Page 94 of Wicked Salvation
It takes me a moment to realize that my body isn’t just hot.
It’sburning.
I press the back of my hand to my forehead, bones creaking. My skin is fever-warm. Maybe hotter. Maybe I’m on fire from the inside out, and this is what it feels like to be punished by God. My ribs protest as a hacking cough tears through my lungs.
When I sit up, the room tilts sideways.
The edges of the dresser blur. The rug ripples like it’s breathing.
Something is wrong.
My limbs feel like someone else’s. My body feels like a borrowed vessel—no, a broken one. One God wants back,quickly. I’ve been sick before, but it has never felt like this. There are moments I swear I see things out of the corner of my eye—shadows crouching in the wallpaper, eyes behind the mirror.
Maybe it’s the fever.
A call to Miss Durell has a bowl of chicken soup, sourdough and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice brought to my room within the hour. I can barely make it to the door to take it from the housekeeper, so she serves me in bed. I thank her profusely, and she thanks me with a smile. A real one—not the kind they give my mother.
The food helps.
It’s fabulous, actually. Just what I needed.
I’m finding my strength when there’s another knock at my door.
“Come in,” I croak, taking another sip of orange juice hoping that it will help my parched throat. My hands shake slightly as I hold the glass.
First a tiny foot appears.
Then, William makes an appearance.
Without Andrew, which is stranger than the fact that he’s dressed like Miles Morales.
“Are you okay?” William’s voice is strained and filled with concern.
I tilt my head, moving the breakfast tray and setting my glass down on it. “Just a little bug. I’ll be fine,” I say.
“No,” William says. “Not that.”
He shuts the door behind him and tip-toes over to me like his very presence in my room is a secret. “I heard Papa and Mum arguing about you. Are you sure you’re well? They made it seem like something had happened to you.” Then with a sigh he says, “Mum called you unmanageable.”
Before I can stop myself, I find my body moving toward William.
As much as my brothers have annoyed me, as much as my mother has made me their scapegoat, I do love them. When they’re older and able to understand, I hope they’ll remember me as a good sister. “I’m alright, Wills. Life is just…strange right now.”
“So you’re not leaving the family?”
My eyes widen. “Who said I was?”
“Mum.”
“Where did you hear them arguing?”
“In Papa’s study.”
I give William a tight hug and rush to throw on my robe and grab something from my dresser. “Thank you so much for coming to tell me, Wills. I love you, and everything is going to be alright, so don’t worry.”
I leave him standing in the room as I walk as fast as I can to my father’s study. My joints ache, my throat feels tight—but how I’m feeling comes secondary to what I have to do. I need to confront them both—and doing so in the same place where they made a decision set me on a path that would ruin my life feels like poetic justice.
When I get to the study, I can hear them through the door, just as William said.
