Taken (Erin Bowman) Read Free Page A

almost looks like a single tear escaping down her face.
    “I should refuse to help you. After what you did to Chalice and all.” Emma has a soft voice, calm like winter’s first snowfall.
    “She deserved it,” I say surely.
    “You’re lucky that I believe all injured beings deserve to be healed.” She looks at me, puzzled, her head cocked as if she is studying a wild animal. I know what she’s thinking. It’s what they all think: How can I look so much like Blaine and be so different?
    She takes my face in her hands and examines my chin. The open cut stings, but I focus on her touch instead, her fingers against my skin. When she is satisfied with her inspection she turns her back on me and begins to mix various ingredients in a shallow bowl. I watch her crush them, her forearm and shoulder flexing. She finishes, wipes her hands on her apron, and faces me again.
    “One scoop should do,” she says. She passes me the bowl, which now holds a pasty mixture. “Rub it on the inside of your mouth, near the gash. It will numb the area, and I need to stitch up that cut.”
    I scoop a small handful of the mixture with my fingers and apply it as Emma instructed. Almost instantly, the pain begins to ease.
    “And take this,” she orders, handing me a small helping of an ingredient I don’t recognize but swallow nonetheless. “I need you perfectly still, and it will help you sleep.”
    Emma is readying a needle when her mother enters the Clinic.
    “How’d it go?” Emma asks.
    “The baby didn’t make it,” Carter says, putting her bag down and repinning her hair on the top of her head. It is the same shade as Emma’s, light brown like the hide of a young fawn, and full of stubborn waves. “Died during the labor. Just as well though, seeing as it was a boy.”
    Emma looks saddened by the news. “And the mother?”
    “Laurel is fine.” I know this girl is a good friend of Emma’s. I’ve seen them at the market, giggling and whispering to each other as they trade for goods.
    Emma breathes a sigh of relief, but I notice a single tear trickle its way down her cheek. She pushes it aside with the back of her hand and returns her attention to the needle.
    “Lie back,” she tells me, and I do. My head feels oddly light; and Emma, leaning over me to examine the wound, seems to shine like dew-topped grass in morning sunlight. She tells me to relax, but I’m stuck staring into her brown eyes and instead I let words bubble to my lips.
    “You want to do something after this?”
    “Do something?” Her face is a combination of shock and disgust.
    “Yeah, like go to the pub or for a walk. I’ll take anything really.”
    “My best friend loses her child, you’re about to lose your brother, and all you want to do is take me to the pub?” When she puts it this way, it does seem somewhat despicable. “You’re nothing like him, you know that?” she adds. “You two may look alike, but you’re very, very different.”
    It hurts, those words, but they’re true.
    “Emma, sweetie, he’s not that bad,” Carter interjects from the doorway. “People cope in different ways.” I’m not sure why Carter’s coming to my defense. Maybe she can’t stop fussing over me, even now, years after I’ve needed her care. Or maybe it’s because she was close with my mother or the fact that I remind her of my father; she’s told me countless times how much Blaine and I look like him. Either way I am grateful.
    “Did they put you guys up to this? The Council?” Emma asks. “You’ve been slated to me, haven’t you?” Her eyes cut into mine.
    “No,” I admit. “No, not at all. I’m not slated to anyone. They’re going light on me because of Blaine and the Heist. I haven’t had to see anyone for a week, and I doubt I will for another few.” My head is starting to swim now. It wants to sleep.
    Emma scowls. “So I should feel honored that this is genuine? I should be happy you’re trying to woo me of your own accord and