Chapter 21: The Dot

I slid off my chair onto the carpet.

I did not decide to.

My knees gave, and I was on the floor of the Hartley ballroom, with my cheek against a gold-patterned rug, and it was cold.

It was the same cold.

I heard Dr. Wheelock shouting my name.

I heard the quartet play three more bars and falter.

I opened my mouth to say pen, and no air came.

The room had gone far away and small, and one thought stayed in it, perfectly steady.

Not like this. Not twice.

Then a hand got under my head.

"Leonie."

Kellan.

He had crossed four tables in the time it took me to fall.

His face was white and absolutely calm.

"I've got you," he said. "Stay with me. Look at my eyes."

He tore open his jacket.

The spare pen came out of his inside pocket in its orange case, and he flipped the cap off with his thumb.

I saw his hands.

They did not shake.

He put the pen to my outer thigh through the white silk and drove it in, and I heard the click.

He counted aloud, steady.

"One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six."

A woman at the nearest table screamed.

Someone shouted for a doctor.

Mrs. Wheelock's voice was loud over everyone's. "Call an ambulance! She's allergic! Call it now!"

At nine, I dragged in a breath.

It was a thin, whistling pull of air, and it was the best thing I had ever felt.

At twelve, the second one came.

The tightness in my throat did not go away, but it loosened a little, and a little more.

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