Chapter 7
Maeve
I can feel his gaze on me, like a burning hand on my nape.
Still, I focus my entire attention on the pixie girl sitting in front of me on the examination table. The examination room in Saltford Bay's medical clinic feels different than it did when Dr. Wells owned it. The walls are sterile white and there is a lingering smell of antiseptic in the air.
I'll have to talk to him about that. This is not a room designed to make people feel at ease. This is a room designed to make them feel like targets.
"Look at her go," Rylan Primrose says beside me, his voice heavy with relief. His expensive suit looks as immaculate as always, but dark circles rim his eyes, and his normally vibrant lavender wings droop slightly behind him.
Millie Primrose's violet eyes light up as she takes another lick of the bright-blue ice pop I handed her just a few minutes ago.
I prepared the herbal remedy at my home just this morning.
The herbal scent wafts up, mingling with the antiseptic smell that seems to permeate every corner of Dr. Reizenhart's newly renovated space.
"One more bite, Millie," I coax, aware of Lorian's tall presence behind me, his gaze fixed on our young patient.
Millie's freckles still glow softly against her pale skin, but the manic giggling that plagued her yesterday has subsided to occasional chuckles.
Between licks of the ice pop, she stuffs a handful of animal crackers into her mouth with the enthusiasm only a five-year-old can muster for bland snacks.
I smile, watching Millie wolf down another handful of crackers.
"This is the first time she's eaten properly since this whole thing started." Rylan shakes his head, a faint smile on his lips. It's the first smile he gives us since stepping inside the room with his giggling daughter.
"The ice pops contain a mild herbal blend that temporarily suppresses the giggling reflex," I explain while retrieving a full bottle of the herbal concoction from my bag.
Rylan accepts it with a grateful sigh. "It won't cure Millie or make her heal faster, but it should help her eat and drink until her body fights the Pixie-Pox. "
"Whatever it is, it's working." Rylan runs a hand through his dark hair, identical to his daughter's. "I was up half the night trying to get her to drink something, anything. She just kept laughing and floating up to the ceiling."
"The ceiling in my bedroom has glow-in-the-dark stars." Millie looks up at me, her mouth ringed with blue. "I counted all forty-three of them when I was stuck up there."
I laugh and reach into my bag for a tissue. "That's quite impressive counting, sweetie."
"Ms. Grimsby says I'm very good at numbers," she says proudly, allowing me to wipe her face.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Lorian watching us. His tall figure is perfectly still, his expression unreadable as always. But something in the intensity of his gaze makes my skin prickle with awareness.
"Dr. Reizenhart!" Millie turns to him and chews enthusiastically. "Look, I can eat crackers now! No more laughing!"
Lorian smiles at the child and makes notes in his file, his movements precise and controlled.
"I see that, Millifred," he says, his voice formal but not unkind. "Your symptoms appear to be improving."
Today he wears a crisp white shirt under his white coat. The way his white coat fits his formidable shoulders makes my belly quiver and dance and I force my gaze away from him and back to Millie.
"Nurse Maeve's magic ice pop is wonderful," Millie explains, holding up the now half-eaten pop. "Now my dad can make some more ice pops at home for me."
"It's not magic," I correct gently. "Just herbs that help calm your tummy so you can eat without laughing."
Lorian's eyebrow rises slightly. He nods, and I can practically see the thoughts churning behind those ice-blue eyes. Skepticism, curiosity, maybe even a grudging respect?
"Mr. Primrose," he says, his voice softer than I've heard it before, "Millie is cleared to go home now. The symptoms should peak within three days, then gradually subside." He pauses, then adds, "Don't hesitate to bring her back if you have any concerns."
I blink at this unexpected display of caring. It's not exactly warm and fuzzy, but for Lorian, it's practically a hug.
We all walk out of the examination room together, Millie skipping ahead despite her father's gentle reminders to stay close, her occasional giggles causing her to float a few inches off the ground before settling back down.
Lorian leads the way with his long, purposeful strides, while Rylan and I follow behind as Millie bounces between us like a glowing, giggling balloon.
Just as they are about to leave, Millie turns around and runs back to me.
"I made this for you," she says, pressing a folded piece of paper into my hand. Her small fingers glow faintly against mine as she passes it over. "It's a gift for you and Dr. Elf."
I unfold the drawing to find a colorful depiction of what appears to be me, recognizable by a wild red scribble of hair, standing next to a very tall, stern-looking figure with pointed ears.
Between us is a small pixie girl floating above the ground, surrounded by yellow lines I assume represent her glowing freckles.
"This is beautiful, Millie," I say, genuinely touched. "Thank you."
I turn toward the wall where children's artwork used to hang. Dr. Wells' patients had covered it with colorful drawings over the years. Now it's freshly painted stark white, like everything else in Lorian's clinic. No decorations, no plants, no personality. Just clean, sterile, and impersonal.
We'll see about that, you grumpy elf! I think in a flash of defiance.
"This drawing deserves to be seen," I declare, holding up Millie's artwork with deliberate provocation.
Lorian opens his mouth, likely to object, but I don't give him the chance. I pull a roll of tape from the reception desk, walk straight to the wall, and affix Millie's drawing right in the center of his pristine white wall.
The bright colors stand out like a flower blooming in snow. I step back, satisfied with my small rebellion.
Lorian's jaw tightens, but he says nothing.
Millie giggles, a real laugh, not the symptom-induced kind, and turns to her father.
"Can we go home now, Daddy? I want to show Aunt Evelyn my glowing spots."
"Yes, sweetheart." Rylan nods, holding the bottle of my herbal remedy close to his chest. "Thank you, Nurse Callahan. Dr. Reizenhart."
He shakes Lorian's hand formally, then turns to me with a warm smile.
"Those ice pops are miraculous. The other parents will be thrilled. Assuming you're okay with me telling them about it?"
"Happy to help," I say, walking them to the door. "I'll bring more bottles to school tomorrow. As for the ice pops, give her one before every meal and she should be able to eat and drink normally."
After they leave, I turn back to find Lorian still staring at the drawing on his wall. Mrs. Beckham, the clinic receptionist, watches us with undisguised curiosity from behind her desk.
It's now or never, I tell myself. Still, there's a quiver in my belly as I look at him.
"Dr. Reizenhart," I say, keeping my voice professional despite the pounding in my chest. "Could I speak with you? Privately."
He hesitates for a moment, then nods. "My office."
I follow him through the clinic, down a long hallway that has undergone the same clinical transformation as the waiting area. Gone are the colorful posters and lighthearted messages Dr. Wells preferred. In their place is efficient, sterile minimalism.
When we reach his office at the back of the clinic, Lorian holds the door open for me, his arm extended in a formal gesture. I slip past him, acutely aware of his proximity.
His office is exactly what I expected. Immaculate desk with precisely arranged pens and a sleek computer.
Medical textbooks organized by subject on bookshelves.
Large windows overlooking the town square, though the blinds are partially drawn, casting the room in muted light.
Nothing personal, nothing to reveal anything about the man behind the doctor.
"What have you found?" he asks, moving behind his desk but remaining standing.
"Bernice Banesman gave me this book. Her mother used to be a healer, before the Rift merged our worlds and Others came to live with humans.
" I pull a worn leather-bound book from my bag and place it on his desk.
It's a handwritten medical text adorned with drawings of herbs and phases of the moon.
“She says that when she was a little girl, Pixie-Pox was a common ailment and outbreaks were frequent.”
"A textbook from before the Rift?" Lorian's expression shifts from polite interest to genuine curiosity.
He leans forward slightly to examine the book's cover.
"The herbal ice pops I made for Millie came from this recipe here," I explain, opening to a marked page. "But there's more. According to this text, there's an herbal tonic that can potentially stop the outbreak entirely, preventing any new cases from popping up."
"Folk medicine," he says, but without the dismissal I expected. Instead, he sounds thoughtful. "Old folk medicine."
"Old folk medicine that works," I counter, tapping the page. "The ice pops have already helped four of the ten children eat and drink so far, which was our most immediate concern."
Lorian circles around his desk to stand beside me, leaning in to examine the text more closely. The scent of him, something crisp and subtle with notes of cedar, fills my senses as he moves closer. My heartbeat quickens, and I force myself to focus on the book.
"This tonic," I continue, pointing to a list of ingredients, "contains elderberry, thyme, and several other herbs that I know how to obtain. It’s worth a try."
"Interesting," Lorian murmurs, his breath warm against my hair as he leans in. "Traditional Orc healing practices were revered before the Rift. It’s too bad they were largely forgotten."