When Kirchel found her, Erin was on the side of the road about halfway back up to the house, still in the same position she had fallen, her hands outstretched to catch herself. Still crying and shaking, Erin barely heard the car driving up or Kirchel's footsteps running towards her across the gravel road.
“Erin! Erin, are you all right?”
Erin looked up. Kirchel was kneeling in front of her, her hands on Erin’s shoulders and a look of deep concern on her face.
Erin stared at her, trying to force herself back into the real world. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again, and then merely shook her head as a fresh wave of sobs overtook her.
Without another word, Kirchel gently pulled her to her feet and half led, half carried her to the car and helped her climb into the back seat. Erin lay face down, her head cushioned on her arms, trying to concentrate on the soothing hum of the car engine and the steady crunch of gravel as Kirchel drove.
By the time they reached the house, she had stopped crying, but her breathing was still unsteady, and she was shivering uncontrollably. Her leg was throbbing with pain from running and from her fall onto the ground, so much so that she could barely walk on it. She let Kirchel help her out of the car and into the house, not noticing where they were going.
Then she felt Kirchel pushing her gently down into a sitting position and came to enough to realize that she was on the couch in the living room.
“Lie down,” Kirchel said softly, arranging pillows at one end of the couch. “I’ll be right back.”
She waited a few seconds until Erin was settled down on the couch and then walked quickly out of the room.
Erin buried her face in one of the pillows but kept her eyes open. They stung from crying, and the floral pattern on the pillow was blurred and out of focus, but every time she tried to close her eyes, the image of a skeletally thin face and intense grey eyes floated in front of her.
A short time later, Kirchel reentered the room, carrying a large wooden tray. She set the tray down on the end table next to the couch and took a mug of steaming tea from it, which she handed to Erin.
“Drink this. It will help.”
Erin sat up and reached out for the cup, but her hands were still shaking badly, and Kirchel had to help her drink from it. The tea had a strong minty smell to it and a warmth that seemed to spread through Erin’s entire body. After a few sips, her breathing slowed, she stopped shaking, and she could feel the pain in her knee starting to fade.
“What is that stuff?” she asked Kirchel, who was placing the half empty cup back on the tray and picking up a white washcloth.
“It’s similar to the mixture in the pain pills I gave you. Not quite as strong but with a faster effect. Now, let me look at your hands for a minute before you drink the rest of it.”
Erin held out her hands, which were torn and dirty from her fall on the gravel. Kirchel started to carefully clean them off with the warm, damp washcloth. As the dirt and blood were wiped away, Erin could see the pink scars crisscrossing her palms and wrists underneath the fresh scrapes. She looked away quickly, shoving back memories of broken glass.
After she had cleaned Erin’s hands and the knee that hadn’t been protected from the gravel by a brace, Kirchel put down the washcloth and took a blue ceramic jar off the tray. She pulled out its fat cork to reveal a thick green salve. She scooped out a generous amount and gently spread it over Erin’s hands and knee before covering them with cotton pads, which she secured with a layer of gauze and some white medical tape.
“There,” she said, pushing the stopper back into the mouth of the jar. “They’ll be good as new by tomorrow.”
“Good as new?” Erin echoed. She couldn’t keep the trace of bitterness out of her voice. “Does that mean without the scars?”
Kirchel looked at her. “No,” she said quietly. “It can’t take those away.”
Erin said nothing. She stared down at her bandaged hands. Kirchel was trying to help her, and Erin knew she had no right to snap at her. But such bitter, helpless feelings were welling up inside her that she felt like screaming aloud in rage and frustration. Screaming at Kirchel, at Wraith, at herself, at anyone….
Kirchel was watching her closely. She picked the cup of tea up and handed it to Erin again. “Why don’t you drink the rest of this? And here….” She placed the cookies on Erin’s lap. “Try some of those.”
With difficulty, Erin forced down her seething emotions long enough to drink a little more tea. The warm minty scent was comforting, and she took several deep breaths of it before turning her attention to the plate on her lap. It held a dozen small, thin circles of what looked like shortbread except that instead of being golden, it was pale pink and glittery, as though it were coated with sugar.
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“What are these?” Erin asked, picking one up to look at it more closely.
“The proper name is ritshatai,” Kirchel said. “But I call them flower cookies. They’re actually more like a cross between cookies and candy. I picked up the recipe while I was living abroad. Just take small bites—the flavor’s quite strong.”
Erin bit a tiny piece off the edge of the cookie. It dissolved on her tongue and had a sweet, creamy flavor. “This is good.” She took another bite. “Where do they come from? Mom said you’d been living out of the country for a long time, but she wasn’t sure exactly where.”
“I’ve been a lot of places,” Kirchel said vaguely. She picked up the leftover gauze and started winding it back into a roll. There was a long silence.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Erin said quietly.
Kirchel sighed. “I know.”
She slipped the roll of gauze back into the plastic bag it had come from and dropped it back onto the tray. Then she sat silently for a moment, staring down at the carpet, before looking back up.
“Erin, I'm sorry. I really am. But there are things about my past that I can’t tell you. Never mind why—I just can’t. I’m not going to tell you not to ask me any questions at all. But please, be understanding when I can’t give you a satisfactory answer. All right?”
“I...guess I can manage that,” Erin said, though she felt a little disappointed. “What, were you working undercover for the CIA or something?”
“Not exactly,” Kirchel said with an awkward laugh. “But something like that.”
Erin didn't press her any further. Instead, she asked, “How did you know to come after me when I left the greenhouse? I thought you were meeting with someone.”
“I was. But the boys saw you heading up the road, and Ant ran in to tell me.” Kirchel gave a wry grin. “And I ran out and left him to tend to a very shocked Mrs. Jenkins.” Her face became serious again. “I had a pretty good idea of what was going on. I knew I needed to get to you before anything happened.”
“Before I hurt myself, you mean,” Erin said bitterly.
Kirchel looked at her with an expression of deep sympathy. “Yes, like that,” she said softly.
Erin bit her lip and looked down at her hands, running her fingers over the white gauze. She could feel frustration welling up inside of her again.
“Why does it keep happening?” she burst out suddenly. “I stopped taking the pain medications. If that’s what was causing these hallucinations, why haven’t they stopped?”
“I don’t know, Erin.” Kirchel sighed heavily. “I honestly don’t know. That’s the main reason I wanted you to come here—so that maybe I could figure out why.” She shook her head. “But so far I don’t know any more than I did before you came.”
“That’s great,” Erin said sardonically, leaning back and tilting her head to stare up at the ceiling. “So the only reason I’m better off having hallucinations here than at home is that the stuff you use to patch me up afterwards doesn’t smell as bad as the stuff Dad uses, is that right?”
“It’s only been four days, Erin,” Kirchel said quietly.
Erin jerked upright. “But that’s why I came, isn’t it?” she spat at Kirchel. “You were supposed to know what to do. You were supposed to help! You’re the wonderful cousin who was supposed to make everything better. Well, nothing’s better!” She paused, choking on tears. “You were supposed to be able to keep Wraith away from me. But you couldn’t stop him from coming! Why can’t he just stop coming…?” Erin broke off with a sob. She leaned forward, her arms held tightly to her as though to hold herself together. “Why can’t he just leave me alone…?”
Kirchel didn’t say anything. She pulled Erin to her and held her while she sobbed, rocking her gently back and forth. Even after Erin had cried herself out, Kirchel still held her, running her fingers soothingly through Erin’s strawberry-blonde hair with one hand.
“I…” Erin said in a quaking voice, her head still on Kirchel’s shoulder, “am… a total…idiot.”
“What you are,” Kirchel said gently, “is a little girl who is going through a terrible experience. She’s hurt and afraid, and she rightly expects her family to be able to help her.” Her voice broke slightly. “And we don’t know what to do for her.” Erin heard her take a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “I don’t blame you for being angry, Erin. I don’t blame you at all.”
They were both quiet for a long moment. The only sound was an occasional sniff from Erin. Then the grandfather clock on the other side of the room chimed. Erin, feeling Kirchel turn to look at the clock, raised her head as well.
“Eleven,” Kirchel said. She turned back to Erin. “Look, I’ve got to go see what I can do about Mrs. Jenkins. Try to rest for a little while—it will help you feel better.”
Erin hesitated. She still felt weak and shaky, and her head was aching slightly from her crying. The thought of a nap had some appeal. But she knew it would be hard to keep herself from going over all her memories of Wraith once she was left to herself.
“You don’t have something that could just knock me out for an hour or two, do you?” she asked Kirchel. “Something like the tea you sent me—just to keep me from thinking so much about…well, about what just happened.”
“I think maybe we could manage that.” Kirchel stood up and produced a couple of tissues from her pocket, which she gave to Erin. Then she left the room, returning shortly with a glass bottle full of a dark purple liquid.
“Is that a magic potion?” Erin asked, with a weak smile.
“Well, it works as well as one. It will make you drowsy, but the effect won’t last for too long. Just long enough for you to take a bit of a nap.” Kirchel took the empty mug and filled it about a quarter of the way. “Here, drink all of this.”
Erin drank the purple liquid in three swallows. It had a spicy smell to it and a curiously dark flavor. She put the cup back on the tray and lay down on the couch. Kirchel pulled an afghan off the armchair next to the couch and spread it over her.
“What’s in that purple stuff?” Erin asked. The taste of it still lingered in her mouth.
“Chamomile and rosemary,” Kirchel said, tucking the afghan around Erin. “Some lemon for flavor. And just a little bit of….”
But Erin was already asleep and didn’t hear the rest.