But despite feeling a sickening twist in my stomach every time I tried to heal someone—worried that I was sinking poison into their veins—I couldn’t stand the suffering. Couldn’t stand hearing Haven’s pain-filled moans and Benji’s soft sniffles. If my curse had befallen them because of their close proximity to me, then the least I could do was remove some of the suffering.
Once Haven was tucked in bed, I got to work pushing my healing magic into her broken ankle. Carefully. We never talked about the times I did this. I knew she could feel it—the sensation was like a gently moving current and the bone knitting back together wasn’t pleasant—but we had an unspoken agreement that my unique ability shouldn’t be discussed. If rumors of magic reached the shifters, I’d be accused of witchcraft and no doubt executed on the spot.
Not only did I refuse to go out that way, but the decade’s old superstition that had started a war could reignite widespread panic and cause even more Fae persecution.
Halfway through fixing the break, sweat peppered my forehead and even more slid down my spine. A wave of exhaustion hit me and I hunched forward, my head too heavy to hold up. I closed my eyes and sighed. A bony hand on mine broke my concentration. “You’ve done enough, Tarik. Thank you. I can never thank you enough.”
I leaned back, inspecting the break. The ankle was straight but the bone was barely fused together. “I’ll come by after work and see how you’re doing. Until then, stay in bed and ask Benji to get things for you. That kid has the energy of ten puppies.”
She laughed, the thin sound ending in a cough. I smiled as best I could before taking my leave, knowing her thanks was misguided. If not for me—if not for my inability to reject Benji—she would no doubt be whole and healthy, laughing and chasing after her son under a clear blue sky.
Bad luck.
Diseased.
Everything I touched would eventually die.
—
The day only got worse.
Mordecai had extended our hours, saying we were already falling behind schedule. Some of us used pickaxes all day, chipping out the crystal from the cave’s wall. Others carted, sorted, and cleaned the crystal, while a select few were tasked with sawing down the crystal to predetermined sizes. It was the latter that I felt most sorry for. Jocelyn hovered over them something fierce, critiquing each and every cut.
Less than a week on the job and exhaustion consumed us. Maybe because of the lack of sunlight or the stale filtered air. Whatever the reason, every time my coworkers and I went into the mines, we staggered out at the end of the day, barely able to make the trip home.
I had even considered black lung disease, but we weren’t mining coal. Maybe crystal disease? Something was off and I was determined to find out what. I couldn’t make the money I needed—that Benji needed—if I couldn’t get out of bed in the morning.
I paused in my task, wiping sweat off my brow as Jocelyn clattered by. “Can I ask you a question?”
She whipped her head my direction, eyes rounding like I’d insulted her hair or something. “I’ll answer if I can.”
Well, then. Better than nothing. I leaned more fully on my pickaxe handle. “Are there side effects to working in these mines?”
She blinked owlishly. Maybe she was an owl shifter? “Not that I know of. I’d have to ask Mordecai. The doctors said you were all in perfect health. Why, are you not feeling well?”
I gave her a flat look, not bothering with subtlety. “Okay, I know we’re all new to this job—including you—but I think we should have been informed if this task makes us sick.”
Jocelyn stared like a deer in headlights—deer shifter? Laughter suddenly bubbled past her red lips. “Or maybe you’re not accustomed to working for your pay? Yes, this is hard work, but your body will acclimate. Chin up, Tarik. The job will get easier, you’ll see.”
Her heels clipped smartly as she traipsed off. I rolled my eyes. What a quack. Duck shifter, perhaps? Now that one made sense. Right then, my stomach cramped with spasms and I groaned. Maybe the water down here was bad. Mordecai wouldn’t poison us . . . would he?
Crap. Something wasn’t right. I nudged the Fae next to me, pointing at my pickaxe. “Gotta pee, Holden. Watch this for me?” At his nod, I crossed the cavern, the trip taking longer than usual. My knees shook but I straightened my spine, resolved to complete this trek in one go, even if the effort killed me.
Maybe I was getting a normal sickness, like the flu or something. I shied away from that reasoning. My healing ability always cured me of ailments before they could take root. After relieving myself, I poked my head through each door I passed, still hoping to find Reagan slinking around.
The bright medical room beckoned like forbidden treasure, asking to be explored. Curiosity tugged and pulled at me, the need to discover what ailed me and the other Fae overcoming Jocelyn’s earlier warning—even at the cost of my job. If the mines were slowly killing us, then this room seemed like the best place to find answers. After a thorough scan of my surroundings, I gave in.
The sterile room was empty, lined with examination tables and shiny silver equipment. Against the far wall was a floor-to-ceiling glass cabinet. Locked. Filled with Fae blood and urine samples. Everything sat in labeled order: test tubes, syringes, bottles of—
What if the doctors injected us with something?
I had lost count of how many times they’d poked needles into me earlier this week. Maybe I and some
