Chapter 8: Chelsea Comes Calling

Chelsea fell on Cold Creek's side of the line, which made her Orson's problem.

"Healer," Orson said into his phone, without looking surprised. "Bridge. Now."

Duncan was already on his knees on the planks, with her head in his lap.

He looked up at me.

It lasted half a second, a desperate look full of guilt and pleading.

"Go," I said. "Take her to the clinic."

"Hazel, I..."

"I'm not asking you to choose. I'm telling you to carry her."

He carried her.

The clinic was a low brick building behind Cold Creek's feed store, and it smelled of rubbing alcohol and wet dog.

Chelsea lay on a cot in the back room, white as the sheet, with a damp cloth across her forehead.

Duncan stood beside her.

I stood at the foot of the cot with my arms folded.

The healer with the silver glasses moved around us with a stethoscope.

"Her heart is racing," she said. "How long has she been like this?"

"Since the ambush," Duncan said. "She has episodes."

"What kind of episodes?"

"Her wolf fades. Her chest locks. She can't breathe and then she faints."

"Hmm," said the healer.

Chelsea's eyelids fluttered.

"Hazel?" she whispered. "Is that you?"

"I'm here."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't want to interrupt. I heard the pack howling and I thought..."

Her voice cracked, and tears ran down into her hair.

"I thought it was for Duncan."

"It was for the baby."

"What baby?"

Then she put her hand over her mouth.

It was a very good performance.

I knew, because I had watched her give it before.

At nine she had cried like this over a broken bike.

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