“Daniel was still hot with fever, but the chills and pain appeared to have eased some. He lay in a drowsy stupor, drifting between sleep and whimpering agitation. Heartsick, Sylvie hovered over him. The tea might have eased her brother’s symptoms, but she had nothing to fight the malady the tick had pumped into his blood. She had never felt so helpless in her life. Ishmael stood against the wall, his face etched with worry. “Go and do whatever you need to,” he said. “I can stay here with the boy....” “Maybe later. For now, I don’t want to leave him.” She brushed the damp locks back from his forehead. “Why didn’t I realize sooner how sick he was? I should have suspected something when he didn’t want to eat.” “Don’t blame yourself. It wouldn’t have made any difference.” His hand brushed her shoulder as if to settle there, then pulled away. “What do you remember reading about the fever? You said there was more than one kind. How can you tell them apart?” Sylvie tried to visualize the page of the book she’d read so many times.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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