“What’s wrong?”

“I have a splitting headache, and I feel achy and tired.”

Her brows drew together. “You didn’t drink last night. Why are you sick?”

“I don’t know,” I retorted miserably. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

Roland entered the room. “What’s wrong with you?”

“She’s sick.” Jordan rooted around in her backpack and carried the can of gunna paste over to me. “Here, this will make you feel better.” She stood over me as I dutifully took some of the bitter paste. Anything to get rid of this headache.

“Sick?” Roland repeated. “Sara never gets sick.”

“Maybe it’s the flu,” Peter suggested from the doorway.

I didn’t remember ever having the flu so I couldn’t say if he was right or not. I closed my eyes and hoped the gunna paste would kick in soon.

“Go back to sleep,” Jordan said, shooing Roland and Peter out of the room. “I bet you’ll feel one hundred percent better when you wake up again.”

When I opened my eyes again, it was three in the afternoon. My headache had eased a bit, but the rest of me felt like I’d just done a few rounds with my old trainer, Callum. My body was stiff and sore, and getting dressed made me so tired I wanted to lie down again. I was also freezing. I dressed in layers and wrapped the comforter around me before I left the bedroom.

“Hey, look who’s up,” Roland said when I joined him on the couch. “Feeling better?”

I tucked my legs underneath me and leaned my head against the cushioned armrest. “A little better,” I said when I saw his look of concern. “It’s freezing here.”

Greg came over to stand beside the couch. “You must have the flu because it’s not cold here. It’s seventy degrees outside today.”

“Oh.”

He left the room and came back carrying the thick comforter from his bed. “Here. Maybe this will help.”

“Thanks,” I said as he laid it over me.

“Are you hungry?” Jordan asked. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

I wasn’t hungry, but I said I could eat a little. She went into the kitchen, and I heard the microwave. A few minutes later she came back with a mug of hearty chicken soup. I sat up and took the mug between my cold hands, blowing on the soup to cool it.

“We went to that diner to get some of their soup,” she explained. “It’s homemade, and these guys said that when someone is sick, you’re supposed to feed them soup.”

I took a sip of the rich broth. “It’s delicious, thanks.”

I drank the whole cup of soup to make her happy, and then I lay back and took a nap, buried beneath a mountain of comforters. It was dark out when I woke again, and the others were sitting around quietly watching TV. Jordan got me more soup and added in some crackers. When I finished, she tried to tempt me with my favorite Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, but my stomach couldn’t handle anything else. I watched part of a movie before I dozed off for another hour.

“This makes no sense,” Jordan said the next time I woke. “You’re Mohiri... and Fae. You shouldn’t get sick. And the gunna paste should have made you better by now.”

“Maybe she picked up something from one of the demons at that party,” Roland suggested. “Is that possible?”

Jordan chewed her lip. “I don’t know.” She looked at me. “Did you get bitten by one of those demons you fought?”

“No. The ranc demon’s horn scratched my palm, but it didn’t draw blood.” I held up my hand. “There isn’t even a mark.”

“Still, we should look them up to make sure their horns don’t have poisonous tips or something,” she said.

“Can you bring me the cell phone I’ve been using to call David?” She went to get it for me. I called him and asked him to ask Kelvan about ranc demons. It didn’t take long for him to come back and tell me ranc demons were not poisonous. So much for that theory.

It was hard to hide my illness from Nikolas when I called him that night. He asked me twice if I was okay and I lied and said I was only tired. He tried again to get me to tell him where I was, and for a moment I was tempted. I was miserable and I wanted nothing more than for him to come and take me home. I said goodbye soon after that because I knew I’d regret my moment of weakness once I felt better.

I slept fitfully and woke the next morning feeling worse than the day before. The headache was back and my stomach hurt now, too. And I couldn’t get warm no matter how many blankets my friends piled on top of me. I didn’t say anything, but my illness was starting to scare me. I found my vial of troll bile and took a small drop. If anything could make me better it was troll bile. It was even nastier than gunna paste, but I knew from experience how potent it was. After that, I took a nap on the couch, hoping the bile would work its magic.

By the time evening rolled around, I knew the bile wasn’t helping. If anything, I was worse. I felt like someone had syphoned all the energy and heat from my body, and I could barely stomach the smell of food. The only thing my stomach could handle was water and a few dry crackers. I could barely keep my eyes open for five minutes at a time, and when I slept it was fitful and full of strange dreams I couldn’t remember.

My Mori was upset, too. I could sense its distress and I tried to assure it that we were going to be fine, but it’s not easy to be convincing when you aren’t sure if what you’re saying is true.