Page 1 of The Devil and His Sparrow

CHAPTER 1

Iyla

“THE TEST RESULTS ARE STILL inconclusive. I was hoping I’d have an answer for you by now, but unfortunately, we still don’t have one.”

My heart clenched painfully, and I bunched the fabric of my shirt in my hands in an effort to do something. All the hope I’d had when walking into this room vanished as easily as it had come.

“So what now?” Mom questioned, her voice taking on that all-too-familiar edge.

Dr. Seward folded his hands on top of the desk and handled my mother’s clear disappointment—if not contempt—with ease, no doubt used to her by now. “We keep testing and monitoring her. There’s an answer out there somewhere. We just haven’t found it, yet.”

My mother’s lips curled in disapproval, and her huff was overly loud, as if she wanted to take extra care to make her annoyance known. “How is it that in this day and age, a little girl can be sick, and you doctors don’t know what’s wrong?”

“It’s frustrating,” Dr. Seward admitted with a nod. “But I assure you, we are remaining diligent and hopeful. I really think we’re getting closer to an answer, and until then, we’ll continue to treat her symptoms as we determine the accurate diagnosis.”

I understood Mom’s exasperation. I wanted a solution for Gemma just as badly, but I also tried to remind myself that Dr. Seward was doing all he could. Taking her anger out on him wouldn’t get us anywhere.

I scooted to the edge of the leather seat and leaned toward Dr. Seward. “How is she doing?”

Dr. Seward’s blue eyes softened as they met mine, and he offered me a small smile. “She actually had a pretty good day yesterday. She managed to eat all her meals and keep the food down. A nurse even reported that Gemma played all afternoon with the other kids. Dolls. Board games. She didn’t have any fainting spells.”

It was a small victory, but it was great news all the same. The mental image of Gemma smiling and having a day of fun with the other kids here made the rock in my gut easier to stomach. One day, we’d find out what illness she had, and we’d be able to get her the cure she needed.

It was just going to take a little longer.

“Can we see her before we go?” I asked a bit too eagerly, which earned me a biting sideways look from my mother.

Dr. Seward hesitated, but with some reluctance, he said, “If you make it quick. She’s been on the lethargic side today, so I want her to rest.”

Desperate for even a moment with her, I nodded quickly. “I’ll make it fast.”

I pushed back my chair and immediately turned down the hallway that led to my little sister’s room. I smiled and waved at the nurses as I walked past, telling them good morning. All the nurses here were kind and friendly, and we’d grown even closer as my mother and I visited regularly. Though, even as I developed friendships with the staff, it was never them I was here to see.

I swallowed hard, a real smile climbing my face when I rounded the corner to stand in the doorway. Gemma sat up in her bed with a coloring book and pencils spread out on her tray table. Her shoulder-length brown hair, once shiny like mine but now dull and thin, was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and today’s gown—a dusty pink with white clouds—hung off her thin form.

Whatever she was coloring had her full attention. She didn’t notice me leaning on the doorframe, and I didn’t mind. It gave me time to just watch her little hands switch between pencils before going back to work on her design. I needed this second of invisibility to gather myself and to train my face not to let on how broken and helpless I felt over her situation.

Steeling myself, I walked into the room. Gemma finally noticed me, and when her hazel eyes found me, her face instantly brightened.

“Iyla!” she squealed.

I darted to her bedside and wrapped my arms around her. Lead filled my gut when I felt how small she’d gotten, but I kept the worry off my face as I leaned back to look down at her. “Surprise!”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she chirped.

“Always, Gem,” I said, running a hand over the top of her head.

She glanced over my shoulder, and without even looking, I knew what figure waltzed in behind me. There was no missing the distinct click of her heels or the scent of her expensive floral perfume flooding the room.

Understanding crossed Gemma’s face. “Oh. You were meeting with Dr. Seward.”

Not wanting her to worry, I tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and said, “He was just giving us an update on how you were feeling. Nothing bad. Right, Mom?”

Mom ignored me. She stood beside the bed and ran her hand over the top of Gemma’s head. “How are you feeling today?”

Gemma took on a forlorn expression. “Tired. I’ve been coloring to help. Noya said it helps with fatigue and keeping my brain engaged. Reduces stress.”

“You’re stressed?” Mom asked sharply, her slender brows plunging down. “Are they not helping you? Making you feel at ease?”

---