Michael
Faye’s room is chaotic. Nurses and the physician crowd her bed to the point I can’t see her through the fray. I push through them, seeing her pale and writhing, arching off the bed in pain.
“What’s wrong with her?!” I shout.
Faye murmurs, white foam tinted with blood bubbling from her lips. Her unseeing eyes are glassy with pain as she bucks off the bed before going completely still.
“A seizure,” the physician begins.
I don’t believe it. I scoop her into my arms and run like my life depends on it–because her life depends on it.
Shouts of confusion and alarm follow me out of the room. My mom rushes around a corner so abruptly I nearly run her over, but she leaps out of the way. “Michael!”
“Lock down the castle!” I shout over my shoulder. “She’s been poisoned!”
“Where are
