Wolf Worm

Of the next days, I remember little. I alternately froze and burned, wracked with shuddering that felt as if it would shake apart my bones. Those—and the bitterness of quinine sliding over my tongue—were the only things that I brought with me back to consciousness.

When I finally woke for good, I was looking up at familiar tin tiles with dragonflies on them. There was a weight on my ankles that began, almost immediately, to purr.

“Awake, are you?” asked a familiar voice. I turned my head on the pillow and saw Ma Kersey sitting by my bedside. “Going to stay awake this time, do you think?”

“I don’t know,” I croaked. My throat felt as dry and tattered as an autumn leaf.