peeked cautiously over the rim of the cup. The liquid in the mug was an unappetizing watery brown and bits of vegetable matter floated on the surface.
“Um . . . what is it?”
“Deer jerky broth with herbs.”
“Yay. My favorite.”
“Good. Drink it.”
Gertie pushed the cup to Raine’s lips, tipping the contents down her throat. Raine swallowed and gagged.
Her eyes watered and she spat out a chunk of leaf. “Oh, my God, that was disgusting.”
“You’re welcome.” Gertie peered at Raine. “The color’s coming back to your cheeks.”
“I always get red in the face when I’m trying not to hurl. What the hell was that? It tasted like boiled shoe.”
“Just a little something I whipped up to counteract the poison. Mugwort, fennel, a dash of meadowsweet—the usual.”
Raine gaped at the troll. “Poison? I thought I had giant-i-tis.”
“Galumping around on Tiny certainly didn’t help your condition, but that’s not the source of your illness.”
Poison? Raine tried to absorb the notion. Not leukemia or a brain tumor or any of a dozen other diagnoses the doctors had batted around over the years? A spasm of joy shot through her and swiftly died. It was too easy, too good to be true. How many times in her life had a doctor promised a miracle with no results? She’d lost count. There was no cure for what ailed her.
The familiar dull weight of hopelessness settled over her. “If I’d been poisoned, the doctors would have found it.”
“Stop arguing, girl, and hold out your arm.”
Quelled by the troll’s severe tone, Raine obeyed. Gertie shoved the poncho aside and ran her wizard stone from Raine’s shoulder to the tips of her fingers. The stone glowed and Raine felt a pleasant, tingling warmth. She glanced down at her exposed arm and shrieked in horror. Brown and green blotches bloomed on her skin like hideous lichen.
“Easy, pet,” Gertie said. “I was right. The potion’s working. The spots are fading.”
Raine jerked away from the troll. “Stop saying that. I have not been poisoned.”
“Yes, you have. My wizard stone doesn’t lie.”
“Yeah? If I’ve been poisoned, then who did it?”
“Good question.” Gertie sat back and twirled her whiskers. “I suspect it was Glonoff, but Bree disagrees. He says Glonoff doesn’t know you exist. Personally, I find that hard to believe. He is the Dark Wizard, after all.”
“Okay, so who?”
The troll stirred uneasily and looked away. “Bree and I were wondering if . . . That is to say, we’ve considered the possibility that—”
“Spit it out, Gertie.”
The troll cleared her throat. “We think it more than likely that the poisoner was your aunt.”
“What? No way. Mimsie would never hurt me.”
Oh, yeah? Why not? The dreadful suspicion leaked into Raine’s mind and took hold. Think about it. You were constantly ill and a pain in the ass most of the time. You were a financial, physical, and emotional drain on her. You aren’t even her real family. Maybe she got tired of it. Maybe she got tired of YOU.
“Mimsie, huh?” Gertie’s expression sharpened. “Last night, you kept babbling about someone with that name. Course, you were fevered at the time.”
Raine was half listening, her brain scrambling for a logical explanation. Mimsie wouldn’t poison her, and she didn’t give a fig that Raine was adopted. Mimsie said love made a family, not blood. Besides, Mims had been dead for years. If Mimsie had poisoned her, she would have gotten better after her aunt died, not worse. It didn’t make sense.
“Lead poisoning?” Relief flooded through Raine. “Mimsie’s house was old and covered in layers and layers of lead paint.”
That was it. Had to be. Magic and other worlds, trolls, giants and wizards she could accept, but the possibility that Mimsie had poisoned her? Nope. Not possible.
Gertie shrugged. “If you say so.”
Mauric trudged inside, ending the discussion. “Ho, it’s cold out there.”
“That it is, and it’s still coming down hard and the wind has picked up,” Brefreton said, entering the cave behind him. He shook the snow from his cloak. “We’re better off waiting out the storm here.”
Mauric stamped his feet and gave Raine the once-over. “You look better. Less like death warmed over and more like yesterday’s stew.”
“Gee, thanks,” Raine said.
Gertie tossed a pebble at Mauric. “Stoke up the fire. We’re going to sweat the rest of the poison out of her.”
Mauric set to work, throwing more wood on the fire. The flames leapt and gnawed at the dried birch, and soon, the little cave shimmered with heat.
“Think I’ll go check on Tiny,” said Mauric, wiping his streaming brow. “Make sure the old boy hasn’t cried himself into an icicle.”
Brefreton jumped to his feet. “Me, too.”
“Weaklings,” Gertie grumbled as the men bolted from the sweltering cave.
She stomped over to Raine’s pallet. “Get up, girl.”
“It’s hot,” Raine said. “I’ll get sweaty.”
“So? Do you want to get well or not?” Gertie glowered at her. “Or are you one of those humans who enjoys being sick?”
“No, I am not. What a horrible thing to say.”
“Then move your arse, girlie.”
Gertie yanked Raine to her feet and poked her in the ribs. The troll’s claws were sharp, and Raine yelped and broke into a halfhearted jog.
Gertie trotted at her heels, harrying her. “That the best you got, youngster? For shame.”
“Hey, I’ve been sick.”
“Excuses are for whiners. Move.”
Raine picked up the pace.
“Use your arms,” Gertie barked. “That’s it. Faster.”
With a huff of annoyance, Raine began to swing her arms. The heat in the cave was oppressive, and it was hard to breathe. Perspiration trickled between her breasts and down her back, and she was soon winded, but whenever she slowed, the troll was in her face, snapping out orders like a Neanderthal aerobics instructor. Raine broke once more into a reluctant trot. After a lifetime of being bedridden, she had no stamina. Her atrophied muscles burned from the unaccustomed exertion and her limbs felt leaden. Coughing and wheezing, she made two more torturous loops around the cave and stopped.
“That’s it.” She doubled over, clutching her aching sides. “I can’t go another step.”
Gertie placed an enormous paw on Raine’s back and gave her a shove. “You can and you will.”
“But I’m tired, and this blanket is hot.”
“Is it now?” Gertie said. “I can fix that.”
With a flick of her claws, the troll had untied the rope at Raine’s waist and snatched the poncho over her head, leaving her clad in her thin pajamas. The sweat-drenched fabric stuck to Raine like cling wrap.
“Give me that.” She made a grab for the blanket. “What if the men come back?”
“Mauric and Bree have seen bubbies before.” The troll looked her up and down. “In any