Wake, human! I cried through vellum wind, calling my friend to rise from slumber, to be ready. Get out your precious silver instruments and bandages. Have all the medicines ready.
The village came into view then, tiny houses tucked amidst the trees, streets that followed the curve of the mountain like ribs. Bits of fog shrouded buildings, erased alleys, wrapped me in wet frost as I descended, wings flapping, reality folding like a black cloak around me. As soon as I landed I took the shape of a human, a long cape draped over my shoulder that shielded my daughter, still trapped in her Darkling skin. A small whitewashed building emerged from the fog, placard creaking in the wind, sign hanging in the front window.
CLOSED, OPEN AT 9 A.M.
I beat a fist against the door. Once. Twice. Just about slammed it down again, when the door swung open. I almost hit my friend in the face.
“Hey.” Dr. Ross Madera stepped back, hair messed, glasses perched crooked on his nose. “Could you please try a cell phone next time? That dream telepathy thing of yours is awful—”
I pushed my way inside the door, past the doctor, toward one of the inner rooms. I wrinkled my nose at the horrid stench of antiseptic and detergent. Human medicine was primitive at best. I gently placed my daughter on a long stainless-steel table.
“You know I’m not really qualified for this,” Ross said as he followed a step behind. “I’m a veterinarian, not an M.D. I’m not supposed to treat people.”
I lifted the cloak to reveal my daughter’s Darkling features: silver-gray skin, dark hair, gray-black wings, slender pointed ears, webbed fingers. “She’s only half human,” I said. “And I can’t take her to a doctor. Not when she’s wearing this skin. It’s Elspeth.”
Ross nodded with understanding. There were few secrets between us. He stared at my daughter, looked at the shirt that bound her wound, the blood soaking through. “What happened?”
“A dog bit her.”
Within a few minutes, Ross had gathered everything he needed into a neat pile. He started cleaning and dressing her wound, sweat beading his forehead. Then he paused and glanced up at me. “She’s going to need stitches,” he said.
I nodded.
“I can give her a topical anesthetic, but I don’t think I should take a chance on anything stronger. I don’t know enough about your anatomy. I can’t have her jump while I’m sewing her up—”
“I can keep her under until you’re done.”
Then I sang a soft enchantment and the room sparkled with dots of light.
Ross bent over her again, then began the slow, delicate process of stitching her flesh together. “Do you know if the dog has its shots?” he asked.
“Shots?” I gave him a blank stare.
“Rabies shots. Where did this happen?”
“In one of the cottages Driscoll rents.”
“Then the dog’s owners must have filled out some paperwork when they registered. Ask Driscoll. I need to know if that dog has its current rabies vaccination.”
“I’ll go get the dog.”
Ross sighed as he stood up. The stitches were finished and Elspeth’s arm was now wrapped in layers of white gauze. “You don’t think that might look a bit suspicious?”
“I can make it look like the dog ran away.”
“Check the paperwork first, would you? If you show up here in the morning with a dog—”
Just then Elspeth moaned and her eyes fluttered open. She tried to sit up, grabbed for her injured arm, then saw that it was wrapped in a bandage.
“Lie still for a few minutes,” Ross said. “I’ll go see if I can find some more topical anesthetic for the pain.” He walked out the door and I could hear him rummaging through drawers in the next room.
“What did he do to me?” she asked me when we were alone. “My arm burns.”
“Who taught you to hunt?”
She grimaced, then lay back down and closed her eyes. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You didn’t mask your scent. You walked into that house smelling like a human. If I hadn’t gotten there when I did, that dog might have killed you—”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“No. You need a father.”
“Really? Well, I wonder where I might find one of those. Maybe Aunt Sage will take me shopping in the morning, I hear humans buy and sell almost everything—”
“It’s my fault.”
“What?” She sat halfway up again and stared at me. I never apologized, never said I was wrong. It caught me by surprise too.
“I should have taught you to hunt, myself,” I said, wishing I could take back the years I had ignored her. But I never thought she would get hurt, thought that the Elders back home would have done a better job than I could. Apparently I had been wrong about that. “I didn’t realize that you would be so—so—”
“Human?”
“No. Stubborn, like me.”
She grinned and threw both arms around me, then let out a little yelp when she accidentally pulled her stitches. She laid her head against my chest and I ran my hand over her hair. For the first time, I realized that this whole father-daughter thing was going to be a lot more difficult than I expected.
Part 2