Give the Dark My Love(65)

If this was a normal illness, quarantine would be effective. But it hadn’t helped anyone at the hospital.

“I can help,” I said again, brandishing the golden crucible in front of him.

“No,” he said, pushing me toward my own home. “No, you can’t. Go home. We know how to deal with this.”



* * *



? ? ?

I tried twice more to go to the Longshires’ house, but Elder Gryff had set a watch. Friends, neighbors—they patrolled the house, ensuring that no one went in and no one left. I could see the fear on their faces, the most powerful motivator to drive them into action.

That night, I snuck out. The guard was sleeping; it was easy to slip by him and creep to the front door, my golden crucible in hand.

But when I knocked, no one answered. And I knew.

I was already too late.





FORTY


    Nedra



When i awoke the next morning, Ernesta’s eyes were already open and staring at me. She knew I’d snuck out last night.

“I had to try,” I said.

“You always do.”

It was strange, how easily I fell back into the old familiar habits of home. I’d been away for months, becoming someone new. A girl who defied traditions and attended a school that didn’t want her. A girl who worked tirelessly to make a difference in a world wracked with plague.

A girl who knew what to do with love.

But now, being home, lying in bed across from my twin, it felt like the mask I wore at Yūgen had cracked away.

“I’ve missed you,” I told Ernesta.

She grinned. If we were solemn, we were identical, but it was our smiles that always gave us away. Mine was never quite as bright as hers.

“You have Grey now,” she said, rolling onto her back and saying his name in a singsong voice.

I threw my pillow at her, then snatched it back so I could rest my head on it.

“Things have to change, though, don’t they?” Ernesta said, her tone more serious as she continued to stare at the ceiling. “We have to figure out what we want to do with ourselves. We can’t stay here forever.”

“Growing up is overrated,” I said, waiting for her to turn to me so we could share a smile. “Let’s just stay here forever.”

“Says the girl who’s leaving as soon as that school opens again.”

“If it opens again.”

Nessie groaned. “Quit being so pessimistic. There will be a cure. The plague will pass. And you’ll be gone again.”

“But not forever.”

“You know,” Ernesta said, “if we stay here forever, we won’t get any bacon.”

Once she said it, I smelled the bacon Mama was frying in the kitchen. Before Nessie could protest, I threw my quilt on her and dashed out of our room. She shouted in frustration as she got tangled up in the heavy cloth but soon chased after me.

“Shh,” Mama said as we sat down at the table. “Your father’s still sleeping.”

Ernesta and I exchanged a dark look. Papa had gone to bed early last night after barely eating any of Mama’s stew. He must have slept ten hours, and he still wasn’t up?

“I’m going to check on him,” I said, pushing back my chair.

“Eat breakfast first,” Mama said. “Let him sleep.”

I shook my head, already heading back down the hall. Dread rose in my throat.

You’re being paranoid, I told myself. You’ve been around the plague too much, and now you’re seeing it everywhere.

“Papa?” I said softly, pushing open the door to my parents’ bedroom.

He didn’t stir. He lay flat on his back, his eyes shut, and for one horrible, horrible moment, I thought it was already too late.

I rushed to his bed, picking up his left hand and feeling for a pulse. There. Relief flooded through me as I felt his heartbeat thudding through his veins.

“Papa?” I asked gently. Behind us, Ernesta and Mama crowded into the doorway, blocking some of the light.

“Nedra.” Papa’s voice was weak, dry.

“I’ll get him some water,” Mama said, darting back down the hall.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Where does it hurt?”

Ernesta moved forward, reaching for Papa’s other hand. And in the light from the hallway, I saw the thing I dreaded most in the world.

The tips of Papa’s fingers were black.

Cold terror washed through my blood.

“What do we do?” Ernesta asked in a whisper.

Mama came back with a glass of water. She saw the way I held Papa’s hand, the light illuminating the blackness in his fingers. The cup slipped from her grasp, crashing to the floor. The glass shattered, and water spilled everywhere.

I stood up.

“Clean that,” I said, pointing to Mama. “Get my bag, the new one I brought from school,” I told Ernesta.

My words spurred a flurry of motion as Ernesta leapt over the mess, and Mama went to fetch a towel. I ripped Papa’s blankets away, pulling up the legs of his trousers. There was blackness on both of his feet, creeping up from beneath his toenails, over the tops of his feet, swirling into his calves.

I covered him with the blanket again.

Mama didn’t look at Papa as she knelt in the doorway, clearing away the glass and water. Ernesta called my name and handed me my bag, leaning over Mama.