Page 21 of The Cerise

“Aisha,” Bash warns, her name rolling off his tongue in a deep growl.

She makes ahumphsound and crosses through the tapestry barrier. I rub my thumb over the handle of the dagger tucked into my coat pocket and follow her into the next room.

The aura on the other side of the tapestry is cold, unlike the warm, comforting energy that seemingly wrapped around me like a cozy blanket at the front of Aisha's house. I shudder, feeling a chill that has nothing to do with temperature as a heaviness settles in my chest.

“Tell me, girl,” Aisha says, her eyes—green, I can see them clearly in this light— narrowing on me again. “What did you notice first?”

Besides the pungent aroma of herbs, or the massive amount of books haphazardly stacked everywhere, or the giant table at the center of the room where my friend lies subdued somewhere between life and death?

“I’m sorry?”

“You feel it, don’t you?” Aisha looks up at the herbs strung from the ceiling. “The energy buzzing about the house. The cold touch of death lingering in the shadows. “

“It’s chillier in here,” I admit, rubbing my arms over the sleeves of Bash’s coat. “But I don’t feel anything odd.”

“Hmm,” Aisha says, pursing her lips. “If you say so.”

I walk to Ezra’s side, not caring if the healer believes my lies. Idofeel a heaviness in this room. Something dark and dangerous, but acknowledging I sense the magic in the air is an admission of what I am. I’m not that dumb. “Why is he still unconscious?”

“Sleeping serum,” she says inconsequentially. “It slows the poison.”

Right. Poison. Not curse. Ordinary people don’t understand the workings of a blood witch. But this woman isn’t ordinary. She’s a healer,and if she’s anything like Mom, Ezra might stand a chance of surviving it, even if she won’t admit what she is. “Can you help him?”

Aisha narrows her eyes on me. “No, but I can ease the suffering until he passes.”

I’m not sure I believe her. But again, arguing my point implies I know more than I should. So I say nothing.

“I’ll give you some privacy to say your goodbyes.” Aisha crosses past the cloth barrier covering the doorway and leaves me alone.

I sit on the stool beside Ezra and take his hand. I feel terrible. I knew, eventually, I’d break his heart and lose him, but I never imagined it would be like this. To a love spell gone wrong. I wipe a tear that falls with the back of my hand and slam my fist on the table. I can’t sit idly as someone I love suffers and maybe even dies.

If Aisha won’t try to heal Ezra, I will.

I creep across the room and peek behind the tapestry. All three of them—Riot, Bash, and Aisha—are in a heated argument, trying their best to keep quiet so I don’t hear. Good. Maybe it’ll keep them occupied long enough for me to do some good.

I tip-toe to Aisha’s work table and thumb through the open book. It’s her notes. Mom had a book like this. She never kept the good stuff up front but near the back…

Ah-ha!

Can’t heal him. Ha! I knew that woman was lying.

At the top of the last page is Ezra’s name and a few defining descriptions. Below it, at the center of the page, is the underlined word obsession, and the names of what I’m assuming are herbs—possibly the ones used in his curse—and today’s date.

I flip through more pages of the people Aisha treated before Ezra, and it’s all the same.

Descriptions.

Symptoms.

Herbs.

The only difference between Ezra’s page and the others is that her previous patients have two dates noted.

Not one.

If I were to guess, I’d say it was the day they arrived and the daythey died. Looking through them, it seems like most of the blood witch’s victims only lasted a week once the curse took hold. Some more. Many less. I flip the page back to Ezra’s and trace his name with my finger.

There has to be a way to save him. Or, at the very least, help him fight it.

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