Dust faded in and out—literally. He could hear the gasps, giggles, and exclamations in the background. At times he could even feel fingers checking his hot forehead.
“He feels cooler than he did before,” a woman’s voice said.
“Thank you, Trista,” another woman replied.
A frown creased his brow. He knew that voice. He’d heard it on and off most of his life. Clawing his way back to reality, he forced his heavy eyelids open. He blinked several times to clear his vision. A familiar face peered down at him.
“Aunt Margery?” he forced out past his dry throat.
“Oh, Dust,” Margery murmured, stroking his brow with tender fingers. She looked away and spoke to someone behind her. “Are you sure his fever is going down? He still feels hot.”
“It is barely above normal now and there is no guarantee
