Chapter 61

Rowena

Eric seemed to tense up at my question, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. For a long moment he was silent, almost like he was debating something internally.

“The scar on my shoulder?” he asked finally, an odd amount of hesitance lacing his tone. “Why do you want to see that old thing?”

I felt my cheeks growing warm under his scrutinizing gaze. Why did I want to see it? It was just an impulse, a strange urge sparked by the vivid visions I had had of a little boy’s face with blood dripping down his shoulder.

“I…” I began, then took a breath to steady myself. There was no point in lying. Not anymore. “When I hit my head, I had these flashes. Almost like visions, for lack of a better word.”

Eric quirked an eyebrow. “Visions?”

I nodded and continued even though I was feeling more and more embarrassed the longer I spoke. “Yet. I saw… a little boy with blond hair, like you, and he looked like he was carrying me through some sort of blizzard. And he had a wound on his shoulder that was bleeding.”

Eric’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing. I pressed on. “For some reason, the image of that scar just… stuck with me. Almost like it was important somehow. And I remembered your scar from when we were kids, but…”

My voice trailed off after that. Eric was silent for another long moment, lips pressed into a thin line. Emotions flashed through those bright blue eyes too quickly for me to even read. Then, just when I thought he might dismiss me entirely, Eric seemed to deflate slightly with a resigned exhale.

“Alright,” he muttered, shrugging off his leather jacket. “But I don’t know what this is all about with a blizzard. I got this scar from a playground accident.”

With that, Eric carefully rolled up the sleeve of his white t-shirt. I watched with rapt attention as more and more tanned skin was exposed inch by inch, until finally a raised, puckered patch of scar tissue was revealed just below his shoulder.

Yes, that was it. The exact spot I saw in my dream. I could almost smell it now, the metallic tang of blood. It had turned pink when the snow hit it and melted, and I remembered how he had barely even noticed it.

Without thinking, I reached out to trace the marred flesh with my fingertips. But then, Eric flinched violently at my touch, the muscle in his arm twitching beneath my hand.

Snatching my hand back like I had been burned, I opened my mouth to apologize. But then Eric was hastily covering the scar again, rolling his shirt sleeve back down in order to hide it from view once more.

“Eric, I—”

“You finished eating?” he said abruptly, all traces of warmth vanished from his demeanor as he shrugged back into his jacket. I nodded, and he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and retrieved a wad of cash. “I’ll get the check. Let’s go.”

I blinked in surprise, stunned by his sudden shift in demeanor over something as simple as my curiosity about his childhood scar. Clearly, I had crossed some sort of line—but I wasn’t quite sure what that line was.

After all, Eric had been right. That dream of mine was just that: a dream. Nothing more. We had never been in a blizzard together, and Eric had gotten that scar from a playground accident.

The ride home was tense and silent after that. I kept stealing uncertain glances at Eric’s tightly clenched jaw, his intense focus on the dark road ahead. Finally, I couldn’t take the heavy quiet any longer.

“Look, I’m sorry if I upset you back there,” I began hesitantly. “I was just curious because… well, the boy in my vision looked so much like you as a kid. And I know it was just a dream, but still; with the blond hair and everything. And the blood coming from the shoulder wound—”

“You’re right,” Eric cut me off flatly, not taking his eyes off the road. “It was just a dream.”

His tone made it clear that the discussion was over. Swallowing hard, I turned my gaze out the side window and said nothing more for the rest of the drive.

…

The next day, I hobbled my way to the cafeteria on my crutches with Emma at my side. Eric had driven me to camp, but he hadn’t accompanied me all day like before. It was odd after all of his doting recently, but I knew precisely why.

I had upset him at the diner.

Emma and I settled down at a table with our trays of food, chatting aimlessly about classes and sports and other students. The cafeteria was bustling, the sound of conversation almost deafening in the vaulted space. I leaned forward, poking at my pasta with my fork.

“You look like you saw a ghost,” Emma pointed out, popping a slice of orange into her mouth. She offered me one, but I shook my head.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

She shrugged. “You just look a little pale, that’s all. Are they giving you pain medication for your ankle?”

I nodded; the doctor had prescribed me some pain meds, but I was taking them sparingly. They made my head feel too fuzzy for comfort, and I had exams today. I didn’t want to be out of it.

“I’ll be alright,” I managed with a slight smile. “It’s just a little hard to sleep at night with the pain.”

Emma sighed and met my gaze, her eyes momentarily flickering to the crutches leaned against the table. “You never told me the circumstances surrounding your tumble down the stairs.”

My throat clenched, unsure of what to say. I hadn’t told her for a reason—particularly because I didn’t want to cause more trouble in her already-tense home life by telling her that her sister was involved, even if only somewhat.

But Emma was too smart for that. “Come on,” she said. “I have a feeling that it’s more interesting than you’re letting on, and you’re depriving me of gossip.”

I shot her a wry look, but complied—finally filling her in on the strange details surrounding my fall down the stairs. How I had been feeling feverish and dizzy right before it happened, almost in a daze… how Heather may have provoked me into lunging at her, although she hadn’t outright pushed me.

By the time I finished, Emma’s face had drained of all color, her eyes almost comically wide. At first, she was angry about Heather, but then her focus seemed to draw upon something else.

“Rowena, that’s… not good,” she breathed.

“It’s alright,” I said with a wave of my hand. “Really. It wasn’t Heather’s fault, not technically—”

“No. I’m not talking about Heather.” Emma shook her head and glanced over her shoulder, lowering her voice as though she didn’t want us to be overheard. “I’m talking about the fever, the dizziness, the poor balance—those could all be signs of something much worse…”

I frowned, perplexed by her sudden intensity. “What are you talking about? I’m fine now, the fever has stopped and aside from my ankle, I’m in good health. I think it was just because I had been soaked out in the rain just before—”

But before I could finish, Emma leaned closer, her eyes wide.

“Rowena, have you been tested for Wolf’s Fury?”