Ward Against Death (Chronicles of a Reluctant Necromancer) by Card Melanie

Author:Card, Melanie [Card, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: teen fiction, melanie card, young adult, necromancy, ya fantasy romance, juvenile fiction, teen romance, high fantasy, fantasy, light fantasy, surgery, young adult romance, paranormal romance, organized crime, doctor, young adult fantasy romance, romance, ya paranormal romance, high fancy, medicine, necromancer, not alpha, teen, undead, ya, surgeon, upper ya, assassin, magic, shadow walker, ya romance, teen fantasy romance, dark magic, fantasy romance, young adult paranormal romance, zombies, new adult
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2011-06-23T04:00:00+00:00

NINETEEN

The brother groaned and Ward glanced down. His eyes were clear, focused on Ward. He moved his mouth but made no sound. With a blink he was somewhere else once again.

Movement at the very edge of Ward’s vision caught his attention and he turned, but that side of the room was empty.

“The lanterns are lit,” the Tracker said.

Ward jumped. This was ridiculous. Too much stress, not enough sleep. He wiped his hands down the front of the apron.

“All right.” He brushed the front of the apron again. He needed to wash his hands. Wash where he was going to cut. He turned to the table, filled a bowl with water, rolled his sleeves up past his elbows, and scrubbed his hands. Then he dried them on the inside corner of the apron.

“All right.” He cut another piece of bandage, soaked it in clean water from the jug, and turned to the brother. “All right.”

“Stop saying that,” the Tracker said.

Ward flinched and reminded himself he was the one in charge. He should put the Tracker to use, get him focused on something else.

“Remove the linen on his face and put it on the table.”

The Tracker reached for it.

“Careful—”

He jerked his hand back.

“Careful not to bring it too close to your face or handle it more than necessary. I may actually need you tonight.”

The Tracker gave him a sour look, but picked up the linen between his thumb and forefinger and set it on the back corner of the table.

Turning back to his patient, Ward eased his nightshirt as far away from his abdomen as possible and washed the exposed flesh. He picked a knife from his collection.

The Tracker shifted. He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them.

“Kneel by his head and watch his eyes. If it looks like he’s feeling the pain, hold him down.”

“Why not more of the...?” He pointed to the piece of linen.

“Because too much could kill him.”

“Then why use it?”

Ward shrugged. “It’s better than nothing.”

Before the Tracker could respond, Ward turned to his patient and ran his hands over his abdomen, trying to determine the best place to cut. There was still nothing to indicate the problem lay in a specific location. He supposed a curve an inch or two off from the center was as good as any, so he picked a spot and pressed the thin blade against the skin.

“His eyes are open. He’s still awake.”

Ward pressed harder, breaking the skin and drawing a curved line through the flesh.

“He’s dreaming,” Ward said, and he set his knife aside.

“But his eyes are open.”

“It’s a waking dream. Don’t worry, his mind is asleep.”

He probed his cut, ensuring it was even, allowing him access to the abdominal cavity and the intestines.

“This is not good.” The Tracker sounded more nervous than before.

“He’ll be fine.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“He’ll be fine.”

Something moved beside Ward. He resisted the urge to look up. It was his imagination playing tricks on him, and he was tired of the game. Instead, he pulled back the flesh around his incision and took a look.

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