Page 47 of Sore Throat, Slight Fever

At the forefront, however, is the smell of Elijah’s blood, an earthy, peppery scent that spurned the step forward—that step that repeats in her mind, Hun leaping up inside of her with a snap of teeth, on a loop, like a scratched vinyl record. She barely realized she had moved until Kane distracted her.

She covers her face with her hands, shame washing over her. A whimper echoes inside of her, vibrates through her joints. She slips into her Mind’s Eyeeasily, reaching out to hold Hun, burying her face in fur, stroking the horns on either side of her ears. The whimper stills into a purr. “It’s not your fault,” she whispers. “I’m not upset with you.”

She stays like that for several minutes until Hun is coaxed back to her seated position. “I’ll get you some breakfast soon, okay?”

Hun’s ears perk up, tail swishing and she bumps Calliope’s hand with her nose before collapsing into a curled position, head resting on her tail.

Calliope turns to the other matter at hand: the prickly bush that has sprouted up overnight. It’s choking the ground, its spikes growing much too quickly and much too sharp.

Ah, my embarrassment, she thinks, reaching out to finger a wilting leaf. She decides to do some pruning, snapping off unruly branches, extricating prickles embedded in the nearby tree. She spreads her palm against the damaged bark, raw and soft under her skin. When she steps back, the prickly bush is gone and the beginnings of a clematis vine are snaking their way up and around the tree trunk, the plum petals unfolding from bright green shoots.

When she opens her eyes, sunlight suffuses the corners of her bedroom. She stays there for a moment, listening for the sounds of Rory and Kane moving about the house. But the house is silent and, frowning, she rises from bed, changing quickly into a clean dress. She leaves her hair down and it fans out aroundher shoulders, an impossibly curly mess that almost reminds her of the prickly plant in her Mind’s Eye. Downstairs, she finds Rory and Kane on the back porch talking in low voices. The air is still thick with the threat of rain, but the dappled sunshine seems to be keeping it at bay for now. She stands in the doorway watching the two as their hushed discussion dissolves into barely concealed, yet good natured, bickering.

Kane notices her first. “Good morning,” he says, head twisted to the side.

“Morning.” She steps out onto the porch. “What’s all this?” She points toward a bundle of plants on the table.

Rory hands her a cup of blood. “Rosemary, cowslip, and forget-me-nots.” He holds up a nondescript plastic bottle with clear liquid. “And for our neutral spirits, we have the cheapest vodka the Go-Go had.”

She holds her glass with both hands and takes a sip. “Sorry, I slept so long.”

Rory stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans (the ones with the hole in the knee—must do something about that, she thinks). He tilts his head and a lock of gray streaked hair falls across his forehead. “It’s okay. You needed rest.”

She nods, taking a sip. “Well, I’m up now and ready to help. What can I do?”

Rory consults the list he’s made, Calliope reading over his shoulder.

Piece of object - ?

Minotaur horn powder - LC?

Rosemary - forest - silver knife

Thieves’ oil - LC

Forget-me-not - forest

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