Ghost's Dilemma Read Free Page A

this morning. She had a fever when she arrived, and she was barely able to stand. She needs watching."
    "I was speaking to your alpha," Moran said and turned his back on Ghost.
    Gerry watched Ghost reach out and grab Moran's arm to get the man's attention. Gerry set his guitar aside, prepared to defend Ghost if need be.
    "You'll speak with me. I'm this village's witch, and matters of healing are mine to decide." Ghost's frown deepened. "Her fever didn't start today. How long was she ill?"
    "She was fine, and I'll have her back now." Moran moved a step closer to Ghost, and Gerry stood. A strange, cold calm swept through Gerry. He had felt the same inner chill when he had killed to protect Ghost and Conn.
    "You're not fit to have her back." Ghost didn't move. He glared up at Moran without wavering, and Gerry felt a surge of pride. "I saw the bruises on her. Will you invite a witch's judgment, or will you abide by my decision as a healer?"
    "Don't threaten me, you Norther whelp," Moran growled.
    Gerry watched as Ghost's spiral brightened, and Moran fell back a step.
    "I'm a witch as well as a Norther whelp, and you'd do well to remember it, Moran," Ghost said. "Sari stays until her fever is gone and she can care for the babe. When she returns to your house, she'll need proper meals and rest for her sake and her son's. Will you hear my fee?"
    "She has a son?" Moran's voice changed timbre. "Can I see her? And him? Can I see our boy?"
    Ghost looked thoughtful for a moment. He concurred and led Moran to the sick room as Gerry followed close behind them. Moran peered in at the sleeping woman and her baby. When Moran turned away from the sick room, the man's cheeks were wet with tears.
    "Name your fee, healer." Moran wiped at his cheeks with the backs of his hands.
    Ghost picked up a small pottery jar. "A cabinet with compartments for jars this size, and drawers below for bandage linen and whatever else I might need to store."
    "Done. I'll start in the morning." Moran hesitated. "A son." He shook his head and rubbed his face with his hand. He turned and looked straight into Ghost's eyes. "I'll do better for them, healer."
    "You can start by staying out of the mead house," Ghost retorted. "Come by tomorrow to see her. I'll know more about when she can go home."
    Gerry watched Moran leave. He walked up behind Ghost and embraced Ghost's smaller frame. "I thought I was going to have to throw him out," Gerry admitted. He buried his face in the fragrant silk of Ghost's hair. "If he'd laid a hand on you, I'd have been hard pressed not to beat him fucking senseless."
    "He's a bully," Ghost said, leaning back into Gerry. "They don't know how to react when you're not afraid of them. Let's see if he can keep his word about the mead house, though. If he doesn't, he'll have to deal with me again, and I won't be so nice."
    Gerry chuckled. "You're getting fierce. I was waiting for you to curse him on the spot. Some terrible witch's curse. His eyeballs rolling back or some other dire fate."
    Ghost turned, and his forehead wrinkled in a frown. "We don't actually do those things," he said as he backed out of Gerry's hold. "Witches don't cast spells or curse people. Maybe in the stories sung in the mead house, but not in real life. We use the old lore to heal people. We read the ancient language so we can learn how to use the relics the rangers scavenge. Like my Seeker's kiss, or the gods' light. The relics are only tools the ancient healers used."
    Ghost gave Gerry a mischievous grin. "The Witch told me stories of places she called libraries , filled with books. People could come and borrow books to read, and they would return those books so they could borrow still more books. I fell in love with the notion, and I was so disappointed to learn there were no such places anymore. People don't learn to read the ancient words unless they're a witch or a ranger. According to the Witch, the godsmen discourage reading, blaming the knowledge of words for the