“I’m sorry, Clem.”
She scoffs and slides off her seat, coming to an unsteady, upright position. “Why are you apologizing? I’m the one with abroken phone.” She reaches out to squeeze his arm. “Good to see you.”
“Do you need me to carry you?” he asks, arms already outstretched.
She waves him off. “I’m fine. Been walking on my own for twenty-seven years.”
Carl’s arms drop, even as his brows pop up. “Do you think you walked straight out of the womb?”
Clementine lifts a shoulder. “I’m advanced like that.” Her shaggy companion hops down beside her. “Meet Shrimp. Your nephew.”
A touch of the tension eases from Carl’s shoulders as his sister banters with him.
“He looks just like you,” my friend says with the twitch of a smile.
“And he smells just like Griffith,” she tosses back.
I roll my eyes. “Thanks for that. Can we get a move on? If Madeline is asleep, she’s going to be cranky about us waking her up.”
At the mention of the healer, Carl loses whatever ease he sank into.
The four of us approach the house, and Carl is the one to knock.
Not long later, Carl, Shrimp, and I are staked out in a flower-themed sitting room with wide windows blacked out by night while Madeline treats Clementine’s wound in privacy.
“Was it bad?” Carl asks, his elbows braced on his knees, his worried eyes on me. “Do you know what happened?”
“I don’t,” I admit and wonder what exactly to say about the other question. My wolf is agitated in my chest as the iron scent of blood lingers in my nose. The animal side of me is distressed both by the size of the wound and the fact that it wasn’t healing on its own. Still, I’m not about to freak out my friend whenI don’t have any facts. “And it wasn’t bad enough to slow her down. Not really. I’m sure Madeline will fix her up just fine.”
“Well, you’d be wrong.” The reedy voice floats to us a moment before the healing witch appears in the doorway, a pale Clementine at her side.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Carl is on his feet, anxiety thrumming off him in such a strong wave that I swear he’s going to start a thunderstorm inside.
“I mean, whatever weapon cut Clementine had something on it. A spell or potion to cancel out her body’s natural ability to heal quickly. Something that also works againstmymagic.”
“You … you can’t heal her?” The hopelessness in Carl’s voice guts me.
My eyes track to Clementine’s face, and I’m surprised to find sadness twisting her features as she watches her brother.
As if she finally cares about what her reckless actions do to him.
“Not completely,” Madeline admits. “I’ve managed a patch of sorts. A magic Band-Aid. But it won’t last. Maybe if I had the weapon, I could reverse-engineer a cure from the curse.”
“Clem”—her brother’s voice is low with urgency—“how did you get wounded? Who did this to you?”
She sucks in a deep breath, as if she knows her next words will steal all the air from the room.
“A hunter.”
5
CLEMENTINE
If there wasany way I could have gotten out of this mess without involving my brother, I would have. Carl has had to deal with enough because of me over the years.
I thought when I finally left Folk Haven, he would be free of the drama my teenage self couldn’t seem to help but cause.
Yet here I am, back in my hometown, trouble hooked to my tailgate.
