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“Then, I’ll die.”
Dewey shook his head, his ears wiggling. “No. If it’s ineffective, we can rule out many beasts. There are only a handful of beast-inflicted wounds that do not react to this remedy. With any luck, we can narrow it down and apply the correct concoction.”
Paige puffed out her cheeks, blowing a burst of air from her lips. “Luck, ha! I’m not feeling very lucky at the moment. And history shows luck is rarely, if ever, on my side.”
Dewey patted her hand. “That’s the pain talking.”
Paige squeezed her eyes shut, groaning. “This pain is way worse than the stupid beast’s mark.”
Dewey grabbed a notebook from a table near the nest and jotted a note.
“What are you writing?” Paige asked.
“Pain is worse than the original wound. It may help us determine what type of beast did this to you. I’ll keep track of that along with the amount of healing, if any.”
Paige winced as she fidgeted.
“On a scale of one to ten, how bad–“
“Eleven,” Paige snapped, interrupting his question.
Dewey pulled his lips back in a frown, his fangs peeking through. He jotted a few more notes before he emphatically pounded the tip of the pen against the pad. “Okay. Let’s see if we can do something about this pain.”
“No,” Paige said, her eyes shooting open. She waved a hand in the air, another moan escaping her lips as she moved.
“No?”
“I don’t want any more of your brand of help. Look where the first attempt got me. How did you get me in here, by the way?”
“It wasn’t easy. But I dragged you in here after you passed out. I finished the treatment first, bandaged you up, and pulled you in here. I tried to set up the pillows to keep you flat.”
“Thanks,” Paige murmured.
“Now, like I said, let me see what I can do about the pain.”
“I’m not sure an over-the-counter is going to do anything, but I wouldn’t say no to trying.”
“Hmmm, well, sorry to say, I don’t have any over-the-counter pain relievers. Dragons can’t take acetaminophen or ibuprofen.”
Paige squashed her eyebrows together. “Really?”
“Yes, really, Paige.”
“Don’t you breathe fire and stuff? And you can’t take Tylenol?”
“Yes, I can breathe fire, and no, I can’t take Tylenol.”
Paige pressed her lips into a thin line. “Well, there’s a perfect example of my luck. I need a painkiller, and the dragon whose house I’m at doesn’t keep any because he can’t take it.”
Dewey waved a digit in the air. “I’ve got something else that might work.”
He rose from his perch and flew through the door toward the kitchen. Bowls banged against the counter, and pots and pans clanked.
Paige bit her lower lip as another swell of pain undulated through her back like a flood of burning water. She squeezed her fingernails into the bandage protecting her hand, suppressing a moan.
The pain seemed to be increasing with each moment. She hoped whatever remedy Dewey cooked up in the kitchen worked for her. She wasn’t certain she could withstand any more of the pain.
Utensils clanged around, and an odd smell wafted from the kitchen. She focused on her breath, trying to keep it shallow since deep breaths sent waves of pain and nausea through her body.
