Free Ignited by Lily Cahill Page B

because of Dr. Porter? Had her father seen something …?
    Before she could process it any more, Briar said, “Hold still, I’m nearly finished.”
    The scissors snipped furiously in Ruth’s ear and then abruptly stopped.
    “There.”
    Ruth opened her eyes, blinking.
    Her hair was curlier, now that the length was no longer weighing it down. It framed her face, rather than hiding it. She looked mature, more like a woman than a girl. The ends needed to be evened up a bit—they’d been shorn off using craft scissors, after all—but the curl hid most of the unevenness.
    Briar grinned at Ruth. “Well?”
    Ruth looked up at Briar. Even though she suspected she already knew the answer, she felt compelled to ask. “You’re not going to tell, are you?”
    “Even if I did,” Briar said, a faintly bitter smile twisting the corner of her mouth. “Who would believe me?”
    The words were not comforting, and that must have shown on Ruth’s face, because Briar continued, “I wouldn’t do that to you, Ruth. You have just as much a right to privacy as anyone else. Now,” she motioned toward the mirror. “What do you think?”
    The girl in the reflection barely resembled Ruth at all. It was hard to remember why that was a bad thing. 
    “It looks wonderful,” she said, smiling at Briar. “Thank you.”

 
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER SEVEN
    Henry
     
    Henry walked toward the large church in the center of town, hands shoved in his pockets. During his lunch break earlier in the day, Patrice had cornered him and refused to let him leave the kitchen until she’d extracted a promise that he would volunteer at that evening’s fundraiser. “You ought to spend some time out of that clinic with someone other than your mother or grandfather,” she’d told him, laying the guilt on thick.
    It wasn’t that he minded volunteering—Henry liked helping people, or he wouldn’t have become a doctor. But it had already been a long week, and the weekend was still a day away. He felt liable to drop at any time. Since Monday, he’d spent every spare moment—including some not spare ones, which had cost him a lot of sleep—pouring over the medical files for every person on record in the filing cabinet. So far, the only thing he was certain of was that this BBC thing was definitely only affecting those who had fallen the most ill after the fog.
    Nothing made sense. If his grandfather had discovered this abnormality in the blood, if he was testing for it—then it had to mean something. It was likely linked to the powers. Even if Henry had not been allowed to do any of the follow-ups, he had been there to help treat patients, all those weeks ago. He could help do something , at least!
    Why was he being kept outside of this?
    His head was so cluttered with thoughts that he barely heard the shouts and jeers behind him.
    He turned to see Lucy Roberts stalking down the road, going the opposite direction. Her powers had only just revealed themselves the other day, or so he’d heard Patrice and Mrs. McClure gossiping. He couldn’t remember what they were supposed to be.
    Lucy’s arms tucked tightly around herself, her head down. She had always seemed like a nice girl. Henry didn’t know her well, but the few times they had spoken, she’d been polite and sweet. She was girly, forever devoted to her saddle shoes and poodle skirts, and her hair was in a neat ponytail with a single curl. He’d heard something about her breaking off an engagement a few months earlier, which had surprised him. She had a reputation for being on the lookout for a husband. Still, she had never been anything but kind to him.
    A few steps behind her was a group of local boys. They were teens, a bit too young for Henry to know them by name, although he recognized their faces.
    “Hey, freak!” One of the boys yelled, kicking a rock so that it hit the back of Lucy’s calf. She winced but kept walking. “Come back here, I’m talking to you!”
    Lucy stomped