Chapter 14
Lorian
The vials of tonic clink softly against each other as I lift the first box from my trunk. Each one has been meticulously labeled by Mrs. Beckham, her precise handwriting listing all the ingredients contained in the tonic.
Morning sunlight glints off the dark glass bottles as I survey the elementary school parking lot.
Parents cluster near the entrance, their children's hands clasped tightly in their own.
Several pairs of eyes turn toward me, some curious, others wary.
A mother pulls her son closer as I approach, whispering something that makes the child's eyes widen.
A memory flashes unbidden, palace corridors, parents drawing their children away, whispers following in my wake after the duke’s son died. I swallow hard and push the thought away.
Focus on the present, I tell myself. On the tonic. On the children who need it.
On Maeve.
Her name in my mind brings warmth spreading through my chest. Last night replays in snippets of sensation, her soft curves pressed against me, red curls splayed across my pillow, the taste of her skin, the moment our bodies joined and something profound clicked into place between us. My True Mate.
I straighten my tie with my free hand and smooth my hair, dislodging a speck of glitter that catches the sunlight as it falls. Despite my thorough showering this morning, the pink sparkles seem determined to stay.
The thought brings an unfamiliar upward tug at the corners of my mouth.
"Lorian!"
Maeve appears in the doorway, her bright-red curls bouncing as she hurries down the steps toward me.
My pulse quickens at the sight of her. She wears a simple green sweater that brings out her eyes, paired with a flowing skirt splashed with tiny illustrations of wildflowers.
Her cheeks flush pink when our eyes meet.
"Let me help you with those," she offers, reaching for one of the boxes.
"They're quite heavy," I protest, but she's already lifting one from my arms.
"I'm stronger than I look," she counters with a wink that sends heat rushing to my face.
As she turns to lead the way inside, I notice a small patch of pink glitter decorating the nape of her neck, just below her hairline. The sight of it there, hidden from everyone but me, sends a surge of possessive satisfaction through me.
I’m the one who put it there, kissing her soft skin.
The school's interior is a riot of color and sound compared to my clinic.
Children's artworks line the hallways, construction paper creations depicting everything from families to fantastical creatures.
Posters about kindness and learning adorn the walls between classroom doors.
The scents of chalk dust, disinfectant, and children's snacks mingle in the air.
"We've set up in the gymnasium," Maeve explains as we navigate the corridors. "Principal Braggstone thought it would be more efficient to bring the children through in class groups rather than having them come to my office individually."
I nod. "A sensible approach. We'll need to document each dose administered."
"Already prepared clipboards for that," she says with a proud smile. "They're waiting at our station."
Our station. The phrase sounds intimate somehow, despite its clinical context.
We approach the gymnasium doors, and the sound of many voices grows louder. Maeve pauses before we enter, turning to face me.
"Lorian," she says softly, her green eyes meeting mine. "About last night…"
"I have no regrets," I tell her immediately, my voice low but firm. “Never will.”
Her face softens. "Neither do I. Not a single one."
She reaches up and brushes something from behind my ear. "Missed a spot," she whispers, showing me a pink sparkle on her fingertip. The simple touch sends electricity through me.
Before I can respond, the gymnasium doors swing open, and Principal Braggstone's massive frame fills the doorway. His gray-green skin looks particularly sallow under the fluorescent lights.
"Ah, Dr. Reizenhart. Finally," he booms, his voice carrying across the crowded gym. "Parents and children are ready for you."
His eyes flick between Maeve and me, narrowing slightly. "We have a lot of children to see. We should start right away. No time for chitchat."
Maeve's shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly. "Dr. Reizenhart and I have prepared enough tonic for every child in the school," she says, her professional smile firmly in place.
"Excellent, excellent," Braggstone says, clapping his huge hands together once. "Let's not keep everyone waiting, shall we?"
He gestures us into the gymnasium with exaggerated formality. As I pass him, he leans slightly closer than necessary. "Remember our discussion, Doctor," he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear.
I pretend I don’t hear him. Maeve is my True Mate. I have no fear of him. Braggstone can do whatever he wants, so long as he doesn’t lay a finger on Maeve.
The gymnasium has been transformed into a makeshift distribution center. Folding tables line one wall, with chairs arranged in waiting areas. Parents and children form queues, some sitting, others standing in small clusters. Teachers move between groups, maintaining order with gentle redirections.
Maeve leads me to a table at the far end, already set up with empty cups, tissues, and clipboards. I arrange the vials in perfect rows, ensuring the labels face outward for easy identification. The dark liquid inside looks exactly like what it is. Bitter medicine with no concession to palatability.
"First group approaching," Maeve warns quietly.
I straighten up as a small human boy in a superhero t-shirt approaches with his mother. His face is scattered with freckles, ordinary ones, not the glowing variety that indicates full-blown Pixie-Pox, and his expression is openly curious as he looks at our array of vials.
"Good morning," I greet them with what I hope is a warm smile.
I measure the dark liquid precisely into a small cup and hold it out to the child, then look at the mother. "This will prevent any Pixie-Pox infection for the next two weeks."
The boy leans forward and takes a cautious sniff. His face contorts dramatically, and he recoils as if struck.
"Ew! It smells like troll farts!"
The blunt assessment echoes in the sudden silence that falls over our corner of the gymnasium. My cheeks warm at the child's outburst.
"Young man," I begin stiffly, "medicinal efficacy is more important than—"
"I'm not drinking that!" the boy declares, crossing his arms firmly over his chest. "It's gross!"
His mother looks apologetically at me, then at the tonic.
"Maybe if it was sweetened a little? Or flavored?"
"Altering the formula could potentially reduce its effectiveness," I explain, attempting to maintain my professional demeanor. "The unpleasant taste is a small price to pay for preventing weeks of illness."
The boy's lower lip begins to tremble. "I don't care! I won't drink it!"
From the corner of my eye, I see Principal Braggstone watching the scene unfold, a barely concealed smirk on his face. Other parents shift uncomfortably, exchanging glances. A young girl in line behind the boy now stares at the vials with growing alarm.
"The tonic is not mandatory," I find myself saying. "However, without it, the risk of contracting Pixie-Pox increases significantly."
"Come on, buddy," the mother coaxes her son. "Just take it quick."
The boy clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head vehemently.
Another child in line whispers loudly to his father, "I don't want troll farts, Daddy!"
The situation deteriorates rapidly. One mother steps out of line entirely, pulling her daughter away.
“We can’t make them drink something so foul,” another parent calls out. “They're just kids!”
I feel myself sinking into familiar territory, respected for my medical knowledge, but failing utterly at the human element. Just as the weight of potential failure settles on my shoulders, Maeve gasps dramatically beside me.
"Oh my goodness!" she exclaims, her voice carrying across the gymnasium. "I almost forgot to tell everyone about the contest!"
The children nearest us fall silent, their attention captured by her theatrical delivery. Even the boy who first refused the tonic looks up curiously.
"What contest?" he asks suspiciously. “Is there a prize?”
Maeve kneels down to his level, her eyes wide with excitement. "Well, you see, this isn't just any medicine. This is a magical potion that brave adventurers must drink to protect their village from the dreaded Pixie-Pox monster!"
I stare at her in confusion, but she continues without missing a beat.
"The potion is supposed to taste terrible," she explains in a stage whisper. "That's how you know it's working its magic. Only the bravest heroes can drink it all down!"
From beneath the table, she produces a box I hadn't noticed before. Opening it with a flourish, she reveals sheets of colorful stickers and a large poster board.
"This is the Bravery Wall," she announces. "Every brave hero who drinks the potion gets to put their name on the wall and receives the official Hero's Badge of Courage."
The children nearest us lean forward with interest. Maeve catches my eye briefly, a spark of mischief in her expression, before turning back to the boy in the superhero shirt.
"I bet a superhero like you could handle it," she challenges gently. "What do you think? Want to be the first name on our Bravery Wall?"
The boy hesitates, looking from Maeve to me to the dark liquid in the cup.
"I'll show you how brave heroes do it," Maeve says. She picks up a vial, measures a dose into a cup, and raises it high. "To victory against the Pixie-Pox monsters!"
With a dramatic gesture, she swallows the liquid, her face contorting into exaggerated grimaces that make the children giggle. Immediately afterward, she pops something into her mouth from her pocket, then produces a candy wrapper as evidence.
"Magic flavor eraser," she explains with a wink. "Only for the bravest heroes!"
I realize she's eaten a piece of candy to mask the bitter aftertaste. She then produces a large bowl of candies and places it on the table, right beside the poster board.
The boy in the superhero shirt squares his small shoulders. "I want to be on the Bravery Wall," he declares.
"Excellent choice, brave sir," Maeve says solemnly, handing him the cup I prepared earlier. "Drink it all down in one gulp, like ripping off a bandage."
To my amazement, the child does exactly that. His face puckers at the taste, but he swallows it all, then pumps his fist in the air. "I did it!"
"Our first hero!" Maeve cheers, presenting him with a glittering star sticker along with a piece of wrapped candy, which the boy pops into his mouth after glancing at his mother. Then Maeve helps put his name on the poster board. "Who will be next?"
The transformation in the gymnasium is remarkable. Children who moments ago were balking at the medicine now jostle to be next, eager to earn their place on the Bravery Wall. Parents visibly relax, their earlier concerns melting away in the face of their children's enthusiasm.
I find myself adapting to Maeve's approach, surprising myself by telling a nervous little girl, "This potion is particularly powerful against monsters hiding under beds."
The smile Maeve gives me warms me from the inside out, like sunlight filling a room that's been dark too long.
By midday, we've administered the tonic to every child in the school. The Bravery Wall is filled with names, some written by us, others in wobbly children's handwriting. As the last class files out of the gymnasium, Maeve and I begin packing up the remaining supplies.
"That was impressive," I tell her as we walk through the now-empty hallways toward her office. "Without your intervention, the distribution would have been a complete failure."
"I told you the taste would be a problem," she reminds me with a playful nudge of her elbow against mine. "Children aren't little adults. They need a different approach."
"You're remarkable with them," I admit. "I've never seen anything like it."
We stop in a quiet corner of the hallway near her office. The school is peaceful now, with most classes engaged in afternoon activities. Sunlight streams through a nearby window, catching in Maeve's copper curls and turning them to fire.
Something unfamiliar expands in my chest as I look at her, a sense of peace and belonging that I haven't felt in years. Without overthinking, I reach for her hand and bring it to my lips, pressing a kiss to her palm in an intimate gesture that would have been unthinkable for me even a week ago.
The simple contact sends warmth through our newly formed bond. Maeve's eyes widen slightly, then soften with understanding.
"Lorian," she whispers, her fingers curling around mine.
We stand like that for a long moment, silently connected in the empty hallway. Then a flicker of movement catches my eye. At the far end of the corridor stands Principal Braggstone, his massive frame unmistakable, watching us with a dark, angry expression.
Our eyes meet over the distance, and I can read the threat in his gaze as clearly as if he'd spoken it aloud. Then he turns and walks away without a word, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway.
I should feel concern, perhaps even fear, at what he might do with the knowledge of my past. Instead, I feel a curious lightness. I'm done running. Done hiding. Whatever comes next, I'll face it.
After all, what could be worse than I’ve already faced?