Page 7 of The Cursed Kingdom

Mark nods again, and I retreat to my office. A group of women stand in the hallway chatting, utterly unaware that one of them will likely be laid off within the next month. I have a feeling it’s going to be Kristy.

She’s an excellent worker and everybody in the office loves her, but she’s paid more than the others and does the same level of work. It doesn’t make business sense to keep her around, even if she’s a great person.

My phone lights up as I step into my office, but I’m in no hurry to answer the call as I kick my door shut and pace the length of the room. I don’t have much social life outside of work and Lill, and most of my incoming calls are from my mom or dad.

They call me every week, usually with updates on my brother. He’s finishing his PhD in Clinical Psychology, and that’s all my parents want to discuss. I’m happy for him, but I’m tired of hearing about it.

My phone rings again, and I head to my desk to see who it is.

I’m scrambling to answer the second I notice it’s Lill’s name flashing on the screen. She never calls while I’m at work, and she wouldn’t unless it was urgent.

“Lill?” I ask, picking up the phone. “What’s wrong?”

There’s nothing but heavy breathing on her end, and my adrenaline spikes when I realize she’s crying. What the fuck is going on?

“Lill?” I repeat.

She sucks in a shaky breath, the inhale so loud, it makes it through the line.

“I’m so sorry to bother you at work,” she starts, her voice cracking, “but I fell getting out of the shower, and I messed up my ankle. I can’t get up.”

My stomach plummets. I’ve done everything I can think of to make our shower as safe as possible, from getting a small shower chair to screwing grab bars into the wall. It wasn’t enough.

“I’m on my way.”

Lill doesn’t respond, only cries, and I shove my things into my bag before grabbing my keys and rushing to the door. Mark knows my roommate is sick, and he’s never voiced any issues with me occasionally working from home.

I’ll always choose Lill over work.

Fuck. I hope her leg is okay.

“Stay on the line with me,” I order her. “Is there any blood?”

There’s silence before I hear a whispered, “No.”

I couldn’t be more relieved. There are just enough biological differences between faeries and humans that doctors and hospitals are risky. Lill can do simple things like get physicals and shots, which came in handy when we were young and school required her to have them. Anything that involves her being inspected beyond a surface level is out of the question, though. Lill can’t take the risk, and I hope no blood means nothing is broken.

I’ve watched several online videos and taken a few first-aid courses, but I can’t realistically do anything beyond slapping on a Band-Aid or creating a basic splint.

If I had any idea just how sick Lill would get, I would’ve gone to college for medicine. I could’ve gotten a nursing degree, which would have made caring for Lill so much easier.

There’s a quiet clatter as she sets down her phone. I’m not on speaker, but I can still just make out the sound of her sobbing. I doubt it’s from pain. She hates asking for help, and I’m almost one hundred percent sure her tears are out of guilt. She thinks she’s a burden, but that’s not how I see it. She needs help, and I’m more than happy to provide it. We may not share blood, butshe’s my sister in every way that counts. I’ll take care of her until my dying breath—or hers.

Lill remains on the line while I speed home, quiet apologies I don’t want to hear continually slipping from her lips. My blood rushes through my ears as I whip my car into the first open spot I see and beeline toward our apartment. I can’t remember the last time I ran this fast, probably not since the one year I joined track and field in middle school, and I hardly notice my pounding heart as I rip open our front door and hurry to the bathroom.

My bag and laptop are lost somewhere along the way.

Lill didn’t lock the bathroom door, thank fucking god, and I don’t bother knocking as I push it open and step into the room. The water has been turned off, and I’m relieved to know she hasn’t spent the past twenty minutes being lightly waterboarded.

“Lill?” I ask.

She sniffles. “Yeah…”

I ease open the curtain.

Lill’s sitting in the tub, her long limbs pulled to her chest and her eyes red as she stares up at me. It’s been months since I last saw her naked, and I fight back tears as I see firsthand just how much weight she’s lost. I can count every rib, and I’m pretty sure I could fully wrap my hands around one of her thighs.

I shift my gaze to her swollen ankle. It doesn’t look great.

---