and vibrant. Lavender grows beside it, a pot full of long lilac stalks sprouting up to different heights. And the third plant is young, just a tiny green stub in the soil. I squint at the handwritten label at the base of the pot.

Then I flinch at the name.

Ivy.

The word slices me in two, shredded bits of myself falling lifeless to the ground around me.

“You’re back!” A girl with golden hair and fair skin rounds the corner so fast, she all but slides to a halt, then she’s slinging her arms around Callan’s neck with such force he stumbles backwards. She’s young, like Callan, maybe a few years older than me. They don’t look related, but she must know him on a personal level, because she’s the only one we’ve encountered who hasn’t bowed in his presence or thanked the gods for his return. “Are you hurt?” she asks, pulling away, her blue eyes piercing.

“Not really,” he replies, and her face falls flat.

“What kind of answer is that?”

“The simplest kind.” Callan turns before she can say anything else, gesturing a hand back to me—or what’s left of me. “Gemma, this is Lucina. I’m not sure where she’s hurt, but I know she is. Do you have time?”

“Time?” she scoffs, pushing past him to get to me. “Of course I have time.” Gemma smiles, her voice calm and sincere, “It’s nice to meet you, Lucina. We don’t often see new faces here; you’ll have to forgive my coven for staring. Let’s get you out from underneath the microscope.” Gemma gently slides her arm through mine, taking me past Callan. “I’ll be quick and then we’ll get you a hot shower and a change of clothes, how does that sound?”

“Good.” So good.

I look back, feeling the weight of the Captain’s stare down the hall. He’s waiting, settling against the desk, and a small part of me panics at being led away from him. Chiaros knows why. He said I’m the weakest, and now I feel like one of those small fish, clinging to a shark for protection: A symbiotic relationship, except I’ve got nothing to offer him.

I’m not sure what Callan sees in my stare, but it has him pushing off the desk, nodding to a few more people and their bowed heads, and then he’s trailing down the hallway after us.

Gemma pulls open the door to a small exam room. There’s a single table in the center, a long counter along the back wall, and wooden shelves above it packed with dozens of glass vials and neatly labeled jars of various herbs and tinctures. I step inside cautiously, and when Callan moves to follow, Gemma shoots her arm out across the doorway. “I’ve got her,” she tells him. “Please go fix yourself, you’re scaring the children.”

Callan throws his hands wide, gesturing to the vacant hall. “What children?”

“Hypothetical ones who could walk into the Infirmary at any moment,” Gemma fires back, her hand still blocking his entry. “They look up to the Captain, they don’t want to see him covered in blood.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” I chime in, propping myself up against the exam table. “It’s not his.”

Both of them stare at me. Callan’s face has gone blank, but Gemma cracks a smile. “I like you,” she says, nodding as if she’s making that sentiment permanent, then she turns back to Callan. “Go on, get out. Have Rory look at your ‘not really’ wounds, and don’t come back until you’re clean.”

Gemma doesn’t give him time to argue before she shuts the door in his face.

She turns to me. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere.” I wish I were lying.

Her blue eyes flare in concern, and then she gestures for me to climb up onto the table. “Can you tell me what happened?” The paper crinkles as I lower myself onto it, teeth gritted with the effort to move.

“Got caught in a riptide and yanked out to sea,” I tell her dryly. “Then I woke up on a beach to six men who looked like they’d spent the last year on Pyra.”

Gemma steps forward to examine my eyes, a smirk playing at her lips. “Fate’s funny, isn’t she?”

“Hilarious.”

“She always gets you where you’re meant to be.” Gemma nods to the silver pendant hanging around my neck. “Hold still.”

I do as she says, letting her press her palms to my temples⁠—

A rush of adrenaline sweeps through me, warm and swift, and jarring enough that I rear back. “I’m sorry,” Gemma blurts. “Did that hurt? It shouldn’t have hurt.”