Patience reflected on her time in New Amstel the entire train ride back to Haverston. She had woken up that morning with an ache in her scalp, and in her chest. Valon had gone as quickly as he appeared. He left in her care memories and a permanent sliver of a cut in her heart. He was a brief flash of lightning that had struck her, leaving her unharmed but subtly changed. She left New Amstel a little wiser, an inch more mature.

The train chugged along, transporting her back to her normal life. Anax gingerly stroked the back of her neck. Her relationship with Anax mended, Patience now wondered how best to proceed with Schuler. The night before her departure, she had sent a telegram notifying him of her scheduled arrival on Monday. How he would react upon her return begged the largest question.

It was possible he would take her out for supper like the first time he collected her from the station, and they would fall into that comfortable space of friendship. Yet it was also possible he would interrogate her with relentless questions about her time with Valon. She could either dance around the facts or tell him the entire truth. And there was the third possibility of him not being there for her at all.

The sunlight faded over the horizon when they arrived in Haverston. Patience followed a couple of passengers exiting her car. Once they cleared her line of sight, she searched the platform. Electric lights buzzed aglow, but even with their aid, she could not spot Schuler. Her heart quickened as she gripped her carpetbag tighter.

“Patience!” came a voice.

Patience whirled around. From the far end of the platform approached a figure. She squinted. “Whit?”

“Patience!” called the man. As he drew nearer, she could see his boyish face wrought aghast with panic. Stopped a few feet away from her, he panted. “I’m sorry. You must be a little crestfallen to see me instead of Schuler, but …” Whit gnawed his knuckle.

“Wh-what’s wrong?”

“I’m sure he would have loved to fetch you but—Schuler’s ill.”

Patience’s face paled.

“He’s got a terrible fever—He’s practically bedridden.”

Her stomach churned.

“He stayed home for a couple days. Then I went to check on him after yesterday’s show and he was much worse. We had to give him John’s old chamber pot …” Whit rambled.

“Whit!” shouted Patience, forcing him to refocus. “Take me to him!”

Whit nodded and waved her to follow him. He led her to a buggy pulled by a single horse parked at the front of the station. Patience climbed into the seat as Whit took her bag and placed it in the compartment behind them. He then hopped aboard and grabbed the reins.

A hundred questions buzzed in Patience’s mind, drowning out the sound of hooves on the road. She glanced at Whit, his face still twisted with worry. Normally a cheerful man, his features were grossly contorted. This was serious.

“Has a doctor seen him?” asked Patience.

“Yeah, we got Dr. Pasternak to make a house call. He prescribed some medicine and said bed rest was the most important thing.”

The lit lamps and windows blurred into undefined shapes at the corner of Patience’s eyes as they navigated the streets.

“Should he be taken to the hospital in Antimoire?”

Whit wrinkled his mouth as they turned onto the road leading to Keaton. “Doc says he might catch something worse there. Best to stay at home in his current condition.”

Dusk consumed the land, the shadows encroaching ever faster around Patience. The bumps on the road could not jostle her any worse than her already thumping heart. While Whit had proven to be a good friend, Patience could not yet come to trust his evaluation. She needed to see Schuler for herself.

The countryside eschewed itself from her vision. The fields and trees fled into darkness. Even the moon and stars hid behind a cover of clouds tonight. The world ran away from them, but it did not matter so long as Schuler remained on her mind. He was the only thing she wished to see right now.

A lump formed in her throat once they entered Keaton. Whit took the quickest path to Schuler’s apartment, disobeying the ban on vehicles of any sort in the town square. People jumped and cursed at his reckless driving, and he cursed back to shoo them from his path. The wild ride came to a stop as Whit pulled up to the side of the apartment building. He hitched his horse to a post while Patience collected her bag from the back. Together they hurried into the lobby and tore up the staircase.

As soon as Whit opened the front door, Patience ran to the bedroom and fell to Schuler’s side. She gasped. He was drenched in sweat, his skin nearly as light as the bedsheets surrounding him. A moist towel rested on his forehead. He shuddered in fitful sleep.

“Oh, Schuler, I’m here now,” whispered Patience. She stroked his arm, fingers gliding through his sweat.

Whit looked on from the doorway, ruffling his hair in concern. “Sleep is about all he can do right now.”

Patience swallowed. “I’ll see to him. You have a wife to get back to.”

“Are you sure you can handle him by yourself?” asked Whit, tugging at his suspenders.

Patience had plenty of experience. She nodded.

“Well, all right. He’s to take a spoonful of medicine every four hours. Next round’s at eleven.” He cocked his head to the glass bottle and spoon sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. “And my wife made some chicken soup earlier before she felt unwell and headed home early. Oh—she’s not sick, she’s expecting, you see—Er, the soup’s on the stove. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to send for us, the Claibornes. I’ve written down our address on a note in the kitchen.”

“Thank you, Whit,” said the girl. “And congratulations. Please send my regards to Clara.”

“Sure, sure.” Whit stood a moment before his feet creaked into motion. He left and closed the front door quietly behind him.

In the silence of the apartment, Patience heard the blood rushing around her ears. Her heart pounded, a hammer against a chimney pipe. Her insides rang hollow in fear. She had to go to Mr. Wells’ tomorrow. Patience knew this had something to do with what transpired at the witches’ market. She only needed a response from Tandy to confirm.

“This just has to be connected to that thing I saw on his neck!” Patience seethed on her way to the kitchen. She filled a bowl with cool water as she silently thanked the indoor plumbing.

“What are you talking about?” asked Anax.

“That day Schuler fought the witch at the market. I saw a curious piece of paper on his neck as we left and he complained about a bite. It was gone before I could inspect further.” The girl returned to the bedroom, taking the towel from Schuler’s head. “And the next day, I sent a telegram to Tandy in St. Phocas asking about it. I’m hoping she sent a response with some answers.”

“Maybe this has nothing to do with witchcraft,” Anax suggested.

“No, I know that thing is the cause.” She watched the towel drift in the bowl before wringing out the excess water. “I can feel it in my gut.” Patience’s voice began to waver. “Schuler was fit and strong. He couldn’t have fallen ill just like that.”

“He is getting older,” mumbled Anax.

“I needn’t be reminded.” Patience’s lips quivered, fist tightening around the towel. She smoothed back Schuler’s hair before reapplying the damp cloth.

“Tandy will know. If she didn’t, I’m sure she had Heledd assist,” said Anax.

“I’ll go to the general store first thing in the morning and see if Mr. Wells received any word on my behalf.”

“You should eat in the meantime.”

Patience glimpsed the clock on the dresser. It would be a while before she had to give Schuler his medicine. Her eyes fell over the man’s chest lightly falling and rising with each breath.

“Come now,” the skull gently goaded, a slim tendril nudging the small of Patience’s back. The girl relented. It had been a while since her last bite of food.

To Patience’s relief, the night passed without incident. Mrs. Claiborne’s soup was delicious, a bright spot in the darkness of uncertainty. The medicine went smoothly down Schuler’s throat along with a bit of broth. He used the chamber pot, which Patience cleaned immediately in the bathroom. The man was even lucid enough to exchange a few words with Patience.

“Patience … ‘m glad Whit got ya …” Schuler rasped.

“Yes, he’s a good man.”

“Sorry I wasn’t there …”

Patience shushed him. She stroked his hair, lulling him back asleep. She then stepped out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar to monitor Schuler’s condition.

“Wake me in two hours, please,” yawned Patience as she curled up on the sofa in the parlor.

“Will do,” said Anax.

Patience glanced at the gap in the doorway and uttered a prayer under her breath before falling asleep. She knew not what sort of deity or divine force it would reach, but hoped whatever was out there heard her.

The next morning, she woke up weary. She rubbed her eyes, attempting to mash some energy into them. She had little time to recover during the night, her sleep interrupted by administering medicine and emptying the chamber pot. The girl sat up with a start and rushed to the bedroom, thinking Anax had failed to wake her for Schuler’s next round of medicine. But the clock confirmed she was several minutes early. She sighed and began to evaluate Schuler’s status.

His eyes skittered underneath thin lids, deep in sleep. The man’s breaths were shallow and he breathed through his mouth. Patience leaned in closer. There was a slight wheeze in his exhalations. His skin felt clammy. Concern washed over her face.

Patience dutifully wiped his chest, arms, and face. She placed a fresh damp towel upon his head. As she readied another spoonful of medicine, the girl softly hummed the song Schuler played for her.

“Schuler …” she whispered, “it’s time for your medicine.”

The man did not stir.

“Schuler…” she repeated, gently shaking his pale arm. Her heart skipped a beat. “Schuler!”

At last his eyes peeled open into dark slits.

“Oh, Patience … You’re here …” he breathed, barely audible. “I’m sorry I didn’t pick you up from the station.”

“You said that last night,” said the girl, furrowing her brow.

“I did? I thought that was a dream …”

“I-it’s time for your medicine,” she said as she held up the spoon. He stared down at the utensil as if it were a foreign object. Patience guided it to his lips. He slurped, a few drops dribbling into the hairs on his chin. “You need to drink and eat too.”

“Not … hungry …” he wheezed.

“Schuler!” Patience started.

“At least drink water,” stated Anax. He picked up the tin cup Patience had filled last night and brought it in front of the man. He slurped and lapped up some of the offering. Seemingly exhausted from the activity, Schuler settled back into his pillows and shut his eyes. A sob nearly escaped Patience’s throat.

***

“Patience, welcome back home,” greeted Mr. Wells.

The girl breathlessly wove through the aisles of the general store. “Thank you, Mr. Wells. Did you perchance receive a telegram for me?”

“Got this two days after you left,” said the man, taking a folded piece of paper from a drawer in his counter. He held it out for her.

Patience rushed over, unfolding the message. She tilted Anax up on her crown to unobstruct her vision completely. Her eyes scanned the page over and over, rereading to be certain. A pained expression gripped her face.

She mouthed the message, “‘Curse. Brings fever illness. Use normal treatments.’”

Her stomach dropped as her heart flew up to her throat. A curse. This was all the doing of Dorcas’ nephew, she was sure of it. Though it was unknown whether she was the intended victim or if it was meant for Schuler all along. Patience’s breathing grew heavier. A sheen of sweat coated her skin.

“Thank you, Mr. Wells,” she said again. She turned on her heel to leave.

“Is everything all right?” asked the man. Ned Wells hardly ever let emotion drip into his words, but right now his worry lined them thickly.

“I hope so,” mumbled Patience. She hurried off back to Schuler’s apartment.

“A curse! Really?” Patience cried under Anax’s snout. Tears pooled. Each heavy footfall dislodged a bead into the air.

“It can’t be too dire, right? Or else Tandy would say more in her telegram,” said Anax.

Patience sniffed. He had a point.

“By all accounts, it looks like any other fever. Tandy said to treat it normally.” Patience nodded, slowing down to a jog. She recaptured her breath lost to panic and exertion. There was nothing extraordinary about this fever. It was brought about in an extraordinary way, but it was an ordinary illness. Patience repeated this to herself all the way back to the apartment building.

The girl stopped short of the lobby’s front door. Her boot almost fell on the carcass of a recently hatched chick. Her head swiveled to the cypress trees looming by the building. They swayed ominously in the wind, one most likely the former home of the poor chick. Patience looked at the tiny thing again. The body was torn asunder, half-stripped. A flash of white bone peeked through stringy, grayed flesh peppered with ants.

She thought of the delicate waif of a skeleton amid the decay. There was beauty in death, she had always believed. There was beauty after all the violence and suffering were shed. The geometry of a skeleton constructed by divine hands. The outward shell that could be mended and posed as a sculpture capturing a moment of a past life. She thought of her parents, Anax, Valon, Iasis, and Schuler. Patience wrinkled her nose and spat. What was there for humans in the end but a cold stone marker, some superficial hair art, or a crisp photograph if one was lucky. The girl stomped into the lobby. She refused to hand Schuler over to death.

“It’s a regular fever. A bad one. But we will see it through,” Patience declared to herself while warming the last of Mrs. Claiborne’s soup.

As it heated, she tended to Schuler, dabbing his face. Holding a spoonful of medicine to his lips, she lightly pressed Schuler’s jaw to ask it open. The medicine did not go down smoothly. Phlegm caught his throat and Patience had to draw the spoon away to let him cough. Once he settled, she administered the rest.

“Th-thanks,” breathed the man. He barely peeled his eyes open before shutting them again, his head lolling to the side.

When it came time for the next dose, Patience held her breath. Anax pressured Schuler into taking another sip from the cup, physically pulling up his lip and tilting his head back to induce swallowing. The girl was unsure if the man was even aware. She was grateful for Anax’s help.

The next dosage went down even more roughly. Schuler’s eyes remained closed and he did not even possess the strength to lift his head unaided. Patience whimpered, fraught with anguish. She knelt beside the bed.

“This is my fault! If I hadn’t been so stupid as to go near the totem, that witch would never have sent this curse!” Patience sobbed.

Anax dabbed her eyes with soft tendrils. “The curse was not laid by your hands.”

“It might as well have been,” she seethed. Her hands balled into fists, pressing into the mattress.

“Can’t the witch be prosecuted for this?” asked Anax, trying to get Patience’s mind elsewhere.

“Curses can be classified as fineable offenses to felonies depending on their severity, but good luck tracing it back to the caster,” she explained.

It was nigh impossible for dryblood authorities to trace curses. Witches had their ways of course, but it was expensive and only reserved for more severe cases that resulted in permanent damage or death. Patience prayed that Schuler’s case would not fall into the latter. She looked at the man once again, trying to will him into a picture of his former self with her mind alone. Defeated for the night, Patience wearily shuffled to the sofa to sleep.

The next morning revealed Schuler’s condition to be no better than the night before. Patience inspected the large bottle of medicine, wondering just how much of it would disappear down his throat before any results manifested. She bit her lip. There was no more chicken soup left in the kitchen. She would have to go for groceries. After Schuler’s next dose, the girl set out.

The Firmins never frequented the grocer’s, as all the greens and fresh goods they needed were produced at home. Home. Patience dearly hoped the chickens could find enough to eat. She wished she had the ability to leave Schuler’s side for a few hours, but she could not bring herself to neglect him.

Patience felt like a foreigner stepping foot onto a new shore once she entered the store. In her rush, the girl nearly bumped into the cases of milk by the grocer’s door. The jingling of bottles called the owner’s attention to her. Patience winced and proceeded to an aisle of vegetables.

The bins of produce sat in a colorful array in the center of the store, but the cheerful palette did little for Patience’s mood. She sorted through the vegetables, placing those in acceptable condition into a sack she had found in Schuler’s pantry.

“Patience! I heard you’re looking after Mr. Schuler.”

The girl startled. Her eyes darted to meet the kind face of Mrs. Laurence. “Ah, hello, Mrs. Laurence. Yes I am,” said Patience, ceasing her examination of a tomato.

“Bless your heart, dear.” The woman picked up two perfect tomatoes and offered them to Patience. She thanked her. “Word does get around quickly here in Keaton,” sighed the woman. “Please, Patience. If you need any help, do not hesitate to ask.”

“Oh, Mrs. Laurence. It’s really nothing.” Patience dipped her head, lips pursing. “After all, I took care of my p—” her voice hitched. She could not bring herself to speak anymore.

“You poor sweet thing!” Mrs. Laurence croaked. She swept Patience into a hug, much to the girl’s surprise. There was comfort in her arms, a maternal comfort she had not felt in a long time. Any will to resist melted away. Instead Patience flung her arms around the woman’s back, squeezing her tightly through her corset. She was thankful Anax was present to obscure the tears beading around her eyes.

After a quiet moment, Patience broke away from the woman, sniffling. Mrs. Laurence shot her a warm smile and placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Really though, if you need anyone to assist, to look after your place, or at the very least check up on it …”

Patience cleared her throat. “I … suppose I am worried about the chickens.”

“Henry and I will go this afternoon,” said the woman. “We’ll feed and water them, your garden too.”

“Thank you so much.”

Mrs. Laurence then helped Patience grab a few more items. After a short argument, the dressmaker covered all of the girl’s purchases. She would not hear any of Patience’s protests and even paid a boy on the street a nickel to assist Patience in carrying the groceries back to the apartment. Stunned by her kindness, Patience fell into silence.

“What a kind woman,” Anax remarked as they unlocked the front door, the boy long-gone down the stairs.

Patience hefted the groceries into the kitchen. “She is. Mrs. Laurence is wonderful.” She unloaded a few tomatoes, intending to dice them. Suddenly a tear came to her eye. An overwhelming sense of gratitude filled her chest. The girl sniffed and began preparing to cook.