Page 114 of Succubus

CHAPTER 37

On my way home, Joel writes. Then it says he’s typing; I can feel him thinking about whether to send the next part. He does. Please tell me you’re still at my house.

I smile. No. I send that. I write, I wish. I send that, too.

Come back?

My thumbs hover, hesitating. I can’t right now, I write. I’m sorry.

There is a pause and the screen is white with anticipation. Then he sends, I understand.

He thinks it’s about Grub. It should be about Grub.

Are you feeling ok? I ask him.

Yes. You?

Not bad, I lie. I am in my bed. It’s a good thing it’s the weekend and Dee can take care of Ella. I told Dee I must’ve caught a virus. She said it’d been a while since that happened. I’ve been so healthy.

I know why I’m lying; there’s nothing anyone can do.

If I get better, I will have spared Dee the panic. If I get worse, I’ll tell her. Either way, I can’t see Joel again.

If he touches me now, I will die.

I may already be dying.

You sure? he writes. He knows. Or at least a little.

Yup.

Good.

“Good,” I whisper with my dragon’s breath. There are stinging blisters on the roof of my mouth. My fever has gone up again. I take two more Aleve tablets. My fingers hurt on the lid of the plastic bottle; my skin feels like it’ll come off with the twist. I watch the water level in my glass by the bed—it’s nearing drought conditions, and I will need to get up again, which seems hard.

Ella hovers in the doorway, uneasy. She studies me for a flinching moment and then looks away as though she’s seen something inappropriate. “Are you still feeling really sick, Titi?”

“Yeah, sweetie. Sorry.”

“Do you think I could come in anyway?”

I nod.

She takes two steps forward into the room. “Mommy said you might be contagious.” She waits.

Right. And I should keep up that pretense. But I don’t. “I’m not going to get you sick, baby. I promise.”

The serious dark eyes study me. She walks the rest of the way in, stands next to the bed. She reaches out and touches my wrist. “You feel warm.”

I nod.

“I hope you get better soon, Titi.”

“Me, too, Els.” Each word is pain, like the Little Mermaid in the original fairy tale, when each step on her new human feet is like walking on the blades of knives. I, too, am being magicked to suffer.

“Do you want me to read to you?”

I blink in surprise and try not to let her see it in my face. “That would be nice.”