Page 55 of The Devil Knows Her Name

He backed away obediently, and I loosened my hold on the groundhog just enough to slide my pinky finger into the bandage and test its tightness. “Yes, that’s perfect. Go ahead and step out.”

When he was safely outside the stall, I released the groundhog; as usual, she was perfectly docile by this point, scuttling away without a sound of complaint now that the hard part was over. I folded up the table and left the stall, sliding the door shut behind me.

The aisle suddenly seemed narrower, or the pastor’s son larger, than a moment ago. The sun was fully up now, the barn unseasonably warm, and all I could smell was clean, fresh sweat. His face was a storm of emotions, desire and guilt and fear, all of it running with an undercurrent of knowledge, as if he had seen this precursor before, in his dreams.

“David—”

“Don’t.” He stepped forward, too close; I had to steel against the urge to push him back. “I know what you’re going to say, but you don’t have to say it. I understand. I just want to be—close.”

I looked up at him. Strangely, the fear in his face showed more when I met his gaze, and yet he didn’t step away. “Do you understand?” I asked.

“I do.”

But his gaze flicked down to my mouth, and his tongue slipped out to wet his lips. His hands flexed—I saw it in a small twitch of the tendons in his shoulders. I knew what would come next, if I did nothing.

I drew in a breath, hesitating.

Behind him, the old woman’s crow cawed harshly, a three-note warning.

David’s face screwed up suddenly, jaw and teeth and tongue all clamping down on a noise of pain. He reeled back, and I saw the fawn clinging to his right hand like grim death, her ears flattened against her skull and her eyes empty black pits.

I scrambled forward, trying to get hands on her, but he was pulling away. I saw his free arm rise, fist clenched—I didn’t blame him, it was only instinct, but I couldn’t allow it. I dove in again, finally reaching them, covering her with my body and jamming my thumb into the gap of her mouth where the teeth ended. I pressed down on her jawbone through her gums and she released her prize, mouth working uncertainly as she scrambled backward out of my half embrace.

“Fucking hell,” I said, my voice shaking. “I forgot—I forgot she was even out here.”

David was fainting pale, holding his injured hand protectively against his chest, and I saw with horror she had drawn blood. “Fuck. Sit down, sit, sit.”

I grabbed him by the arm, supporting him as he slid down against the wall. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just—she just startled me. Why did she bite me?”

Because she’s broken, I thought. She’s wrong.

“She’s just a baby,” I said aloud. “Your hand probably smelled salty—she didn’t know any better. She nibbles on my fingers all the time. Let me see it.”

He flinched when I took his wrist, his hand trembling. The bite formed a rough U shape in the meat of his hand, the pattern of welts already swelling. She had broken the skin with sheer force, blood rising to the surface even though there was no sign of tearing.

“Okay, come on. We’ll get it cleaned out and it’ll be fine. You’re okay.”

He followed me quietly into the feed room. I washed it out with distilled water and soap, and by the time I was done, the water was already running clear.

“See, not even bleeding now,” I said, trying to inject a reassuring note into my voice. “A little aspirin and you won’t even feel it. Okay? You all right, there? Are you dizzy?”

“Yeah, a little. It’s going away.”

“Do you want some—” I didn’t even know what to offer, because I drank wine when I felt faint. “Orange juice, or something? I can get some orange juice.”

“No, no, I’ll be okay. I’m not going to get sick?”

I huffed out a shaking laugh. “Oh, no, you won’t get sick. She doesn’t have rabies or anything. She’s perfectly healthy, all vaccinated. She’s just naughty.”

“Okay.” The relief was raw in his voice. “Okay.”

“All right, good. I’m going to wrap this up so it stays clean, okay? It’s really shallow, so you shouldn’t have to worry about infection. If it gets swollen, just—”

I trailed off. I had a little stockpile of antibiotics, a pill here and a pill there left unused, but I was no pharmacist; how many sins did I want to pile on in an attempt to hide this one? I cursed myself, my momentary lapse, wishing for the hundredth time in five minutes that I could just go back, but time unspooled mercilessly away from the moment.

“We have some antibiotics,” he said, meeting my eyes. “When Dad got a tooth out, he didn’t finish them. I could just take those, right?”

A tightrope stretched between our gazes, my human decency tripping down its length. I didn’t look away when I said, “Yes, you could do that.”