Chapter 6
Lorian
I drive toward Saltford Bay Elementary, careful to respect the speed limit but gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles are white against the black leather.
Maeve's voice on the phone still echoes in my ears, the sound of my name in her mouth.
I want to hear it again. I want to hear it as she moans with pleasure.
Alone in the car, I growl. This line of thinking is unacceptable.
No matter how hard I tried, the last two days have been plagued with visions of her, thoughts of her. I even dreamed of her. But I won’t let this affect my treatment of the children.
Maeve Callahan has no interest in me. She called me because she believes there is an outbreak at the school, not because she wants to see me again.
And it's my duty to focus on this outbreak and not on Maeve.
Pixie-Pox. Highly contagious. Potentially an epidemic, if not contained quickly.
I swerve into the school parking lot, park my car, and grab my medical bag from the passenger seat. As I stride toward the building, I catalog treatment options, quarantine protocols, and necessary medications.
I'm definitely not thinking about her.
The school corridors are eerily quiet as I follow the sound of high-pitched giggles. This isn't normal laughter. It has the manic, uncontrollable quality that confirms what Maeve already told me. The sound grows louder as I approach a classroom at the very end of a long hallway.
I pause at the doorway, momentarily arrested by the scene before me.
Maeve moves with surprising efficiency through what can only be described as chaos.
At least a dozen children occupy makeshift beds on the floor, their faces glowing with luminescent freckles.
Several float a few inches off their mats, giggling uncontrollably.
Two pixie girls drift near the ceiling, holding hands and spinning slowly.
And in the center of it all, Maeve. Her red curls have completely escaped whatever attempt she made to contain them.
They form a wild halo around her flushed face as she moves between patients, checking temperatures, offering reassurance, and occasionally grabbing a floating child by the ankle to gently pull them back toward the ground.
She hasn't noticed me yet. I allow myself three seconds to observe her.
I try to tell myself that it's strictly for professional assessment, but even I'm not about to believe a lie like that.
Her smile stretches those full lips and her summer dress hugs her breast before widening in an elegant swoosh around her knees.
That summer dress makes something wild and dark churn inside my gut. Something new. Or something I never knew was there in the first place.
I want to run my hands under the hem of that dress, run my fingers along that silky skin. Feel all that lush flesh give way under my touch.
As I watch her, it's like my vision reduces to a tunnel and the edges blur until all I can see is her. I know it's wrong, but I can't help it.
Then she finally glances up and sees me. Something electric passes between us. Her green eyes widen slightly before returning to normal.
And my own strange fascination is broken. It's broken, but I know what this means.
All the symptoms are there. All the signs are as clear as in a textbook. This is a sickness and its name is True Mate; its end result will be the loss of my sanity.
I have to be careful. The least amount of time I spend with her, the better. Before I cross a threshold I won't be able to walk back from.
On this resolution to have as little contact with Maeve as possible, I enter the quarantine classroom.
"Dr. Reizenhart." She straightens, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. "Thank you for coming so quickly."
"Maeve." How I love the sound of her name on my tongue. I step into the room, already surveying the patients. "How many cases do you have?"
"Ten so far. All showing classic symptoms. Uncontrollable laughter, luminescent freckles, and as you can see—" She gestures toward the ceiling where the pixie girls float. "Spontaneous levitation when experiencing positive emotions."
I set my bag on a nearby desk and pull out my stethoscope. "Patient zero?"
"Likely Millie Primrose." Maeve points to one of the floating pixie girls. "She presented first, followed quickly by Zinnia Sparkletoes. Both kindergarteners, both from the same class."
I nod, impressed despite myself at her clinical assessment. "Let's start with them."
Maeve calls up to the floating pixies. "Millie, sweetie, can you come down for a moment? Dr. Reizenhart needs to check you."
The smaller pixie girl with dark curls and violet eyes descends reluctantly, her iridescent wings fluttering as she giggles. "Is he the doctor who makes kids eat vegetables or they die?"
I'll never get rid of this, will I?
I groan as Maeve shoots me a look that's half-apologetic, half-accusatory.
"No, honey. Dr. Reizenhart is here to help you feel better."
The pixie child, Millie, floats down and lands next to Maeve. I notice the way she instinctively reaches for the nurse's hand, her small fingers wrapping around Maeve's. She's still giggling every few seconds and her face is covered in bright freckles that sparkle.
I crouch down to the child's level, noticing how her freckles pulse with light in time with her laughter. "I need to examine you, Millifred. Please remain still."
The child's giggles intensify, but she manages to stay relatively motionless as I check her temperature, examine her glowing freckles, and listen to her heart and lungs. Her pulse is slightly elevated, typical with Pixie-Pox, but her respiratory function seems normal.
"Have you been drinking and eating at all today?" I ask, shining a penlight into her eyes to check pupil response.
"Not since morning." Millie tries to answer seriously but dissolves into giggles again. "Every time I try, I start laughing."
I exchange a glance with Maeve and her grim expression confirms my own suspicion. Pixie-Pox is not inherently dangerous, but children suffering from severe cases often become dehydrated and weak due to the inability to eat and drink.
This will be a concern for all children affected. But first, we need to contain the outbreak.
"And have you visited anyone recently? Perhaps traveled outside Saltford Bay?"
Between fits of laughter, Millie explains that her father took her to visit her grandmother in Glimmerdale last weekend. That explains it. Glimmerdale had reported several cases of Pixie-Pox in the local newspaper.
"It's definitely Pixie-Pox." I stand, turning to Maeve. "The incubation period is typically seven days, which aligns with her visit to Glimmerdale. We need to identify and isolate all children who've had close contact with these initial cases."
Maeve nods. "I've already started a list. The school secretary is calling parents of all the symptomatic children as well as their contacts. We have ten cases so far, but almost a hundred contacts."
I want to groan, but I refrain. A hundred contacts is an almost unmanageable number of potential cases.
"Good." I move to examine the next child, Zinnia Sparkletoes, whose pink hair cycles through rainbow colors as she giggles.
For the next thirty minutes, Maeve and I work in tandem, examining each child and documenting symptoms. I notice how naturally she calms the children who become frightened, her voice dropping to a gentle murmur that somehow cuts through their hysteria.
"Your hair will return to normal once the laughing fits subside," I explain to a particularly worried boy whose head is currently a shocking lime green. "It's temporary."
"Everyone will return to normal soon," Maeve adds with a smile that seems to instantly relax the child. "Dr. Reizenhart is here to make sure you all get better quickly. Let's get your temperature now, okay?"
As we reach for the same thermometer, our hands brush. That same electric current shoots up my arm, and I pull back as if burned. Maeve's intake of breath tells me she felt it too.
Still, I don't say anything. Neither does she.
"The parents will need detailed care instructions," I say, focusing intently on my notes. "Pixie-Pox runs its course in seven to ten days, but proper home care is essential to prevent complications."
Maeve nods. "I'll prepare information packets."
"Good." I clear my throat. "The affected children will be contagious for approximately two weeks. With the incubation period being seven days, we have a chance of containing this before it causes too much damage. All we have to do is—"
The classroom door bangs open, interrupting me mid-sentence. Principal Braggstone fills the doorframe, his massive troll frame casting a shadow over half the room. I notice that he doesn't step into the room himself.
Scared of catching the disease, are you?
"The parents are here," he announces. "They are demanding answers. Some are quite upset."
"We should talk to them together." Maeve sighs, brushing hair from her face. "Present a united front."
I nod, gathering my notes. As we prepare to leave the classroom, Principal Braggstone steps closer to Maeve, lifting a hand to her shoulder, then pulling it away before it comes into contact.
"You're handling this beautifully, Maeve," he says, his tone dropping to what I assume he considers intimate. "I knew I could count on you."
Something hot and unwelcome flares in my chest as Maeve shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. Before I can analyze this reaction, I hear myself speaking.
"Nurse Callahan and I are currently exposed to the pathogens. I hope your vaccination is current for Pixie-Pox. Adult trolls with the disease have the most unpleasant symptoms. Usually, it's reduced to persistent flatulence but sometimes it can last up to a month of positively putrid odors."