Hands lift me from the water. I drift above my body, looking down at it, at Bran, at my father running down the dock, at Madda chasing after him.
I think I might be dead.
Bran presses his mouth to mine and blows air into my lungs. I know this, but I don’t feel it. He tries again, and then Madda takes over, pushing Bran out of the way. My father holds him back while he moans, “Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, Cass. Oh Jesus…”
A strong voice whispers in my ear, “You aren’t going anywhere yet. Get back in this body right now!”
All at once, I’m pulled in two directions simultaneously, and then with an audible snap I am back inside my body, staring up at Madda as she blows breath tasting of whiskey and wood smoke into my lungs.
My body jerks and as she draws back, lake water gushes out of my mouth, all over me, all over her, all over the dock. I retch and retch as if my lungs have drunk the entire lake dry and now they’ve decided to give it back.
Arms grasp me, strong arms, and I look up to see my father. He rocks me back and forth. “Oh sweet Jesus,” he whispers. “I thought I had lost you, too. Not you, too.”
My throat aches, but my rib cage aches more. “You’re hurting me.”
Madda pulls my father back. “Lou, let her go. I need to check her over. Bran, step back. You’re in my way. Go get my medicine kit. It’s up at the house. Go!”
Bran thunders down the dock and disappears into the shadows.
Madda eases me down. Pain sears my skin as she peels back my wet shirt. She sucks in a breath. “Cassandra, I need you to stay very still. You’re bleeding quite badly. Lou, get something for a stretcher.”
I reach out for my father’s hand, but all I touch is nothingness.
• • •
They carried me up the hill on an old door. But I don’t remember this. I don’t remember anything except the blackness that stood over me like a stalwart soldier and refused to let consciousness draw close.
Madda sits beside my bed. Her eyes are closed. Her face is pale. I’m not sure whether she’s asleep or not, so I don’t move. If she is sleeping, I don’t want to wake her.
Every inch of my body hurts. Sparks float before my eyes, threatening to draw me back under when I move my head. I try wiggling my toes. I shift my body a little to the left, a little to the right, just enough to know I can move but not enough to upset the sparks that buzz about me like flies.
Madda’s eyes flutter open. “You’re awake,” she says. Her voice is hoarse and her eyes are bloodshot. “Let me get your father.” She rises slowly and leaves the room.
I hear them talking, but I can’t make out the words- just the low rumble of my father’s voice and Madda’s gravelly response. Then, footsteps echo down the hall. Madda enters first, followed by my father. He looks as bad as Madda. “Hey, starshine,” he says. “You gave us quite a scare.”
I force a smile onto my face, though it hurts so much. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he says as he bends to kiss my forehead. “I love you, Cassandra.”
I try to find words, but they won’t come, so I nod.
“Okay, that’s enough for now,” Madda says, gently pushing my father back. “Now that she’s awake, we need to have a talk.”
Madda herds him out the door. I hear him walk away and wish he’d come back.
Madda kneels at my side and draws the blanket down. Then she lifts me up a little, just enough to wedge a pillow under my back. “I need you to see what happened,” she says.
But I don’t want to. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Her hand is cool to the touch. It falls on my stomach where the cool vanishes, replaced by blistering heat. It hurts so much. I moan. I can’t help it.
“Sorry,” she says. “This is going to smart, but you need to see.”
I force my eyes open and look down at a bandage bigger than my hand. Madda peels it back to expose a perfect circle of brown dots, each bearing a single stitch.
“What is it?” I whisper.
“A gift,” she says. “Open your hand.” She spills thirteen translucent pearls into my palm. “One for each one of those dots,” she says. “Had a devil of a time getting them out, and used up most of your father’s whiskey in the process. Good thing you weren’t conscious. It hurt me to do it.”
“What did that to me?” The words scrape against my throat and I want to go back to sleep, but I can’t. I need to know.
“Sisiutl.” The word is sibilant, as if Madda has taken on the voice of the double-headed sea monster.
“But…” I touch one of the dots. It hurts, but not as much as my head.
“Yeah, but is right. They’re the meanest of the mean in the spirit world. Looks like you’re one of the lucky ones, though. It marked you-that means it will never harm you again, sort of like choosing you as its own.”
“Great,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to be a two-headed serpent.”
Madda chuckles. “That’s not quite what I meant and you know it. My people believe sisiutl chooses the most powerful warriors to fight alongside it.”
“Warriors?”
“Sure. Sometimes, people call us healers ‘spiritual warriors.’ Sounds about right, don’t you think?”
I shake my head. “That wouldn’t be me.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. You fended it off, after all. You fought back.”
“Thanks to you. It was your knife that did it.”
Madda purses her lips. “I knew you were going to need that knife. I just didn’t think it would be for this.” She gently pats the bandage into place and draws the blanket back up. “Now, you need some rest. Sisiutl gave you more than that love bite-you’re covered in bumps and bruises and I’m pretty sure you’ve got a concussion. You’re to stay in bed until I say you can get up. Got it?”
I smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
Madda snorts and moves to leave.
“Wait,” I say, though sleep is already pulling at my eyes. “Bran-?”
“Is outside. He hasn’t gone home since it happened. Thinks this was his fault. Always does.” She shakes her head. “But don’t you worry about that right now. Just go to sleep, all right?”
“All right,” I manage to say, before I drift off.
Sometime later, I wake. Light stabs at my eyes. I raise a hand to cover my face. My body feels as if every square inch of it is swollen and raw.
“Cass?” A hand touches my cheek.
Bran.
“The light hurts,” I say.
“Oh.” I hear him rummage about and then the light goes away. “Is that better?”
“Yes.” I open my eyes slowly, testing them for pain, only to see that Bran’s shirtless. I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Oh.” He glances down at his chest. “I used my shirt to cover the window.”
“Ah.” I try to laugh, but it becomes a cough.
Bran’s face drains of all its color as he watches me. Then, as my coughing subsides, he bends to help me sit up. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m not very good at this.”
“You’re doing just fine,” I say. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
“I haven’t left,” he says. “God, Cass, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
His head drops so I can’t see his eyes and I know he’s fighting back tears.
Madda’s words drift back to me. Thinks this was his fault. Always does. I want to say something to change that, but all I can manage is to take his hand and hold it tight.