Page 63 of Soar

Sora grinned, laughing a little. “I already put together a bundle of textbooks for you. Had a feeling you’d want to know everything.”

“Well, yeah, duh!”

“To answer, yes, I’m happy to teach you.” Sora pointed downward. “Type in chat your email and phone number so I can send you things.”

Salem leapt to obey. “Are these books digital?”

“They are. Some of them are scans because they’re so old. We don’t dare pass around the physical copies. Makes them interesting to read. I highly suggest printing them out rather than trying to read them on a screen.”

“Got it.”

“Sadly, I have to cut this short.” Sora sighed, glancing off to the side. “I’m due somewhere else in about thirty minutes. But start with the reading.”

“Sounds awesome. Sora, thank you so much for this.”

“Not a problem. I quite enjoyed the conversation. You ask very good questions. For now, I’ll let you go.” With a wave, he cut the connection.

Salem sat there for a good five minutes just trying to process everything he had learned. Failed. Too much input, he needed to buffer for a while.

Shit, to think he could do so much with magic. Half his skills as a surgeon would be obsolete, really, but for the benefit of the patient, it was a trade-off he was more than willing to make.

Although, dammit, he’d meant to ask about colds and had gotten so distracted he’d forgotten to. Well, he’d text Sora his question in a second. He wanted to check on Gregori first.

Too excited to sit still, he popped up and headed for the bedroom. He and Sora had been talking for nearly three hours, but Gregori still hadn’t come out. Could be he was just sleeping his cold off still, but Salem had a million things to talk about, and it was time for him to get up. For more meds, if nothing else.

Pushing the door open, he singsonged, “Rise and—oh shit.”

Gregori lay in a fetal position on the bed, making a barely audible low groaning sound, more felt than heard. He looked awful, and every doctor instinct Salem had kicked into overdrive in a flat second.

Diving for him, Salem knelt on the bed, first taking a rough temp with his hand. Gregori was cold and clammy to the touch, which wasn’t great.

“Gregori. Gregori, can you answer me?”

Those dark brown eyes fluttered open before closing.

“Hurts,” Gregori whimpered. “Can’t…can’t feel it.”

“Can’t feel…what? Can’t feel your dragon form, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yeah.”

Salem could not find a word accurate enough to encapsulate his terror. There was nothing, for all his training, he could do to help Gregori right then. He didn’t know enough about dragons to begin to even guess.

He was in well over his head and the nearest help he could call was in Brazil. DAMMIT.

His phone dinged in his pocket. Salem jerked it free, not caring who was trying to reach him. He’d call Sam, get Sora back on the line—oh. It was Sora who’d texted. So he had his number, thank god.

Punching Call, he put it on speaker and laid it on the pillow, grabbing the extra quilt on the end of the bed to tuck around Gregori, as he didn’t like at all how cold he felt.

“Hi,” Sora answered, sounding surprised. “Did you already have another question?—”

“Sora, Gregori’s crashing,” he interrupted. “He’s in a fetal position, cold and clammy to the touch, and in pain. He said he can’t feel his dragon.”

“Shimatta,” Sora breathed. “That’s really not good. Give me your address, we’ll fly up immediately.”

“Thank you, and is there anything I can do in the meantime?”

“Get him on the roof, if you can. Outside. He’ll do better outside, and you might be able to coax him into shifting. If he can shift, all the better.”

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