Page 30 of The Shape of Night

“And when did your serial killer cat scratch you?”

“About a week ago, I think. It doesn’t hurt. It’s just a little itchy.”

He extends my arm and leans in to examine me, his fingers probing my armpit. There is something deeply intimate about the way his head is bent so close to mine. He smells like laundry soap and wood smoke and I notice strands of silver mingled in his brown hair. He has gentle hands, warm hands, and all at once I’m painfully aware that under my nightgown, I’m wearing nothing at all.

“Your axillary lymph nodes are enlarged,” he says, frowning.

“What does that mean?”

“Let me examine the other side.” As he reaches out to examine my other armpit, he brushes across my breast and my nipple tingles, tightens. I’m forced to look away so he can’t see that my face is flushed.

“I don’t feel any enlarged nodes on this side, which is good,” he says. “I’m pretty sure I know what the problem—”

A loud crash startles us. We both stare at the shattered remains of a vase lying on the floor. A vase that a moment earlier was perched on the mantelpiece.

“I swear I didn’t touch it!” says Maeve, who’s just returned to the parlor with a glass of orange juice. She frowns at the shards of glass. “How on earth did that fall off?”

“Things don’t just fly off shelves on their own,” says Dr. Gordon.

“No.” Maeve looks at me with a strange expression and says quietly: “They don’t.”

“It must have been right on the edge,” he offers, an explanation that sounds perfectly logical. “Some vibration finally tipped it over.”

I can’t help glancing around the room, searching for an invisible culprit. I know that Maeve is thinking the same thing I am:The ghost did it.But I would never say that to Dr. Gordon, man of science. Already he’s resumed examining me. He palpates my neck, listens to my heart, and probes my belly.

“Your spleen feels perfectly normal.” He covers me with the blanket and sits up straight. “I think I know what the problem is. This is a classic case of Bartonellosis. A bacterial infection.”

“Oh my god, that sounds serious,” says Maeve. “Can we catch it, too?”

“Only if you own a cat.” He looks at me. “It’s also called cat scratch disease. It’s usually not serious, but it can lead to fevers and swollen lymph nodes. And in rare cases, encephalopathy.”

“It can affect the brain?” I ask.

“Yes, but you seem alert and oriented. And certainly not delusional.” He smiles. “I’ll go out on a limb here and pronounce you sane.”

Something he might not say if he knew what I experienced last night. I feel Maeve studying me. Does she wonder, as I’m wondering now, if my visions of Captain Brodie were nothing more than the product of a fevered mind?

Dr. Gordon reaches into his black bag. “The drug companies always leave me plenty of free samples and I think I have some azithromycin in here.” He digs out a blister pack of pills. “You’re not allergic to any medicines are you?”

“No.”

“Then this antibiotic should do the trick. Follow the instructions on the packet until all the pills are gone. Come into my office next week, so I can recheck those lymph nodes. I’ll have my receptionist call you and book the appointment.” He snaps his black bag shut and looks me up and down. “Eat something, Ava. I think that’s also why you’re feeling weak. Plus, you could use a few extra pounds.”

As he walks out of the house, Maeve and I are silent. We hear the front door close and then Hannibal struts into the room, looking completely innocent as he sits by the fireplace, calmly licking his paw. The cat who started all this trouble.

“Wish my doctor looked likehim,” says Maeve.

“How did you happen to call Dr. Gordon?”

“His name was on the list by the kitchen phone. Numbers for the plumber, doctor, and electrician. I just assumed he was your doctor.”

“Oh, that list. It was left by the previous tenant.” Dr. Gordon, it seems, is a popular choice in town.

Maeve settles into the armchair across from me and the firelight glows like a halo in her hair, highlighting the silver streaks. “It’s lucky I happened to come by your house tonight. I hate to think of you falling down the stairs, with no one around to find you.”

“I feel much better now, thank you. But I don’t think I’m up to showing you around the house tonight. If you’d like to come back another time, I can walk you through the place then. Show you where I’ve seen the ghost.”

Maeve looks up at the ceiling, at the play of firelight and shadow. “I really just wanted to get a sense of this house.”

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