Page 57 of The Otherworld

While I start unbuttoning my shirt, Orca runs to the bathroom and returns a moment later with a fresh roll of cotton bandage.

“I can probably manage this myself,” I say, but Orca casually sweeps my shirt off with a dismissive shake of her head.

“Nonsense! You’re injured. Let me help you.” She winces when she sees the wound on my side, covered in purple bruises. “It doesn’t look as bad as it did before,” she admits. “But it still looks painful.”

She dips her fingertips into a jar of ointment and smooths it over the wound, making me grimace. I grip the back of the nearest chair, swallowing the fire radiating through my side.

“Sorry—am I pressing too hard?” Orca glances up with concern.

I shake my head. “No, you’re fine. What’s in that stuff, anyway?”

“A blend of aloe and eucalyptus, along with some other plants that fight infection. We grow them in the herb garden.”

“You grow your own medicine?”

Orca nods, tearing off a fresh length of bandage. “Papa has taught me a lot about healing yourself with plants. I have teas to treat just about any ailment. Headaches, fevers, cramps, rashes… Here, hold this end.” She smooths the clean bandage over my wounded side, and I hold it in place while she begins wrapping—leaning in close to reach around my torso. I try to ignore the warmth of her breath on my bare chest, the brush of her fingers tracing my back.

“You, uh… you read a lot of medical books?”

Orca shrugs one shoulder. “I read a lot of books. Not all of them are medical. Some are about the ocean and outer space and different exotic places in the Otherworld.”

“Any fiction?”

“What’s fiction?”

“Well, it’s… not true stories, but made-up ones. And nonfiction is anything factual.”

Orca frowns, reaching the end of the bandage. “Well, in that case, shouldn’t it be… fact and non-fact?”

I laugh, killing my ribs.

“What?”

“Nothing. That’s… that’s a good point.”

She smiles softly, tying off the end of the bandage so it won’t slip. Somehow, I don’t notice the pain when she’s this close; her featherlight touch moves over my abdomen as she checks to make sure the bandage is secure. She looks so beautiful in this light, whispers of hair slipping out of her braid to tickle her rosy cheeks.

I force myself to look away. “What kind of nonfiction books do you have? Philosophy?”

“No… science, mostly. Marine biology. Astronomy.”

“History?”

“A few.”

“Biographies?”

She shakes her head. “Papa… doesn’t like people.”

A grin pulls at the corner of my mouth. “Neither do I.” Carefully pulling my shirt back on, I add, “Except for you. I kinda like you.”

Orca blushes, a smile blooming across her face. “And I kinda like you, Adam Stevenson.”

* * *

After breakfast, Orca takes me to the greenhouse to help her with the harvesting.

“Follow me,” she says, smiling from under the hood of her cloak. Lucius trots beside her through the soggy grass, and I follow the pair of them across the backyard. Raw damp enshrouds everything in sight—milky white fog nestling into the trees as if to shield them from the drizzle. One glance at the sky tells me all I need to know about visibility. It’s going to be at least another day before we have decent flying conditions.

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