Mythfits

13-Ella

"Hey missy, are you feeling any better today?" I run my hand over Abby's hair, cropped even shorter than my own.

"Absolutely!" she coughs, her too-thin body pale and shaking, "The doctor said I'd be out with in the week!"
"That's excellent, Abby!" I smile, but a look at the file at the end of the bed say's otherwise. "When you get out, I'll take you to that fancy candle store downtown!"

Abby's eyes go wide, "Really?" she asks, excited, " You'll take me? Can I get some new candles?" She gestures to the burning stub on the table beside her, "I'm almost out!"

I laugh, "Of course. But it looks like you're running low." Ever since I could remember, Mom had always kept a candle burning in our bedroom. Big fat ones, thin tall ones, plain white ones and curvey glitter ones, Mom had always collected candles. She'd been drawn to any fire that was near, the candle flame, a bonfire, a gas stove. And she'd passed that love onto Abby.

The end table that held the candle also held the bits and pieces of the candles that had burned out. Abby would collect the wax ends and melt them down to make her own candles. For some reason, the fire always made her better. When she first arrived at the hospital, the doctors forbade her to have a lit candle in the room, claiming it to be a fire hazard.

But when I visited the next time, I brought a candle with me, one of her favorites, a red and orange candle shaped in a braid, that gave of a faint cinnamon smell. When the nurse came in, obviously flustered at having her direct order disobeyed, I obediently blew out the candle. But as soon as I did, Abby's cough started back up again. When I re-lit it, her coughs sputtered out and her breathing became ever so slightly more regular.

Finally the nurse, after checking repeatedly with the doctor of course, allowed us to have only one candle at a time in the room. And so Dad, Abby, and I would keep watch over the candles, whenever one burned out, we'd light another one, in the hopes that the small flame would keep Abby safe. Of course it could do no such thing, but if it makes her feel better, why not?

"Would you like me to bring in another one in from home?" I ask, and when Abby nods enthusiastically, I continue, "Is there one specifically that you want?"

Abby shakes her head weakly, "Nope. Just pick one that's pretty."

Seeing her eyes starting to droop, I kiss her forehead gently, "Have a nice nap. I'll see you soon."

Shutting the door behind me, I make my way down the stairs and through the front door, the sudden blast of air coming from the vents above the door making me blink.

Walking home, I consider my options; If Christine's theory is true, and my great-great whatever relatives really did cast a spell on themselves and curse the rest of us with this genetic problem, so what? How does that help us? Unless there's some counterspell, I highly doubt there's any good way to cure Abby's problem. And if there is, how am I supposed to find it?

I growl with frustration, and kick a fist-sized chunk of asphalt off the sidewalk. Instead of flying into the street nicely, it spins wildly, leaving me with a sore foot. "Ow." I mutter, "That worked."

The only options I see are search for the original spell, then find the counterspell. Both of which may have been lost to time, never been recorded, or, in the case of the counterspell, not even exist. Or, and I grit my teeth just thinking about it, I could listen to Steve.

Steve, the arrogant, persistent, obnoxious vampire who somehow is liked by just about everyone. Seriously, I don't know how even Mrs. Bontrager, the creepy principal who I'm convinced is some form of undead zombie, lets him off easy. I'd understand if it was Christine, with her crazy mind-control powers, but the most popular kid in school who happens to be a vampire and have a weird obsession with tropical fruit? Why? I mean, aren't vampires, at least the ones I've met (which aren't all that many, to be honest) are withdrawn and pale and constantly looking down their noses at you.

As strange as he is, Steve isn't like that. I'm still not sure if he's any better or worse than the rest of them, but he certainly is an anomaly among vampires. Almost as much as me among werewolves, not that I've many others. But I'm fairly sure that none of them are allergic to themselves and are part kitsune.

Whether or not he's trustworthy, that remains to be seen. But information can't hurt any more than it could potentially help, right? At least that's what I'm telling myself to make my decision more bearable. If this goes wrong, the only one I have to blame is myself.