Free Devil and the Deep (The Ceruleans: Book 4) by Megan Tayte Page B

Jude kept so quiet about his
healing work; it was highly uncomfortable being applauded for my efforts.
Still, it was my own fault, because for the past fortnight, since the day at
the hospital, I’d been relating my daily exploits to Luke and Cara and Si.
After so long sitting quietly while Cara talked about her online fashion shop
and Luke talked about his Project and Si talked about his uni course, I finally
had something interesting of my own to share.
    It had been surprisingly easy, with Jude’s help, to master
the art of ‘the mini heal’, as I’d come to think of it. My gift was powerful,
and it didn’t take much physical contact with a person to heal a minor ailment.
I didn’t even have to touch the part of the body that was damaged – I could
simply lay a hand lightly on a shoulder, or brush against someone, and will the
energy to travel to where it was needed.
    As for identifying people to heal, a morning spent at the
hospital had given me experience across the full spectrum of suffering. I knew
well the repellent push given out by someone not meant to be helped (we’d found
plenty of those in the palliative care ward). And I recognised the strong pull
of a person in serious need (several had called to us in the emergency
department). I was to work with those who gave just a mild tug, a quieter call
for help.
    It was Luke who helped me work out how to do the mini heals.
The evening of the hospital visit, he’d come to the cottage and I’d told him
everything Jude had said. To say he was relieved would be an understatement:
the thought that my healing would be so restrained, that I wouldn’t be in
danger of pushing too far, that I’d be protected from harrowing sights – he was
elated. Together, we planned out a new daily routine.
    In the morning, after a good sleep, I went out into Twycombe
and neighbouring villages and I scouted about for people in need. At first I
was constantly on edge, waiting for someone to shout, ‘What the hell do you
think you’re doing! Stop touching that person!’ But I discovered that friendly
eighteen-year-old girls don’t attract suspicion at all. Especially when
accompanied by a goofy, lovable dog – the ideal ice-breaker and, given his
habit of knocking people over, a good reason to hold out a helping hand.
    Over the course of an hour or two, I usually found two
people to help (okay, some days it was three… or four... once five), and the
healing itself was quick and simple. Afterwards, I tried to find a way to melt
into the background and watch the now-healthy parties. The look on their faces
when they realised they felt better made it all worthwhile.
    ‘Job’ done, I would head home to recharge ready for an
evening with Luke. I managed three to four hours with him before the tiredness
got too much. Our time together was shorter, which saddened me, but I don’t
think Luke minded too much because I was undeniably...
    ‘… tired, Scarlett?’
    ‘No, happier,’ I said. ‘Happier now.’
    I pulled myself back to the present to find Cara and Si
still chatting away but Luke leaning close and peering at me.
    ‘I know you’re happy,’ he said. ‘But you look tired, even
without healing this morning. Do you need to go up and lie down for a bit? I
can manage in the kitchen.’
    I shook my head. ‘There’s no point. She’s due soon enough.’
    Si and Cara had stopped talking and Cara pounced on my
words. ‘She! She! Your mum, Scarlett! Here! For lunch! With us all! You
must be so excited to see her!’
    For once, rather than tempering Cara’s over-exuberance, I
matched her grin and declared with feeling, ‘I am! I haven’t seen her in so
long – not since Luke came to Hollythwaite to bring me home.’
    ‘Is she okay about your… absence?’ asked Si.
    ‘She hasn’t a clue about it,’ I told him. ‘Thanks to Cara
emailing her as me.’
    Before my death, I’d set up lots of scheduled emails for my
mum, so she wouldn’t worry about me. After my death,