Chapter 6 #2
My words have the intended effect and Principal Braggstone covers his mouth with his palm instantly, then takes a hasty step back. He leads us through the corridors to the school entrance, where at least twenty parents have assembled, their faces masks of worry and impatience.
A slender pixie man with lavender-colored wings, dark hair, and violet eyes steps forward from the crowd. He wears an expensive suit and carries himself with the confident authority of someone accustomed to being heard.
"Dr. Reizenhart, I presume?" He extends his hand. "Rylan Primrose. Millie's father. These parents have asked me to speak on their behalf."
I shake his hand briefly. "Mr. Primrose."
"What exactly is happening to our children?" he asks, his voice carrying to the anxious crowd behind him. "The school called about some kind of outbreak?"
"Your children are exhibiting symptoms consistent with Pixie-Pox." I step forward, addressing the assembled parents. "Pixie-Pox is a highly contagious viral infection. All ten children currently in quarantine exhibit the symptoms consistent with the disease."
A murmur runs through the crowd and a woman sobs audibly.
"Is it dangerous?" a gnome mother calls out, clutching her handbag.
"Pixie-Pox itself is rarely dangerous when properly managed," I explain. "Symptoms include uncontrollable laughter, luminescent freckles, spontaneous floating when experiencing positive emotions, and in pixies, temporary hair color changes."
"How do we treat it?" another parent demands.
"The disease must run its course, typically lasting seven to ten days. There is no specific treatment, though symptoms can be managed with proper care."
The parents exchange worried glances, and the murmur grows louder.
"How contagious is it?" Rylan Primrose asks.
"Extremely. We must assume all children who spent persistent contact with the affected children will also become sick. They will need to be quarantined for approximately two weeks."
"Two weeks?" A troll father's voice booms over the others. "You expect us to keep our children isolated for two weeks?"
"If we want to contain this outbreak, yes," I answer firmly. "The alternative is a community-wide epidemic."
The crowd grows restless, voices rising as parents begin talking over each other.
"My daughter has an important recital next week!"
"What about those of us with multiple children? Do we quarantine the whole family?"
"Can adults catch it, too?"
"I never had Pixie-Pox as a child. Am I at risk?"
I feel control of the situation slipping as the questions come faster than I can address them. This is not going the way I want it to go.
"Adults who never contracted Pixie-Pox in childhood can indeed become infected," I explain over the rising voices.
"In adults, symptoms often include persistent hiccups that cause temporary levitation, painfully itchy glowing rashes, and fits of inappropriate laughter that can last hours.
The condition is significantly more uncomfortable for adults than for children. "
This information only increases the parents' anxiety. Just as I'm about to snap at the crowd to be silent, Maeve steps forward.
"Everyone, please." Her voice, though not particularly loud, somehow cuts through the chaos. "I understand you're worried. I would be too. But please listen carefully, because what we do next matters."
The crowd quiets, all eyes turning to her.
"Pixie-Pox isn't dangerous, but it is disruptive," she continues. "Your children will be uncomfortable, giggly, and yes, occasionally floating around your living rooms. They'll need your patience and care."
She smiles, and somehow the tension in the room eases slightly.
"We're preparing detailed care packets for each of you, with information on managing symptoms and keeping your children comfortable. Yes, quarantine is necessary, but we'll help you through it."
A werewolf mother raises her hand. "My son has never been still for more than five minutes. How am I supposed to keep him isolated for two weeks?"
Maeve nods understandingly. "For active children, try creating a 'Pox Den' with pillows, books, and quiet activities. The laughing fits are exhausting, so they'll need more rest than usual. And remember, they'll be feeling very emotional. Extra hugs are good medicine."
The mother looks relieved, and other parents begin to nod. More questions come and Maeve handles them beautifully and honestly.
I watch in reluctant amazement as Maeve transforms the angry crowd into a cooperative community.
"Dr. Reizenhart and I will be working in concert throughout this situation," she finally states. "Between his medical expertise and my experience with the children, we'll get through this together."
She glances at me, and I find myself nodding in agreement, though we've made no such arrangement.
One by one, parents collect their glowing, giggling children along with Maeve's promise of care instructions. The atmosphere has shifted from panic to determined cooperation.
As the crowd thins, I notice an elderly pixie woman lingering near the back. Her silvery hair is arranged in an elegant chignon, and her violet eyes, identical to Millie's and Rylan's, study Maeve and me with calculating interest. I recognize her from Knitting Club.
"Aunt Evelyn, I've got Millie." Rylan approaches her. "We should get her home."
Evelyn Primrose. The notorious town gossip Mrs. Beckham warned me about. She smiles at her nephew but keeps her gaze fixed on Maeve and me.
"Of course, dear," she says, her voice musical like tiny bells. "I'm just observing our new doctor in action. Very impressive, working so seamlessly with our Maeve. Very natural, too."
Her smile lingers as her gaze goes from me to Maeve in succession before she finally follows her nephew. As the last parent leaves with their child, Maeve and I are left alone in the empty classroom. The sudden quiet feels almost unnatural after hours of manic giggling.
We both exhale simultaneously, the tension of the crisis temporarily subsiding. Maeve looks exhausted, her shoulders dropping slightly as she tucks another wayward curl behind her ear.
I have an inexplicable urge to reach out and pull it loose. I clench my hand into a fist instead.
"I apologize for my, um, inappropriate presentation the other day," I say stiffly. "I didn't consider the audience's developmental level."
Maeve looks up, surprise evident in her expression. Then she smiles, a genuine smile that transforms her entire face and does strange things to my internal organs. My vision starts to blur at the edges again, but I manage to fight it.
"Apology accepted, Dr. Reizenhart," she says, her voice warm. "Though I have to say, I think Tommy Fangsworth will eat his vegetables without complaint for years to come."
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, brief but genuine. Maeve looks as startled by it as I feel.
"Well, Doctor," she says after a moment, breaking the silence. "Looks like we're stuck with each other until this is over."
I think about the coming days. Working alongside this woman who irritates and fascinates me in equal measure. Who makes me feel things I have no interest in feeling. Who handled a roomful of panicked parents with more skill than a general in combat.
How am I to resist the True Mate bond now?
"Perfect," I mutter, the word dripping with sarcasm even as something else entirely flutters in my chest. “We’re stuck together, indeed.”