The Purification Clinic

Chapter 2 The Healer's Deception

Dust coated the clinic shelves, and dried herbs hung in uneven bundles from the rafters. Under both smells was the coppery trace of old blood. A healer would have scrubbed until it was gone.

“The Alpha was clear about your condition,” Silas said. “The corruption has settled deep in the spiritual nodes along your spine. I need direct access to assess them.” He pointed to a rickety examination table covered by a thin, yellowed sheet. “Take off your outer clothes.”

The order left no room for a patient to ask questions. If I refused, Silas would call me uncooperative, and Kael would hear about it within the hour.

I unbuttoned my tunic with my back to him, left it on the chair, and lay facedown on the table. Cold air raised bumps along my bare skin.

Silas planted both hands on my shoulders. A healer testing spiritual nodes would have used two fingers and checked the flow of magic. His full weight held me against the table while his calluses dragged down my back one slow inch at a time.

“You're tense, Luna.” His breath touched my ear. “Resistance makes the purification harder. The Alpha asked for compliance.”

His fingers reached the line of my hips and pressed there with practiced familiarity. I jerked away and nearly rolled off the table. Whatever he called this, he was not examining me.

Silas chuckled. “I'll get the silver needles. Don't move.”

He turned toward a cabinet and began sorting through metal instruments. I searched the room for a second door, a usable window, or something heavy enough to be a weapon. A half-open drawer beside his desk caught my eye.

A worn leather ledger lay inside. Dark stains marked the edges, and the silver wolf crest of the House of Fiona had been pressed into the cover. A loose page beneath it showed dates, transaction amounts, and abbreviated remedies.

Years of reading cramped dosage notes let me make out the smallest entry from the table.

*Weakening Potion.* A large payment followed those words.

Fiona had paid Silas for the medicine making her weak. She could recover whenever it suited her, relapse whenever Kael's attention wandered, and point to my blood as the cause.

My treatment would keep me far from the room where they planned it.

The front door struck the wall.

Heavy, familiar footsteps crossed the front room. I sat up and grabbed my tunic around my shoulders. Kael marched in with anger already set across his face.

Fiona held his arm, pale and fragile, placing each unsteady step where he could see it.

For one breath, I thought the scene might speak for itself. Kael saw my bare shoulders, the fallen tunic, and Silas standing over his open needle case. He could have asked why the clinic door had been locked.

Disgust tightened his mouth.