Free To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) by Barb Hendee Page B

Marcus leaned down to look as well. The poor child’s hand was swollen and infected. Céline guessed several of the dog’s teeth had gone all the way through her palm.
    Picking up a bottle of poppy syrup, Céline poured a spoonful and then spoke to the girl. “I have to clean your hand, and it will hurt a little. But this will make it hurt less.”
    Without question, the child opened her mouth and Céline poured in the spoonful. She wanted to wait a bit to let the poppy syrup work.
    “You like dogs?” she asked.
    The child nodded. “’Cept ones that bite.”
    “You must be careful with dogs you don’t know.” She pointed to the top bunk. “I have a cat, and he’s nice to most people.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “Oliver, and when we’re done here, you can pet him if you like.”
    The girl’s eyes glazed slightly, and Céline knew it was time to work.
    Picking up the jar of adder’s tongue ointment and a clean rag, she said, “All right, this might hurt a little.”
    She started at the heel of the girl’s hand and began to work her way forward. When she finished cleaning the wounds, she put aside the adder’s tongue and switched to a mixture of ground garlic and ginger in vinegar.
    “This is going to sting, but it will help with the infection,” she said.
    The child flinched only once. She was quite brave.
    Upon finishing with the adder’s tongue, Céline wrapped the hand in clean bandages and spoke to the father. “Bring her back tomorrow so I can check this. The wounds will heal, but we need to stop the infection.”
    As the girl was too sleepy from the poppy syrup to pet Oliver, her father carried her out again.
    After this, a few elderly people with painful joints arrived, and Céline switched to rubbing an ointment made from monkshood into their knees and shoulders. She was careful to wash her hands afterward.Monkshood was astonishingly good for joints, but it was poison if ingested.
    Marcus helped the last aging man down the steps and then came back inside. Céline sank down on the bench to rest for a moment.
    “What these people need most is a decent meal and enough water for drinking and washing,” she said.
    She could see he thought the same thing, only he seemed more angry than regretful.
    “Marcus?” a voice said from the doorway.
    Whirling, Marcus looked back toward the door. A young man stood there, hanging on the frame. He was small and wiry, with long dark brown hair tied back. He wore three small silver rings in his right ear.
    “It is you!” he nearly cried.
    To Céline’s astonishment, Marcus’s face broke into a smile. “Leif.”
    Like a spring-loaded coil, Leif’s body sprang forward, and he embraced Marcus with a quick but fierce hug.
    “I couldn’t believe it when I heard,” he said, moving back and gripping Marcus by the shoulders.
    To Céline’s further astonishment, Marcus gripped Leif’s shoulders and playfully shoved him backward. Leif dashed forward again, as if to shove Marcus, and in the small space of the wagon, Marcus somehow managed to step aside.
    Oliver jumped up in alarm, and Céline feared a wrestling match was about to take place.
    But then Marcus laughed once and held out his hand. “Not in the seers’ wagon,” he said. “This is Céline Fawe.”
    Leif studied her curiously and then bowed his head once. “Forgive me. I’m just so glad to see Marcus.”
    “This is Leif Kaleja,” Marcus said. “He’s another shifter. A coyote, and a good hunter.”
    Céline had no idea how to respond to such an introduction, so she nodded back.
    Leif’s good-natured countenance grew more serious. “Marcus, where is everyone else? I heard you came with Helga Ayres and two Fawe seers. I know your family was banished from the meadow, but where are your parents and brother? Where are your cousins, Mercedes and Mariah?”
    The happy expression on Marcus’s face faded.
    “Mother is dead,” he answered, “and Mikolai. My father, Mercedes, and Mariah are safe,