Not much is said in our pack anyway. Dad keeps it that way to maintain order. The practice is to push things away until they simply don’t exist anymore in our reality.
Now, if war rages outside our gates, it doesn’t matter. We’re fine. We stand together.
Everyone else is screwed.
Until today.
Another low shiver vibrates through me and when I glance at Grayson, he’s watching me, like he feels it too.
“This shaman would be able to tell you if this is truly a curse or not. Or if it’s something else. Gossip makes it seem like he’s the only guy alive right now who has a shot at combating the madness.”
“So, a miracle worker.” Bitterness isn’t a good look for anyone.
“Honey, if Grayson is infected, and he infected you through this bite?” Aimee jerks her chin toward my forearm. “You’d be showing signs already if you’d contracted it.”
I cradle my arm closer to my chest.
“Either way, the shaman is your guy, and consider us your messengers. The last we heard, he was in a town about ten hours away. He travels with some kind of festival or circus…I’m not sure. No one seems to agree on the details.” RJ scratches her head.
Grayson straightens. For a moment, the old Grayson is back, the person he must have been before the bite.
Then it’s gone in a blink and replaced with the exhausted, worried, sick version I’ve gotten used to seeing.
The night I found him changed everything for both of us. Our trajectories have diverted from whatever we thought we’d be.
I wonder if I’m the only one who accepts it.
“You have to look for the Vanishing Mile,” RJ is telling Grayson. “That’s where the shaman hangs. I have no idea what he looks like or what part he plays in the festival, but I do know their last day in Levalley is tomorrow. After that, who knows where they’ll pop up again.”
“The Vanishing Mile has no known schedule. They could appear across the country next time.” Aimee worries her lip.
“We need to borrow a car.” My palms are sweaty again and no amount of wiping them on my pants helps. “Ten hours isn’t too bad.”
“If we had a car, it would totally be yours,” RJ says.
She’s acting like this is No Big Deal. For me, for Grayson, it’s a Big Deal. If we don’t find this shaman…
If he doesn’t have a cure…
“We do know someone with a car you can borrow, though. So one problem can be solved at a time. As long as you don’t mind driving at night and sleeping during the day.”
Aimee windmills her arm toward the door to get us moving. I’m the last one out the door, my entire body weighed down like I’ve become the anchor. There’s no saving me from this drowning feeling. My lungs fill and push against my insides like there’s no room left.
The witches brought two vials of their not-quite-cure all. The one Grayson drank, and a second. The cork keeps the liquid safely trapped in the confines of glass.
I might not have the madness. Or maybe Aimee is wrong. They aren’t miracle workers, like they said, because those kinds of things only exist in TV and movies.
Am I really willing to take a chance that Grayson is fine, but I’m not?
That one night on our search the curse will take me down and I turn on him, but not the way I want to?
Their voices go distant, echoing down the hall, Grayson’s a low murmuring baritone.
And before I can talk myself out of it, I grab the vial, popping the cork and slugging it down in one swallow.
Thick liquid scalds my throat and lands heavily in the pit of my stomach. I blink, working the horrible acidic taste out of my mouth.
Here goes nothing.