Lunar Chronicles #4 Winter - Page 165

The doctor glided the portscreen back and forth above Winter’s arm. She followed the device, noting how it seemed to be scanning the rash of b.u.mps and blisters on her skin. “It shouldn’t be long now.”

Running her tongue around her parched mouth, Winter lifted her hand toward the false daylight. False now—but not for long. Sun rays could be seen brightening the horizon. Sunrise was upon them.

The rash was thick on her skin, rings of raised flesh piled on top of one another, some ready to burst. It was horrifying and grotesque.

If her lungs had been functioning, she might have laughed.

For the first time in her life, no one could say she was beautiful.

Her attention caught on a particularly large spot, as wide as her thumb was long, situated between her wrist and the base of her palm. It was wiggling. As she stared, it grew little legs and crawled up her arm, dodging its brethren like an obstacle course, skittering over the tender skin of her inner elbow. A fat spider scurrying up her flesh.

“Winter.”

She jumped. Scarlet had moved closer and was standing at the foot of the tank, arms akimbo. She, too, had dark spots, and though there were not as many of them as Winter had, they stood out more on her pale skin.

“The doctor asked you a question.”

“Don’t snap at her,” said Jacin.

“Don’t coddle her,” snapped Scarlet.

Winter glanced down to check that the rogue spot had returned to her wrist before looking up at the masked doctor.

“I apologize, Your Highness. May I take a sample of your blood?”

She nodded, and watched with interest as he inserted a needle into her arm and drew out a sample. Her manufacturing plant had been busy while she slept.

He put the sample into a specialized plug on the side of the portscreen. “Oh, and drink this,” he said, as an afterthought, gesturing to a paper cup with an orange liquid in it. “It should help with your throat.”

Jacin tried to hold the cup for her, but she took it from him. “I’m getting stronger,” she whispered.

He did not look comforted.

“Yes. Excellent,” said the doctor. “The pathogens appear to be neutralized. Your immune system is rebounding at an impressive rate.” He grinned. “I believe it’s safe to say the antidote worked. You should be feeling much better within … oh, an hour or two, I think, will make a notable difference, though it may take a few days to feel entirely yourself again.”

“Oh, do not worry,” Winter said, her voice faint even in her own head. “I never feel entirely myself.” She held up her arm. “Will I forever be a leopard?”

“The spots will fade with time.”

“Will they leave scars?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“It’s all right, Winter,” said Scarlet. “The important thing is that you’re alive.”

“I am not sad about it.” She traced a finger over the raised flesh. How alien it felt. How imperfect. She could get used to imperfection.

“That’s proof then,” said Cinder, appearing at Jacin’s side. “The antidote works. I need two volunteers to a.s.sist with the rest of the distribution. Anyone who’s showing symptoms can form a line over there—if anyone has blue fingers, they move to the front of the line. No running, and help people who are too weak to help themselves. Let’s move.” She clapped her hands and the people hurried to obey.

Jacin pulled some of the gunk out of Winter’s hair, his gaze absent like he wasn’t aware he was doing it. In response, Winter reached up and tugged at a clump of his own blond hair.

“Are you real?” she asked.

He smiled, but only a little. “Do I seem real?”

She shook her head. “Never.” Her attention darted to the crowd. “Has Selene had her revolution?”

“Not yet. The coronation is this evening. But we’re…” He paused. “Things are happening.”

She chewed her lip, fighting off the disappointment. This was not over. They had not yet won.

“Is there somewhere we can go to get this stuff off her?” Jacin asked.

“There are two washrooms inside the clinic, one down each hallway,” said the doctor.

Scooping Winter into his arms, Jacin carried her inside the clinic. She tucked her head beneath his chin, even though she was leaving slimy goop all over him. It felt good to be together, for a moment at least.

He found the washroom, which contained a toilet and a large utilitarian sink and a shallow bathtub. Jacin paused in the doorway, surveying his options with an unhappy look.

“Your face is bruised.” She brushed a knuckle against the wound. “Were you in a brawl?”

“Thorne hit me.” His lips twitched. “But I guess I deserved it.”

“It makes you look very tough. No one would ever suspect you’re just a gentle goose on the inside.”

He snorted and held her gaze. Suddenly she was feeling his heartbeat, but she didn’t know if it was beating harder, or if she’d just become attuned to it in that moment. She started to feel shy.

The last time she’d seen Jacin, she’d kissed him. She’d confessed her love for him.

She flushed. Losing her courage, she looked away first. “You can put me in the bathtub. I’m strong enough to wash myself.”

He reluctantly settled her on the edge of the metal tub and began fidgeting with the water controls. The water had a sulfuric smell. When the temperature was right, he searched through a cabinet and found a bottle of liquid soap. He set it within reaching distance.