Chapter 8: The Soup Again

By morning, Tobias was sitting up in bed with a tube in his arm and a spoon in his hand.

"Don't look at me like that," he said. "It's only toast."

"It's toast with no salt."

"I know. I hate it."

I laughed before I could stop myself.

It was the first time in two lives that I had laughed in front of a brother.

Rowan's driver stood by the door in his dark coat with his phone in his hand, and nobody had asked him to be there.

Rowan had said only, "He goes where you go."

The lab report lay on the bed table under Tobias's cup.

The grey powder in the blue capsule was a kidney poison.

The dosing sheet had one set of fingerprints on it besides mine.

The nephrologist had told me that very quietly, in the corridor, and then she had asked me never to say who told me.

At ten, the family came.

My father walked in first, in his grey suit.

My mother came behind him with a basket of oranges.

Leland followed, his arm tucked against his ribs.

Four of my brothers filed in after him.

Delphine came last, carrying a covered pot in both hands.

She had put on a soft pink dress and tied her hair back with a ribbon.

She was the picture of a sister who had not slept.

"Tobias," she said, in a voice like warm milk. "I made your favorite. Ginseng soup, the way Mother used to."

A chill went straight through me.

I had heard that word, ginseng, in this exact voice.

I had tasted it on my own tongue.

"Put it down, Delphine," Leland said, and took the pot from her.

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