Wenzi had only just taken her shoes off to sit down when an emergency-coded call came in on her personal radio frequency.
“Doctor Wenzi, this is Doctor Braddock, please come in. Urgent.”
Wenzi looked around her apartment, regretfully taking it in. She hadn’t had time to appreciate her old fashioned, delicate yet cozy home recently. The scents of her rare old book and map collection. The comfort food in her kitchen. She’d been too busy in her office, which she’d tried to style the same way as home, but it smelled too much of work.
The radio message repeated and she crawled over the arm of the couch to reach the handset. “This is Wenzi, go ahead.”
“So sorry to bother you this late, Doctor Wenzi, but this is an emergency,” said Doctor Braddock. She spoke quickly, and Wenzi could feel the stress and exhaustion. “We have a patient who is likely to die in the next day or so without your help.”
“My help?” Wenzi repeated. Her cheek twitched, and she slapped it. “I’m a dream therapist, not a medical doctor. What could you possibly -“
“That’s exactly why we need you,” replied Braddock. “As soon as you can. Please. I’ll explain when you arrive.”
Wenzi let out one of her longest sighs and realized she was transmitting. Her face went hot.
“It’s the patient you requested three days ago,” said Braddock.
Wenzi bolted upright. “I’ll leave in five. See you soon.”
“Thank you,” said Braddock, barely finishing the phrase before cutting herself off.
Wenzil dropped back onto the couch and rolled to her back. She stared at the ceiling, tracing the moulding with her eyes. This was what she wanted, but not when she wanted. If only she had time for tea and noodles.
She shook her head and pulled herself up, searching for the shoes she’d kicked off randomly. The patient would die soon, Braddock had said. Why? Hadn’t the news said she was in good physical health, a miracle recovery? Shoes securely attached to feet, Wenzi grabbed her long coat and her work bag, which she’d kept packed for exactly this occasion just in case. She set out, hoping the evening fog wouldn’t be too cold on her bare calves.
Something was different these past few nights. She sensed it again as soon as she stepped out of her building. The fog hadn’t rolled in yet, as it did at almost the same time every night, creeping in from the stormy bay. She looked down the long straight street – the fog had stopped at the waterfront, as if held back. The night felt still, unmoving. The few pedestrians and vehicles seemed to move slowly, tentatively, worried that something was about to happen.
Wenzi held her breath on the front steps, waiting for that something. Her lungs began to burn, and she released her breath. Nothing happened. She fastened her coat and strode down the street.
Ravenshore General Hospital was only a few blocks away. Not an intentional choice on Wenzi’s part – she’d merely snapped up the first apartment available that had fit her taste. Her office was actually further out from the hospital, closer to the Falls Park.
Her favourite noodle restaurant was on the way. She walked past, gazing up at the yellow sign with curling red script, looked past her faint reflection to see families and couples dining in the amber light and cursive art, longingly smelling the –
Wait, was that a takeout stand?
It was! Wenzi hurried across the street, earning a honk from a delivery truck, and she waved in apology. Donny’s Noodles had an express stand! That was new, she hadn’t seen it last week. How exciting! And there was no line! Wenzi hurriedly ordered a cup of spicy thick noodles with broccoli, and a tea, and left a large tip. With hot food in hand, she felt much better about the late night call.
She arrived at the hospital, one of several old manors converted into public service buildings, with additional wings and expansions patched on over the years, and a new glass front under construction. She ducked into the emergency room, quiet at this time of night, and flashed her medical license and ID at the young desk attendant. “Doctor Wenzi for Doctor Braddock. She’s expecting me. Said it’s urgent.”
The attendant nodded. “Yes, Doctor. Down the hall, past the nurses’ station. Room one-ten.”
Not even a call to verify? Urgent, indeed – Braddock must have left standing orders. Wenzi’s throat felt tight, and she almost forgot the heat of the noodle and tea cups in her hands.
From down the hall, Wenzi heard shrieking and screaming – a young woman, from the sounds of it, followed by one man – no, two men yelling in pain. She hurried down the hall, balancing her cups, as a nurse jumped up from the station and ran to… room one-ten. Wenzi picked up the pace, dodged around an elderly man on crutches, and leaned in the door.
Doctor Braddock was in the corner, eyes wide and hair frazzled, a syringe in one hand and her glasses in the other. A young woman thrashed and screamed on the bed, biting and clawing at the three large men in medical scrubs trying to hold her down. Their arms and faces had long, deep cuts from the woman’s nails, bite marks on their hands and forearms, and one of them was bleeding from a swollen-shut eye.
The woman was emaciated and appeared physically exhausted beyond measure, her colour drained, her eyes dark and sunken, lips dry and cracked – and yet she fought as if possessed, half-restrained, kicking and slashing and screaming and biting.
“That’s enough!” shouted Doctor Braddock. She dropped the syringe and held up her hands. “Enough! We won’t sedate you. Back away. Please stop hurting my staff!” The three men backed off. The one with the bleeding eye moaned and covered his face with his hand. “Go ahead, I’ll be all right. Arty,” said the doctor to the nurse, “Please clean and patch them up.”
The attendants and the nurse from the station filed out of the patient’s room, heading for first aid. Doctor Braddock apologized to the patient, backed out, and closed the door. Wenzi stayed out of the way and watched with wide eyes, cups still in hands.
“You see why I called you,” sighed Braddock, adjusting her white coat and glasses.
“Not exactly,” said Wenzi. She glanced at the door, saw the patient sitting in bed, staring at nothing, her knees hugged against her chest. “What was that? What just happened?”
“Short version or full version?” asked Braddock.
“Full, please. Here,” Wenzi said, holding out her tea. “You look like you need this more than I do. It’s got caffeine. Black.”
Braddock took a long grateful sip and motioned Wenzi over to the waiting area, where they sat between ferns and piles of magazines and newspapers. Braddock looked almost half as exhausted as the patient. Braddock began after another sip of tea. “Patient died of a heart attack in her home seven days ago. Late at night. Neighbour heard horrific screaming, thought she was being murdered. Broke in to her apartment with a crowbar, thinking to save her from an attacker, but she was already dead when he arrived. Then a flock of crows smashed in through the window, gathered around the patient, and somehow brought her back to life, still screaming. They say it was the city spirit.”
Wenzi nodded. She’d heard all this in the news, but that wasn’t why she’d requested the case.
Braddock continued, draining the tea quickly. “Patient was brought to hospital for evaluation. Healthy, somehow – no obstruction or damage to any arteries nor any part of the heart itself. Unusually low average body temperature, especially skin, and patient appeared unable to sweat, but she was in no direct physical danger and otherwise in perfect health, so we released her. She came back this morning in an awful state. Like you saw a moment ago. Asked for help getting rid of a nightmare, so she can sleep.”
“So why bring me in now,” asked Wenzi, leaning forward, “When you denied me earlier?”
“What was your interest earlier?” countered Braddock. “You know I respect you, but you have to admit, it’s an unusual request.”
“Purely professional interest,” Wenzi lied. “The patient had her heart attack while dreaming, didn’t she?”
“Yes, well, that’s the problem I’m having now,” said Braddock. She chugged the rest of the tea, sighed, burped, and leaned back. “The patient refuses to sleep. Says she’s afraid the nightmare will come back and kill her again. She won’t eat or drink, in case we’ve drugged it. And you just saw what happens if we try to IV or inject her with anything.”
Braddock leaned forward again and wiped her face with her hands, then rested her elbows on her knees. “She’s complaining of seeing and hearing ghosts. Claims there’s one in her gun. I’m inclined to believe her, at least somewhat – every time we try to get rid of the gun, it somehow comes back on its own, and we know she’s not leaving the room, so… maybe it is haunted. Anyway, the point is… she’s been self-medicating with a lot of hard alcohol, hoping to pass out without dreaming, and then getting frightened and still not letting herself fall asleep. I don’t even know how she’s getting it in here; she hasn’t left. If we don’t get her to eat, and drink, and sleep, her body is going to fall apart, and she’ll die.”
Wenzi leaned back and almost spilled her noodles all over her lap. She put the cup down on the table among the papers. “So you’re hoping I can somehow deal with her dreams and get her to sleep. Because she’s asking for help, but refusing all the kinds you can give her, and if she keeps it up she’ll die.”
“Exactly,” said Braddock. She stood up and tossed the tea cup in the trash. “I have been on duty for over thirty hours and I would very much like to go home. If you’re comfortable seeing the patient now, I’ll have the two biggest men I have left wait outside, just in case. If she doesn’t think you’re going to try to make her sleep, she shouldn’t be a problem – at worst, uncooperative.”
“All right,” said Wenzi, already beginning to think through her strategies. She gave her cup of noodles a long, hard stare, and picked it up, contemplating. “Thank you, Doctor Braddock. I’ll do my best,” she said, and offered her hand.
Braddock accepted and gave a weak, tired shake. “Good luck, Doctor Wenzi. I’ll try to introduce you to the patient, and then I’ll see you in the morning.”
Wenzi waited outside the patient’s door as Braddock spoke to her. She could hear Braddock explaining that she’d brought in a renowned specialist, a dream psychiatrist. Wenzi didn’t like being renowned, so she tried to focus somewhere else – she tapped her medical ID on the patient’s chart on the door, and the enchantment revealed pages of text and records rather than the blank sheets anyone else would see. Wenzi reviewed the charts, couldn’t help a long stare at the patient’s name.
Braddock stepped out, gave Wenzi a nod good night, and shuffled off down the hall, cleaning her glasses. Glasses, right. Wenzi retrieved her own from her coat pocket, slim and modern. Not what she’d choose at home, but they made her feel more professional. She took a breath and stepped into the patient’s room.
“Hello, Ms… Morowa-Arnesdotr, is it?” said Wenzi, tentatively. “My name is Wenzi. I don’t mean to sound pretentious, but your doctor didn’t quite introduce me correctly. I’m not only a dream psychiatrist – I’m a dreamwalker, and I conduct my best therapy within my patients’ dreams.”
The young woman – Kat – pulled the sheet up half-consciously. “No,” she said, and her breathing picked up. “No, I’m not going back in there. No. I don’t want to die again. I can’t, I won’t – no no -”
Wenzi put a hand on her shoulder. Not a good reaction; she’d barely introduced herself. “It’s all right,” she said. “You’re awake, you’re safe. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to. Just breathe.” She reached into her work bag and pulled out one of her small glass scent therapy vials. She popped the cork and held it near Kat’s face, not so close as to be suspicious – an offer, not an imposition.
The smell of campfire smoke drifted out of the vial, and Kat’s face went slack for a moment, exactly as Wenzi had hoped. “How did you do that?” asked Kat. “I was back with my parents…”
Wenzi smiled. “No tricks, no dreamwalking. Just a lucky guess,” she lied, “and a very exhausted patient. But I can do even better than that, if you’ll let me.” Mentally, Wenzi crossed her fingers.
Kat’s expression soured and her lips twisted. “What’s the catch? What’ll it cost me?”
“No catch,” said Wenzi, doing her best to pretend to be offended. This was good – they were negotiating now. Maybe she really could help. “I just want to help. Actually, your case is very interesting to me. I’ve never seen a nightmare powerful enough to kill, and if I can treat you, it might help me develop better techniques to treat other patients with difficult traumas.” All true, if not the whole truth.
“That’s it?” Kat asked, eyebrows raised. “You’re not going to just use me for research or as the subject of your next book?”
“I would never publish any of your case information without your permission,” Wenzi assured her, again truthfully.
“Well…” Kat looked up at the ceiling, fighting not to let her eyes close.
Wenzi tried again. She was close. This wasn’t the best solution, but… “If it helps… for now, until we begin true treatment, I can prescribe you a pill that will suppress dreams.”
Kat sat bolt upright, a restraint snapping tight on her legs. “You can?”
Wenzi sighed. “Yes. I don’t like prescribing them; they suppress the symptoms instead of treating the disease. But your doctor tells me you’ve been self-medicating with hard alcohol, and the pills are better than alcohol poisoning.”
“I’ll do it,” Kat said. “When do we start?”
Wenzi’s cheek twitched. “I’m not sure I’m explaining this correctly. If the root cause of the nightmare isn’t addressed, the dream blocker pills are only repressing it, which can allow the nightmare to grow stronger, since it’s still there in your subconscious and in the dream world.”
“Okay, I get it,” said Kat, more dismissively than Wenzi would like. “When can I get them?”
Once more, Wenzi hesitated, and her hand reflexively moved to her bag. “I… I keep one with me at all times. For emergencies, in case I see something in my patients’ dreams that scares me too much to work it out before sleep.” She reached into her bag and retrieved a small capsule holding one black pill. “I can give this one to you, for right now, and you can pick up your prescription from the hospital pharmacy in the morning.”
Kat leaned forward to reach out for the pill, and was stopped by the leg restraint. Wenzi assumed there were supposed to be more restraints, and the orderlies hadn’t managed to get her into them safely.
“You can’t take it on an empty stomach, or it’ll damage your liver and kidneys,” Wenzi said, and held out her cup of noodles. “I picked these up on the way in. They’re yours, if you want.”
Kat eyed the noodles suspiciously. Her nose twitched. “You didn’t put anything else in them?”
“Even if I did,” sighed Wenzi, “The dream blocker pill would still work.” She reached out, holding the pill and the noodles closer.
Kat snatched both, popped the pill into her mouth, and slurped the cup of noodles. Her eyes went wide. “Spicy,” she mumbled, and broth dripped down her chin. “Good.”
Wenzi smiled. “Glad you like them, it’s my favourite. From Donny’s Noodles, a few blocks away.”
“That close?” Kat said, eyebrows up, slurping more. “And yet they still try to make me eat that terrible hospital food?”
Wenzi laughed. “I guess it doesn’t make much sense, when you put it that way.”
She sat with Kat, making inane light conversation to distract her. Kat enjoyed the heat of the noodles for making her feel warm for the first time since she’d died, so Wenzi recommended she try the really spicy option next time. Wenzi chatted about the weather and the fog, about how silly she’d been to wear a skirt after dark because the fog would surely be in and chilly and wet on her legs when she left.
Kat began to blink more slowly, her eyes half-closed for longer and longer periods. Wenzi moved to more boring conversation – walked her through all the details of the procedures and paperwork she’d follow for Kat, all the different kinds of forms and approvals she required for different types of patients and prescription approvals, until the young woman slowly drifted off to sleep. Her breathing was low, but Wenzi watched her and the monitors, and as far as she could tell, Kat was safe.
For tonight.
Wenzi found her notebook in her work bag and set to writing. For Kat, she left her business card with her office address and radio frequency, and a note to call her and to pick up her prescription in the morning. For the hospital, she wrote out that prescription, then copied the sheet number onto Kat’s note. Finally, she took down everything she could remember about her conversation and what she’d done for Kat, so the hospital could update her charts and records. She even made sure to note which noodles she’d ordered, in case there were any risks of reaction or interference with any procedures or medications.
She delivered the notes to the relevant departments and finally walked home, ready to kick off her shoes for good this time – but not without replacement tea and noodles.
“Come in,” called Wenzi. She’d just finished setting out the utensils and lit the campfire-scented incense – perfect timing.
Kat Morowa-Arnesdotr opened the door and glanced around the room, her eyes darting from dark wood floor to high-backed leather chair to bookshelves sagging with tomes. Clever and inquisitive when she’s not exhausted out of her mind, Wenzi noted. And cautious.
“I know your note said to make an appointment soon, but I hope I’m not bumping anyone else out of their slot?” asked Kat, nostrils flared, taking in the incense.
“I had a free hour today,” said Wenzi. She gestured to the small table in front of the traditional couches, covered not in notes or books but with paper containers of Donny’s spicy noodles and various sides. “I hope you don’t mind that I ordered the same thing for lunch as you had the other night. I wasn’t sure if you liked all noodles, or just these noodles.”
“Oh, no, that’s all right, thanks,” said Kat.
Wenzi watched closely without looking like she was watching closely, a skill she’d perfected over years of training and therapy appointments. Kat was still tired, though not as exhausted as she had been in the hospital. Her eyes were still dark, and she still seemed a little thinner than she should be, but she was strong and alert. Rather than a hospital gown, she wore an old military bomber jacket, zipped up to the neck despite the midday heat, and simple practical jeans and boots. On one hip she had a sheathed rapier and a chrome military revolver, which she was very consciously shying away from despite keeping it so close.
Right, don’t ask about the gun yet, Wenzi resolved. “How are you feeling?” she asked, and then before Kat could object, she clarified: “Physically, I mean. Better?”
“Yeah, thanks,” said Kat. She sat on the couch, but was unable to keep her eyes off the noodles.
“No need to be polite,” Wenzi assured her. “Please, go ahead. I’ll join you after I get my tea. Would you like one?”
“No, thanks,” said Kat, her mouth already full of hot noodles.
As she poured her cup, Wenzi reviewed the way she’d decided to handle Kat. Wenzi could tell Kat was both clever and smart, but suspicious, untrusting. Before Wenzi would be able to really help, she’d need to convince Kat to trust her, and that likely meant taking things slow and not pushing on sore subjects. Braddock and the orderlies at the hospital had insisted too forcefully, and Wenzi didn’t have Kat strapped to a hospital bed surrounded by security – if Wenzi were to see Kat again after today, it would have to be of her own free choice.
Wenzi sat down across from Kat and picked up her container of noodles. “I assume that since you came here today, you picked up your prescription, but you’re still willing to let me try helping you?” Kat nodded through a mouthful of noodles, so Wenzi continued. “All right. Good. Well, to get started, I’d like you to tell me something about yourself. Anything you like. Your favourite radio show. A good memory from when you were a kid. A restaurant you’d recommend me. Anything, really.”
Kat’s jaw slowed, her chewing becoming thoughtful. “Camping,” she said at last, after swallowing. “Your incense makes me think of camping. Smells like a campfire.”
“Oh, have you been camping?” Wenzi asked through her own mouthful of noodles. “I haven’t, but I like the smell.”
Kat nodded and put down her noodles to grab some rolls. “My parents used to take me, before they died. Not far, not real backwoods – you know, just the forest north of the city. Half a day’s hike out of the uptown gate, in the heritage blackwood the rangers keep looking wild but actually tame. Nothing special – cooking over the fire, playing card games, hiking in the woods, finding a clearing to see the stars before turning in.”
“That sounds nice,” said Wenzi. She gestured down at her muted, modern-professional attire and willowy figure. “You say it’s nothing special, not ‘real’ camping, but it sounds like it might be too much for me. I’m a city girl.”
Kat snorted. “It’s not that hard, I think you’d manage – if you brought a mattress, maybe.”
Wenzi laughed. “Maybe,” she agreed.
Kat told Wenzi about the time she’d found a snake in the tent, and even after mom tossed it into the bush, she’d spent an hour convincing dad that it wasn’t venomous before he’d come to bed. They’d seen the aurora, once, despite being so far south – not to full effect, no hanging sheets of stunning colour, but white flashes and ripples in the sky, unmistakable for anything else. One time dad couldn’t get the fire started, so he dumped half a container of lighter fluid onto it and almost blew off his eyebrows, and they’d had to assure a forest ranger that there’d been no explosion, just a dumb way to light a fire.
Wenzi listened and watched. Kat seemed open and chatty, but Wenzi could tell that she was avoiding anything deeper than fun, innocent childhood memories. She wanted Kat’s trust, but she wouldn’t risk pushing too hard too soon, so all she did was listen and prompt Kat for more detail, strictly about those memories she was willing to discuss.
She kept an eye on the clock, and at fifteen minutes to her next appointment, Wenzi stretched and stood. “We’re almost out of time for today,” she said, “But if you’re still up for it, I’d like to see you again.”
Kat blinked and checked the time. “If this is how therapy works, I guess it’s not so bad.”
“If and when you’re ready, it will get tougher,” Wenzi admitted, “But never before you’re ready, and only if you really want me to help you.”
Kat shivered, and for a moment she pulled inward, crossing her arms and tightening the muscles in her legs. But the moment passed. “I can bring lunch, next time? Since you’re not charging me.”
Wenzi smiled. “That would be unnecessary but thoughtful and lovely. I’m interested to see what you choose, but please don’t feel any need to impress me.” She gestured at the now-empty paper takeout containers. “This was comfort food, nothing fancy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kat said. She slipped out the door, one arm held wide, still trying not to touch her revolver.
Wenzi tidied up the lunch mess, preparing for her next appointment. Not much of note had happened today, but she had a good feeling that Kat would come around to trusting her enough to speak about her problems head-on. After all, she’d offered to bring lunch.
“I think I’m ready to do this for real,” Kat said after swallowing her last mouthful.
“Oh, um,” said Wenzi, still chewing. She wasn’t used to food as messy as well-stuffed tacos. She wiped her face and cleaned up with the napkin she’d spread across her lap to protect her gray skirt. “Of course, yes. Give me a moment.”
It had taken four weeks of lunch appointments for Kat to express that she was ready for Wenzi to look at her nightmare. Still, Wenzi felt reasonably certain that it mostly had to do with Kat’s dream blocker prescription running low. Wenzi had prescribed thirty pills, and four six-day weeks plus the extra day at the hospital meant that Kat had only five left.
Wenzi tidied up as quick as she could, cleared the table, and lit another stick of the campfire incense that Kat preferred. “All right,” she said, removing her jacket and laying it over her desk. “If you wouldn’t mind, please remove your coat and shoes, and get yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll be sitting behind you; I’ll have to touch your temples with my fingers.”
“Okay,” Kat said. “I’ll be cold, though.”
“I’ll make you as much hot tea as you want afterwards,” Wenzi promised, and put the kettle on.
Kat kicked off her boots and shrugged out of her jacket. Underneath, she wore only a simple white sleeveless shirt. She lay down on the couch, staring at the ceiling, and crossed her arms over her chest.
Wenzi pulled her office chair up beside the arm of the couch. “I’m going to touch your head now, okay?” Kat nodded, and Wenzi reached out, touching her fingertips to both sides of Kat’s head. Wenzi shivered; Kat’s skin was cold. “Now, I’m going to use a special kind of magic that will allow me to view and interact with the dream world. We will not be traveling into the Mists – only viewing them remotely. I will have full control of your dream. I can slow things down, skip portions, pause, or get us out entirely. If at any point you’re uncomfortable, just say ‘stop’ or ‘out’.” She leaned over and looked into Kat’s eyes. “You can trust me.”
Kat took a long, deep breath, and nodded. “Okay.”
Wenzi closed her eyes. “Please focus on the dream. You don’t have to see it; you can think of how it makes you feel, or use one single image that you’re comfortable with. Just hold it in your mind so that I can find it.” Kat nodded again, and Wenzi whispered the words of her spell. She could feel the Mists, and focused in on Kat’s tiny portion of the dream realm. Wenzi zoomed in, and in, and in, until she was falling –
She was on a rooftop in the rain. Kat was running away from a large, lumpy man. She pulled out her gun, told him to stay back, but he either didn’t recognize the weapon or didn’t understand. He stepped toward her. Kat tripped and fell backward, and her grip tightened reflexively on the trigger, and she blew a hole through the man’s head.
“Stop!” Kat shouted.
Wenzi reached out and paused the dream, the rain now glittering still in the air, frozen in time, the path of the bullet traced by broken droplets. From along with the bullet and gore bursting out of the back of the man’s head.
“Get me out!” Kat shouted again.
Wenzi pulled back, and they were in her office, brought back by the scent of campfire and the whistling of the kettle. Wenzi’s hands were still on Kat’s temples, but now the skin felt hot. Tears had pooled in Kat’s eyes. She sat up and shook them out.
“He’s still with me,” Kat stammered, gasping for breath. “His soul is trapped in my gun. He’s always here. I can’t get rid of it – can’t get rid of him.” She tried to breathe and coughed instead. “Without the dream blockers, every time I close my eyes, I see it again. I see me killing him.”
“Oh, Kat,” said Wenzi. She stood and thrust her chair away. “Kat, I’m sorry.” Wenzi sat down on the couch next to her and held out her arms. “Is it all right if I -”
Kat fell into Wenzi’s arms and sobbed.
Wenzi held her. Kat’s skin was cold again, cold like she was dead, but the tears running down her face onto Wenzi’s neck and shoulders were hot. She tried not to analyze, tried not to break the dream – no, the memory – down into its component feelings and associations. Wenzi held Kat for as long as she needed – the fifteen minutes it took for Kat to stop crying.
Kat pulled away and rubbed her eyes. Wenzi patted her back and stood. “Let me get that tea I promised you,” she said. From the corner of her eye, she watched Kat while selecting a tea bag – a cinnamon, ginger, and cardamom blend. Kat didn’t bother with her boots, but pulled her coat back on, closed it up tight, and hugged herself on the couch. She looked like she was freezing.
Wenzi brought the tea in a travel mug. “If it’s all right with you, I’m going to cancel my next appointment and take you out for the spiciest, hottest, most sinus- and throat-blasting noodles I know.” She waited, then leaned down to find Kat’s eyes through her tumbled hair. “Is that okay?”
Kat nodded.
“Okay,” said Wenzi. She handed Kat the sealed mug and took her other hand. “Okay, let’s get up. Let’s get your boots back on. We’re going to walk to Donny’s. We’ll get a private booth. Just come with me and eat. You don’t have to say a word.” Kat allowed herself to be led by her hand.
Wenzi led Kat to the door. On the way, she touched a small locked box on her bookshelf. Sorry, she thought, this is going to take longer than I hoped. But I’ll do my best for her.
She took Kat to Donny’s, holding her by the arm, having to guide her through the streets. Inside, surrounded by the late lunchtime crowd and tinny radio, cramped in the tight space of a tiny corner booth, Kat barely reacted to the spice, her eyes unfocused. But she did eat.
Wenzi watched, doing her best to keep her concern from showing, and she suppressed a sigh. This wouldn’t be quick, and it wouldn’t be easy.
She would keep her promise.
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