The Spirit Keeper (23 page)

My normally bronzed complexion was pasty and gray-like, as though the color had been blanched from my skin. I reached a hand to my hair and ran my fingers though the lank, tangled mess. The dark circles under my eyes were testament to a fitful sleep. I looked exactly like a zombie out of some cheesy B-movie.

“Gross,” I said to my reflection.

David rapped at the door. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said through gritted teeth, turning away from the mirror.

After I finished, I wetted a cloth at the sink and used it to cool my face and neck. I could feel the fever beginning to spike again, which seemed to happen whenever I was awake, but the cold water did little to help the burning just underneath my skin. I felt myself growing weaker the longer I stayed on my feet. My bed was calling out to me like a Siren’s song, and I desperately wanted to be back in it.

When we’d made it back to my room, David arranged the pillows behind me so I could sit comfortably. Then he untwisted the sheet and pulled it taut over my bare legs. He placed the plated sandwich in my lap and cupped my cheek in his palm.

“You’re still so warm,” he said.

I swallowed hard and looked down at the sandwich. “Unless Adrian finds Shyla and brings her here, unless she can help me . . . I don’t think there’s any stopping it, David. Every time I open my eyes, I feel myself getting weaker.”

I met David’s gaze when he sighed. He wore a mask of exhausted vigilance, and right then I felt sorry for all the times we’d argued, and all the times I hadn’t listened to or taken him seriously. I was his flesh and blood and, like Meg, he would do everything in his power to protect me. Why had I taken that for granted?

“I’m not sure how you can be so calm in the face of this. You’re one of the bravest people I know,” David said, taking me by surprise.  

I shook my head. Stoicism had nothing to do with being brave. In fact, I didn’t feel brave at all. My refusal to completely break down was purely for David’s and Meg’s sakes. They’d already lost their parents and sister in a horrific fire. If they had to sit back and watch me die as well, I wouldn’t dare let on just how scared I was, or the extent of my pain. I was determined to minimize my suffering as much as possible, if only to lessen theirs. It was the least I could do.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” David asked.

The cry that was stuck in my throat made it impossible for me to respond. I gave him a feeble smile, but it faded quickly from my lips. There was one thing I could hardly stand to think about, because to bring it to the forefront of my mind felt like a part of me was shattering into a million pieces.

My throat seized with a painful burning, and I clenched my teeth tight. I took a few deep breaths through my nose until I was certain I could answer without my voice breaking. “Priscilla,” was all I managed to choke out. I covered my face with my hands, the tears coming hot and strong.

David took the sandwich from my lap and pulled me against his broad chest. “You’re going to get through this,” he whispered against my ear, patting my back. “Don’t you dare give up on us. Don’t give up on yourself. You’re stronger than this.”

“But if I don’t make it,” I whispered back, through my tears. I felt David shake his head in denial. “If I don’t make it,” I repeated despite him, “you and Meg have to tell Priscilla she’s the best friend I ever had.”

David nodded, and when he finally met my eyes, they were shiny and rimmed with red. He used the hem of his shirt to blot my cheeks and then leaned in to kiss my forehead.

I took a deep breath and lay back against the pillow. “Has Adrian called?”

David swiped the back of his hand across his cheek. His voice shook when he spoke. “No.” Then he stood up and stared down at me for a moment before speaking again. “Do you love him, Sarah?”

I could tell he was struggling with the idea of allowing his hope for my recovery to rest in the hands of someone he considered an enemy. I couldn’t really blame him, I guess. Ultimately, I was doing the same thing. If I had any hope of getting better, I had to trust that Shyla would not only come back, but that she’d be willing to help. And that terrified me.

But Adrian . . . He was different. My aunt and uncle had to see that by now.

“I wish you would give him a chance,” I said.

“But do you love him?” David persisted. 

I felt a stab of unease in my chest. No matter how strong my feelings were for Adrian, I had never really considered that I might be in love with him. What did I know of love, after all? And could I
really
trust him, even now?

“Love is a strong word,” I answered at last. “I know I love you and Meg and Priscilla. I loved my mom, and Grandma and Grandpa Redbird. I love them still.”

We stared at each other for a moment in silence as I tried to verbalize how I felt. “I like Adrian. I like him a lot, actually. And maybe, if I’m allowed more time, I’ll even grow to love him.”

David squeezed my hand and gave me a sad smile. “We’ll figure this out,” he said, “and then you can have all the time in the world.”

I bolted upright in bed, my arms and legs flailing as I gasped for breath. I’d been dreaming of falling through endless darkness with only a pinprick of light rushing toward me. It had grown larger and all-consuming the closer it got, until it was a blinding whiteness that seared my eyes and burned my body.

Meg had just walked into the room carrying a fresh mug of tea and she rushed to my side. “What is it?”

Sweat trickled down the side of my face, but I nestled back against the pillow without wiping it away. I stared at Meg, unblinking, as my heart settled into a more natural rhythm.

“Tell me that Adrian will come back,” I said, still in the clutches of my dream. “Tell me he’ll bring Shyla, and that everything will be okay.”

Meg sat on the edge of the bed and gripped my hand in her own. “Of course he will,” she said, though it didn’t escape my attention how she made no promise that all would be well.

She combed her fingers through my hair and blotted the sweat from my forehead with a cloth. Then she sighed, almost wistfully. “I see the way he looks at you. I saw it that day in the greenhouse, though I didn’t want to believe it.” 

But I couldn’t speak about Adrian just then. His continued absence, and what that might mean, was too scary to contemplate. “Where’s David?” I asked instead.

Meg let go of my hand and began fussing with straightening the covers.

“Is everything okay?” I persisted, knowing that she was keeping something from me.

“It’s Victor,” she said finally, though hesitantly. “He came by earlier. David was outside tending to the garden—we’ve had to close shop for a few days—and I heard them arguing.”

My heart jumped into my throat at the mention of Victor’s name. “What did he want?”

“He said Adrian’s run off somewhere, and apparently Imogene isn’t answering any of his calls. He’s convinced we know where he is.”

So Adrian hadn’t been home then. I thought it was strange that he would just take off without feeding his dad some sort of explanation about where he was going or what he was up to. I didn’t expect Adrian to tell him the truth—that he was trying to find Shyla—but surely he would have said
something
to him.

Meg shook her head, her eyes focused on something seemingly far off. “I haven’t spoken to Victor in over seventeen years,” she said. “I vaguely remember him from before, from when we lived on the reservation. He was a different man then, Sarah. He wasn’t always so
bitter
. I hardly recognize him now.”

“It’s because of what happened to his wife.”

Meg looked down at me. “Aida was a sweet woman. And poor Imogene.” She clucked her tongue. “She was good friends with Mama and Papa, and like a second mother to us. But . . . things change.”

“Did Victor say anything else?”

Meg narrowed her eyes. “He insisted on speaking with you, as a matter of fact. I don’t know the extent to which you and Adrian have been sneaking around these past few weeks, but I’ve no doubt Victor suspects the two of you are together. A stupid man, he is not. He never was. I know I’ve said this before, but watch out for that man.”

“Then he doesn’t know I’m sick, does he?” I said in surprise, something occurring to me just then.

If Shyla and Victor were in this together, surely she would have told him what had happened to me. She wouldn’t have just run off without talking to him at all, without gloating or celebrating my apparent downfall. Could it be possible that Shyla was
not
doing her father’s dirty work for him?

“I don’t think he knows,” Meg said, though there was a question in her voice. Her brow wrinkled as though she was thinking the same thing as I. She shook her head, and the look cleared.

I took a deep breath, feeling a wave of pain rising up again. “What did he do then?”

“He left,” Meg said in astonishment. “He just turned around and walked away.”

I rolled to my side and hugged my knees to my chest, comforted by the small fact that at least Victor didn’t appear to be an immediate threat. We could deal with him later. I couldn’t spare the energy to worry about Victor’s agenda anyway, not when I had bigger issues to worry about. Like making it through the night.

I was worn out from my conversation with Meg, and my eyes felt like jelly. I put my hand to my forehead and squeezed my thumb and middle finger against the pressure points at my temples, hoping to relieve some of the pain. The fever spiked again, pulsing like a monster that was just beginning to come awake. I was terrified that my latest dream of falling through darkness had prophesied the end.

“Go to sleep,” Meg said, brushing the hair away from my face. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Although reluctant to sleep, I didn’t have the strength to keep my eyes open any longer. As I drifted off, I dreamed of running through a field of poisoned poppies, just like the ones Dorothy tried to run through in
The Wizard of Oz
. But no matter how fast my legs pumped, it wasn’t fast enough to escape the alluring pull of sleep. And when I finally collapsed to the ground, the blazing flowers towering above me, I closed my eyes and let the darkness envelope me like a soft, familiar blanket.

I was lying next to Adrian in the poppy field. The sky above was a pristine blue, and we were playing that children’s game of pointing out shapes and animals in the passing clouds.

Adrian soon grew bored and turned to look at me, his head propped lazily on one arm. The sun glinting off his onyx hair made it shine with a brilliance that nearly hurt my eyes to look at. His skin glistened, igniting a deep craving and desire, like a burst of fireworks, inside my body. With his free hand he trailed his fingers up and down my bare arm, making me shiver.

“Sarah.” His voice was a seductive whisper in my ear, soft and low.

A pang of pleasure took root in my belly and vined its way through my body, sending shoots of warmth to my fingers and toes. His touch was an addiction that I never wanted to recover from.

My response to his voice and touch was no more than a sleepy murmur, though. My head felt heavy on my neck, and I lacked the strength to turn toward him.

“Sarah,” he said again.

“I’m here,” I tried to say, though I couldn’t make my tongue and lips cooperate to form the words.

“Come back to me,” he whispered in my ear. “Come back to us. Sarah . . . wake up!”

My eyelids fluttered open, but soon closed again under the heavy weight of sleep. I clung to the image of Adrian and me in a suspended state of bliss—his hand on my cheek, his breath on my face, his voice in my ear.