Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“Hibiscus, mostly. But there are other herbs in here too.”
“Hmm.” It sounds familiar, so even though I think what I already have will work, I begin to consider this alternative.
“This little concoction will bring that fever down, no problem. And it’s all natural. No pesticides, no GMO seeds… we grow everything here in our greenhouse.”
“Oh. OK. Does it cost—”
“No. It’s free. Let me measure it out for you. In fact, let me put it in a tea bag to make it easier to use.”
“Cool. Thank you. I really appreciate this.”
“I’ll be right back.” She shoots me that well-practiced smile again, then disappears behind a doorway covered by a curtain.
She’s nice. This whole pantry is nice. In fact, the entire town is quite picturesque. What with the mountains, and the trees, and the snow.
But there’s something off about it, too. I can’t put my finger on it. Well, I sorta can. No grocery store? No restaurants? You’d think, if it’s a tourist place—and those vacation-rental cabins kind of imply that it is—they’d have at least two restaurants. And some shops. But there are no shops. Not even ones that are closed for the season.
And no doctor?
It’s rural. I get that. But this place is like… wild. Is there even a police station? I didn’t see one. But I did see a gun store. That I remember. It’s right next to the hardware store.
The woman appears again. This time she’s holding a small brown paper bag that is folded over and stapled together at the top. “Here you go. There’s enough for two doses. One for him and one for you. The instructions are inside.”
“Oh, I don’t need any. I’m not sick.”
“If he’s contagious, and the chances are high that he is, then you could be sick by tonight. So”—another one of those smiles—“it’s better to be proactive.”
And… I dunno. Maybe this is a mistake. Something about her is creepy. But I just want to get out of here now, so I take the bag, and in that same instant, she removes the package of Mucinex from my other hand.
“You can’t mix them.”
“What? Why not?”
“Drug interactions.”
“What are you, a pharmacist?”
“No.” She laughs again. “I’m a certified herbal healer. I grew up here. The greenhouse I mentioned? My family has been growing herbs in there for over a hundred years.”
“Ah. So you’re the doctor.”
This time her smile is different. Not the wide, fake, practiced one. But a smaller, more genuine one. She’s not lying. Not about this, anyway. She might be young, but she really is the local healer. Kind of a contradictory profession, given that witches use this kind of stuff and she’s standing in a Christian church. But whatever. I’m ready to go.
“If you need it”—she holds up the package of Mucinex—"if he’s not better by tomorrow, then come back. It should be safe to take it then.”
“Tomorrow? You think it’ll run its course that fast?”
She points to the little paper bag in my hand. “It works. Trust me.”
I nod. “OK. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s no problem. And no pressure, but if you do come by tomorrow, and it’s noon, you can meet everyone in town.”
“For church, you mean.” I don’t mean to curl my lip, but it happens.
The well-practiced smile is back. “No pressure.”
I hold up the bag, say, “Thank you,” one more time, and make my escape.
Back in my truck, I suddenly feel conflicted.
I really want to go to my apartment to shower and change. I barely remember it. I was only there for a few hours after I pulled into town and I spent most of that time sleeping.
And now I’m taking care of a man. A stranger I had all-night sex with, who is now sick as a dog, and might have some connection to the vampire who wants to feed off me for the rest of my life.
What I should really do is leave this place, drive sixty-seven miles in any direction, call Zusi, tell her the whole story, and find the closest Guild Lounge to crash out in until they can come get me.
But if I do that, I lose him.
Just as I think these words, I look down at the dashboard clock and see that it reads 11:11.
And… that’s not even possible. It was 11:11 at Ryet’s cottage.
I fuck with the clock controls, because this is bugging me. Like what the hell, ya know? 11:11. My new beginning.
Is someone fucking with me? Is this magic? What’s going on?
Luckily, my rational mind takes over and I realize that it’s not magic or fuckery, just some Daylight Savings Time thing.
But what are the chances that I’d look at a clock twice in the same morning and see the same time?
I look over my shoulder, feeling watched, and scan the town from the church parking lot exit. I can see most of it. A few trucks are parked at the gas station. There’s another truck in front of the gun shop. And a man is coming out of the hardware store.