Chapter Fifteen

Fiona

I should not have beensurprised when I returned home from Josef's to find three pairs of eyes looking anxiously at me. The women were sitting on the sofa, opposite a very red-faced Mrs. Jenkens. The first woman was thin and pale and had a dry, painful cough. The second had a moon face with splotchy cheeks, dark circles under her eyes, two chins, and thinning hair. The final woman was a pretty young brunette in perfect health, other than her heart, which twisted and ached with worry. She held a small blond boy against her bosom. He looked up at her with vacant blue eyes, a trail of drool hanging from his chin.

Mrs. Jenkens stood, her gaze darting anxiously about the room. "Oh, Fiona, how nice of you to join us." She kept her gaze centered on something beyond my shoulder, no doubt too ashamed to look me in the eye. "May I introduce Mrs. Oliver, Mrs. Moody, and the young widow McClendon?"

I didn't bother acknowledging the women, keeping my gaze focused on Mrs. Jenkens's flushed face. "What is this?" I growled.

Mrs. Jenkens wrung her hands together. "I'm so sorry. I trusted Agnes. She has only told these three and she swears not to tell anyone else."

'Twas a lie. I could feel it in the marrow of my bones. Mrs. Jenkens, not Agnes Alderman, had divulged my secret.

"And what of these three?" I waved a dismissive hand at the women. "Who will they tell?"

The young widow McClendon abruptly stood, clutching her boy to her chest as she wedged between Mrs. Jenkens and me. "Miss Fiona, forgive my intrusion. This is my little lad, Ian." Her bottom lip trembled as she nodded at the child. His arms were bent at awkward angles, his wrists twisted as they pressed against his chest, and his spine bowed inward, as if all his tendons were tied up by invisible bonds.

I couldn't help but take pity on the boy, who looked no more than three years old, for I sensed great chaos within his mind, a vortex of confusion and pain that had robbed him of all reason and ability.

"It has been two months since fever took hold of him," she continued, though her voice cracked and splintered like broken glass. "The same fever killed my husband and our infant daughter. I earn my living ironing clothes, and when I'm not ironing, I must feed Ian through a bottle. Dr. Straw said I should let him die." A tear slipped down her cheek as she kissed the boy's brow. "Ian is all the family I have left. I canna pay you, but I would iron your clothes for a lifetime if you'd be so kind as to give me back my son." She ended on a choked sob.

The young woman's heartache was so keen, my chest tightened and my breaths came in shallow gasps. No good can come from helping mortals, a familiar voice echoed in my mind. 'Twas my mother's voice, and though I suspected the late dragon queen had been right, I couldn't deny the mother and child now that I had shared in their suffering.

I heaved a sigh of defeat. "I will heal him." I nodded to the expectant women sitting at the edge of their seats. "I will heal all your ailments, but you must promise me you will tell no one of this. If word gets out, they will mark me as a witch, and I am not." I gave them each hard stares before bearing down on Mrs. Jenkens with a fierce scowl. "Do you all understand?"

They eagerly nodded like trained animals, Mrs. Jenkens hardest of them all.

Though I spoke to the group, my gaze was still on Mrs. Jenkens. "Do I have your word you will not tell another soul?"

"Cross our hearts." Mrs. Jenkens made a sign of the cross on her chest and the others followed.

I believed everyone but Mrs. Jenkens, who still averted her gaze when pressed with my hard stare. Mrs. Jenkens could not be trusted, but I had no choice other than to move forward. I prayed the foolish old woman would not bring a mob to our door.

* * *

Safina

AFTER ABBY AND I RETURNEDhome, Mrs. Jenkens shooed us out of the parlor and told us to wait in the kitchen. I had no idea what Mother and Mrs. Jenkens were doing, but judging by the laughter and crying coming from beyond the walls, I knew my mother was healing more mortals.

Abby seemed unconcerned by whatever was going on. She mumbled something about getting out of church as she set a basket of eggs on the table. She quickly slipped out the back door without so much as a goodbye, leaving me alone with Moses.

The old servant smelled strongly of lemon and vinegar after cleaning the floors, and he had a tiredness in his eyes that made me feel bad for hoarding the burritos. He looked more fatigued, the weave of his clothes less fine than his brother's, and I realized he'd probably rather work in a fine house like Charlotte's. Yet, he worked here, kindly helping me learn how to use a fork and tie my shoes while baking molasses cookies and scrubbing floors without complaint.

I reluctantly gave him two burritos, then devoured the other two before finishing two tall glasses of milk. More noise could be heard from the parlor, and yet Mother made no effort to come get me. I looked out the kitchen window. A child giggled as he raced across the beach holding a kite string. Several women in fancy hats and frilly tops strolled by, some arm-in-arm with men in pressed suits and tall, black hats. A church bell rang in the distance, and the pedestrians quickened their pace.

I was curious, for there were so many Galveston sights I'd yet to explore. As soon as Moses turned his back on me, I, too, slipped quietly out the back door. I had no idea where I was going, but anywhere was better than being trapped in a stuffy room.

* * *

Dr. Straw

DR. CHARLES STRAW STAREDat his reflection in the full-length mirror of Mrs. Alderman's front parlor. He adjusted his beaver hat to no avail. The confounded thing tilted askew at the slightest provocation. Dr. Straw cringed and gripped the head of his cane the moment he heard the old bat's shrill voice echo somewhere upstairs as she scolded one of her many housekeepers.

What Charles wouldn't give for a French maid of his own. He could certainly think of a few ways to put her to good use. If only he had a fraction of Mrs. Alderman's wealth. Like all the residents on Broadway Street, Mrs. Alderman had money—loads of it. So much in fact, she was willing to part with ten dollars each week for Dr. Straw's futile medical care.

Truthfully speaking, the elixir he gave her to soothe her aching bones was nothing more than water, sugar and hair tonic. But Mrs. Alderman need not know that. No mere drug could cure the rheumatism in the old cow's bones. What she needed was to lose fifty pounds, but there was no possibility of Dr. Straw telling her that. Women were so sensitive about their weight. And as long as she was willing to pay him every week to dispense two tablespoons of his wonder drug, she could continue eating her apple tarts and sponge cake.

He winced again as he heard her heavy steps coming down the staircase. He stole one last glance at his reflection in the mirror, smiling at his dashing appearance. Though his hat was crooked again, his necktie and cuffs were impeccably pressed, and his thin black mustache had been trimmed and well oiled.

Despite his advancing age, which was much older than he'd ever admit, Dr. Charles Straw thought he was one of the most handsome bachelors in all of Galveston. His matronly patients thought so as well, which was probably why he was able to charge them double the going rate for his medical care. If only he could so easily charm his debtors.

"Dr. Straw! How kind of you to call."

The old hag's booming voice nearly threw him off balance, but he quickly regained his composure and tilted his chin in a regal manner as he pasted on his practiced smile.

"Of course, Madame. I could not bear to stay away from my favorite patient too long."

Mrs. Alderman waved a delicate fan made of a silk—too fine a quality for the likes of her—in front of her beet red face. "Oh, doctor, you make this old woman blush," she cooed, playfully swatting his arm.

He resisted the urge to jerk back and forced himself to kiss her pudgy hand. That damn beaver hat nearly fell off his head. The foolish French maid should have taken his hat and cane when she'd first admitted him into Mrs. Alderman's parlor.

He slowly rose and looked into the old woman's droopy brown eyes. "I admit I find pleasure in seeing a little color in your cheeks. Your fair complexion is made all the more stunning."

Lies upon lies. Mrs. Alderman was a sallow, bloated sausage. When her fat cheeks colored, it only drew more attention to her ugly face. But Dr. Straw was a masterful liar, so much so, he considered his skill somewhat of an art form.

"Oh, doctor, you have been so wonderfully kind to me these past years." Her blush deepened, spreading like wildfire to her billowing breasts. "How I have so enjoyed our visits." She cleared her throat before averting her gaze to the finely woven carpet beneath her feet. "But I'm afraid I will no longer need your services."

Dr. Straw blinked, his jaw nearly dropping, but he was quick enough not to lose face—something he'd learned many years ago in the gaming room. "I'm begging your pardon."

The woman's dull eyes lit up like Fourth of July fireworks. "My legs no longer pain me. Look at me, doctor. I could dance a jig if I wanted to. Isn't it a miracle?"

She lifted the hem of her skirts, and much to Dr. Straw's chagrin, tapped out an awkward rhythm.

"Indeed." He held out a staying hand, hoping the woman would lower her skirts and shield his eyes from those swollen ankles. "My elixir must finally be working. All the more reason to continue my treatment."

The woman dropped her hands to her sides and let out a burst of laughter that sounded too much like the squeal of a frightened hog. "Oh, dear Dr. Straw. Your elixir was, well, I hate to hurt your feelings, but I don't know if it ever did any good at all. You have always been such a kind doctor, and such nice company, but—"

"Who is he?" he spat, unable to withstand another moment of the woman's nonsensical babbling.

Her eyes widened, and she looked at him with a gaping maw, as if she'd just discovered someone had eaten the last strawberry scone. "Who is what?"

He cleared his throat, and maintaining an even tone, spoke through a clenched jaw. "Your new doctor. Who is he?"

Mrs. Alderman stepped back and shook her head, the flesh on her flabby face rippling with the movement. "I'm sorry but I promised to keep her name a secret."

"Her?" He arched a brow and took a step forward. "So you trust your care to a woman and not a man of science?"

Mrs. Alderman had the nerve to pinch her lips together. "Perhaps you have not heard me, Dr. Straw. My legs are healed." She stomped a heavy foot as if for emphasis.

Dr. Straw was not to be deterred. "What kind of snake oil did she give you?"

"She used no medicine." Mrs. Alderman crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. "She healed me with her touch."

Dr. Straw knew he was gawking, but as far as he was concerned, all bets were off. The woman was playing him for a fool. "Impossible."

Mrs. Alderman harrumphed before turning up her nose. "Impossible you say, yet here I stand without a smidgen of pain in my bones, something you could not do in two years of treatment. And to be honest, Dr. Straw, I hated the taste of your medicine. It smelled like my husband's hair tonic."

Dr. Straw turned on his heel and marched out of Mrs. Alderman's parlor without a backward glance. Healed me with her touch, she'd said. I promised to keep her name a secret, she'd babbled. But that stupid cow hadn't counted on his cunning or impeccable memory, for he already had an image of Mrs. Alderman's magical healer in his mind. How could he forget the soft curve of her body beneath the muslin dress that clung to her like a second skin? Or those lush full lips and that thick mass of flame-colored hair?

The foolish Jenkens girl had said nearly the same thing, that the woman had healed her with her touch. Dr. Straw was too intelligent by far to believe such wild tales of magical healers. But the woman had used something, perhaps some sort of drug or medical instrument.

Whatever her cure, it was bad news for Dr. Straw. He counted on the extra income he made from house calls to pay for his gaming, booze, and whores. Mrs. Alderman was an influential member of the upper crust. If word got around that she had been cured, he would lose the rest of his patients to this charlatan.

No, he could not let that happen. Dr. Straw considered himself a practical businessman. He had grown too complacent with his patients over the past few years, and he realized the only way to keep his remaining clients was to start curing a few of them. But how? What methods had this woman used to heal her patients? It was then Dr. Straw realized he must use any means necessary, whether it be deception, coercion, or force, to discover this woman's secrets.

* * *

Safina

I SPENT MOST OF THEday admiring the fancy houses on Broadway and feasting on peaches hanging from neighboring trees. By the time I'd reached the last of the gilded homes, my belly was sated, and I was fully in love with my new island home. I finally saw the locomotive Gabriel had talked about, a big metal beast that billowed black smoke and made all kinds of grinding noises. The people sitting inside reminded me of animals in a pen. I'd much rather fly than travel in the belly of that metal monster. After the sun had drifted toward the western horizon, I decided it was time to head back. I'd never hear the end of my mother's chiding if I was discovered wandering Galveston alone.

Though I knew not where I was, I could always find my mother by letting my instinct lead the way. If I concentrated hard enough, my dragon senses could feel the invisible tether that pulled me to the safety of the dragon queen's bosom. My feet became sore and hot as I navigated bustling sidewalks and busy streets.

The only thing I loathed in this new world was the restrictive clothes, accompanied by the relentless, sweltering heat. How I looked forward to the evening when the sun dipped beneath the horizon and the breeze blew across my nape. I thought of Gabriel and his promise to read to me at the beach. Perhaps I'd strip off my confining boots and sit in the sand. I imagined looking up at him, his bronze skin aglow as the waning sun shone behind his angelic face like a halo.

I reached into my pocket and fingered the smooth material of the handkerchief he'd given me. The memento from him brought a smile to my face, a reminder of our friendship, for he was the only mortal friend I'd ever had who knew me for what I was and still liked me. Thoughts of Gabriel's sideways smile made my heart pump an erratic rhythm, and I nearly lost my footing as I climbed over an empty box. I'd somehow found myself in a narrow alleyway stuffed full of crates at one end and an old, mule-driven cart at the other. Raucous laughter and strange music filtered into the alley from the windows overhead. The place reeked of sweat and rotten brew, and as I approached the cart overflowing with empty bottles, I knew why.

I held my breath and walked sideways past the cart, sucking in my full gut as I pressed against the wall behind me. Perhaps I shouldn't have come this way. The old mule appeared to be on his last legs: his eyes were hazed over with what looked like pools of ice, and his ears didn't even twitch in recognition when I patted his side. I rubbed my throbbing fingers down my frock, not sure if they itched because my healing flames had been awakened, or the dust from the animal's hide irritated my skin. I couldn't heal him, though. He was far bigger than a little bird, and I feared I'd get caught out in the open. Though my heart clenched at the thought of leaving him like this, I breathed a sigh of relief after I walked around him, for he smelled like rotting entrails. As I spied the bustle of a busy street up ahead, I reminded myself never to take this way again.

I gasped when a hand grabbed my elbow, spinning me around.

A tall man with a thin, oily mustache and a crooked hat pointed at me. "You!" His mouth turned up in a feral snarl. "You look just like the healer. Tell me." He jabbed my shoulder. "Are you her sister?"

I stepped back, jerking free of his grip and fanning my face in disgust as I tried not to breathe in his stale breath. "I'm her daughter. Who are you?"

He jutted a foot forward. "I'm the one asking the questions. How old are you? Sixteen? Seventeen?"

I was thrown off guard, for I'd truly no idea how old I was. Mother had said we'd been sleeping for about five hundred years, but neither of us looked that old. "I'm not sure."

His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, you're not sure?"

I stifled a curse. If I had been a mortal, I would have known my age. I stepped back, holding up my hands in a defensive gesture. "I'm afraid I've said enough."

He lurched forward, clasping my wrist in a tight grip. "No, you haven't. Not nearly enough." His beady orbs darkened with malice. "What elixir does your mother use to heal her patients?"

I tried to shake off his hand, but he dug his claws in tighter. For the first time since coming to this new world, I was afraid of a man, not just because of what he could do to my weak mortal body, but what I could do to him if he didn't let me go.

"I-I don't know," I stammered, unable to quell the trembling in my limbs.

"You're lying," he growled, hovering over me like a predator ready to devour his prey.

I tried again to shake him off, but the more I fought, the more he dug his nails into my flesh.

"You're hurting me!"

He jerked me to him, until my chest was flush with his and his hot breath made my stomach roil.

"I've always fancied redheads," he cooed, a malicious whisper against my cheek. "You have a fire in your eyes. A bit young for my liking, but how I'd love to tame you."

I had had about enough. Though I was naive in the ways of men, I suspected he was thinking of foul deeds.

I reared back and slapped him hard across the face, the sound of my palm striking his skin ricocheting off the alley walls.

"Let go of me, or you'll regret it," I spat, struggling to break free.

He squeezed my wrist so tight, I feared it would snap. "Child, you don't know the meaning of regret." He rubbed his reddening cheek and smiled, but it was not a friendly smile. No, it was one that promised cruel punishment.

"Good day, Dr. Straw."

At the sound of a booming voice behind us, he released his hold.

I spun around and stepped away from my captor, whom I now knew by name: Dr. Straw. I archived his name in my memory, for I feared I'd come across him again. I thanked my lucky spirits the stranger had shown up in time. He was standing at the edge of the alley, his back to the bustle of the crowded street. He was tall, like Dr. Straw, but with broader shoulders and a full beard. I sensed a kindness in his warm, brown eyes, unlike Dr. Straw's serpentine stare.

Dr. Straw straightened his hat and put on an air of superiority. "Good day, Mr. Moody." He puffed up his chest like a rooster. "How is your dear wife?"

Mr. Moody ran his fingers through his hair, a look of bewilderment in his features. "You won't believe this, but she's recovered."

Dr. Straw arched a brow. "Recovered?"

"Yes!" Mr. Moody's excitement was palpable. "She's discovered a new healer. I'm out to spread the word." He looked from me back to Dr. Straw. "And what are you up to this fine day?" he said with a note of accusation in his voice.

Dr. Straw nodded at me with a frozen smile. "Just helping this child find her way home."

I rubbed my sore wrist. "I can find my own way, thank you."

Mr. Moody loudly cleared his throat and held a hand out to me. "I can escort you, my dear."

I smiled, breathing a sigh of relief. Just as I took a step toward Mr. Moody, Dr. Straw grabbed my arm again, jerking me against him.

"Tell your mother I will be calling on her soon. Very soon." His whisper was a promise of malice, a serpent's hiss in my ear.

I forced myself to maintain a smile while speaking under my breath. "We're not afraid of you."

"You should be," he growled before releasing me, giving my bottom a hard shove.

I gasped, not used to such rough treatment. Oh, the fool was lucky I didn't expose my true powers. But how I wished I could transform and snap him in two. It took all my willpower not to shift into my dragon form.

Only when I had my arm safely locked in Mr. Moody's did I turn to glare at Dr. Straw, but he'd already slunk back into the shadows, no doubt so he could plan retribution. I feared he'd make good on his promise to call on my mother soon. The doctor was angry with Mother for curing his patients. What would he do to her when he called? Would he threaten her? Or would he already be leading a mob?