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  Shannon feels a trickle of coolness despite the fair weather.

  “What?” she asks.

  “They were all burned at the stake for practicing witchcraft.”

  Shannon’s mind fleets back to the hanging witch. Hanging. Not burning, or the maze would be a crisp. Now she understands the message for Lucien, if indeed it was intended for Lucien.

  Witch! You deserved to be hanged!

  She remembers the change of color which had come into Lucien’s eyes when he bested Jared at arm-wrestling. It is very likely the witch genes were passed on.

  But it still doesn’t mean Lucien is a witch.

  Jared begins to laugh.

  Ellie says crossly, “There, I knew you folks from out of town would react in that manner. That’s why we choose to keep our secrets close.”

  “No, no, you misunderstand me,” Jared says. “My sister and I are completely attuned to superstition and folklore. If you say the Walker family hails from witches, then we completely believe you. After all, we are extremely superstitious ourselves, aren’t we, sis?”

  He winks. He is taking all this a little too lightly, she thinks.

  Shannon clears her throat. I am not going to have anything to do with Lucien Walker anymore, so what does it matter?

  “We would like to see the house, please,” she says.

  “Of course,” Ellie says, glad for the change of subject.

  The bungalow is small, with only two bedrooms and a bathroom. As Ellie mentioned, cleaning this place would not be an encumbrance. It is fully furnished with minimal, tasteful furniture – all old, all inexpensive, as if the owner does not intend to lavish a huge sum on tenants who might possibly tear down the place.

  The rent is within their budget as well. God knows they have the money to afford something better, but it is better to be prudent for now.

  “We’ll take it,” Jared says.

  Shannon knows why he circled this property above all from the Dolphin Bay’s classifieds. The ad had boasted ‘natural forest tapestry behind the property’.

  “Great,” Ellie says happily.

  “When are you due?” Shannon says.

  “Next month.” The realtor’s cheeks dimple and she rubs her tummy with one ringed hand. “This is my fifth, would you believe?”

  “That’s amazing.” Shannon is not ready for children right now, but she imagines that someday she would love to have a child with a man who would love her forever. “Are there usually such large families here?”

  “We Fitzpatricks tend to have large ones. I come from a family of seven myself. I am the second oldest, and my sisters are all married with broods of four or five themselves. We haven’t stopped yet.” She chuckles.

  Jared has begun to unload their baggage from the trunk.

  “Hey, you wanna give me a hand instead of gabbing in there with the realtor?” he calls.

  “There are papers to sign and checks to be made in case you don’t know how this works, Jared!” she calls back.

  “Then I’ll let you take care of all that stuff while I break open a can of beer!”

  Ellie smiles. She produces a large brown envelope full of documents. “Let’s get the paperwork out of the way. It’s always unpleasant, I know, but necessary. Do you and your brother intend to find jobs here?”

  “I know I do,” Shannon says. “I don’t know about him.”

  She rolls her eyes and the older woman laughs as they adjourn to the kitchen with its dining table. They seat themselves there. Ellie takes out the documents for her to sign and explains the terms and conditions of each one.

  “So what’s your line of work?” the agent asks.

  “I have a degree in Physiotherapy and I would like to work with patients.”

  Ellie sits back, thunderstruck.

  “No way.”

  “Why?” Shannon wonders if being a physiotherapist is that unusual in Dolphin’s Bay. Surely they must have a hospital?

  “No.” Ellie pats her forearm. Her cheeks are colored with excitement, and not because of her third trimester pregnancy. “My younger brother runs a clinic here and he needs a physiotherapist. Just so happens the last one quit on him to get married, and he has been running the clinic with only two for the past two months. It has been hell on his staff. He is an orthopedic surgeon affiliated with the hospital. Would you like to meet him?”

  It is as though fortune has fallen on her lap.

  “Yes,” Shannon says, smiling. This is a streak of good luck. Her gloomy spirits lift despite the pall of the morning.

  “OK, I’ll make a few calls. Give me a moment.”

  Ellie picks up her cellphone and punches in a quick dial. After a few rings, someone on the other side picks up.

  “Kirk? Yes, honey, it’s me.” She rolls her eyes and winks at Shannon. “Yes, honey, I know you’re busy and I must never call you at this time of day unless it’s an emergency, but I’ve got your new physiotherapist for you. You don’t have to request one from upstate now.”

  Pause.

  “Uh huh, uh huh. She’s right here. That’s right. She just happened to move into town yesterday and I rented her the Pullnam place.” She scrunches her nose. “Oh, come on, don’t say that. Send her to meet you? Super.”

  Ellie rings off and claps her hands delightedly.

  “I have a feeling we are all going to see a lot more of one another.”

  THE CLINIC

  It’s Shannon’s turn to take the Toyota out while Jared goes to hunt for another car. That would keep him busy and happy for the whole day, provided he doesn’t burn a hole in their pocket right away. But he usually is quite careful with money, so she isn’t too worried about it.

  With her GPS, she soon finds the clinic, which is called, perhaps uncreatively: ‘DOLPHIN’S BAY ORTHOPEDIC AND REHABILITATION CENTER’. To her surprise, it is quite a huge place with plenty of bay windows proffering light to the interiors.

  The clinic is quite busy with plenty of patients either walking in and out on crutches and splints or being wheeled by relatives and medical attendants. She parks and goes to the reception.

  “I have an appointment with Dr. Kirk Fitzpatrick,” she tells the receptionist, a black lady with dyed blond hair.

  “He’s busy right now. Emergency case came up. He had to schedule an urgent operation in the minor surgery theater.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s OK,” the lady says crisply. “You can wait over there with the patients.”

  There are plenty of patients seated in the waiting area outside the clinics. Shannon notes the other doctors working there – four names altogether. Dr. Kirk Fitzpatrick is listed outside one of the rooms. Although he is the departmental chief, his embossed sign does not appear to be bigger than the others.

  A girl in her early teens with gnarled fingers and bent legs is seated at a corner, and Shannon takes the empty seat beside hers.

  “You all alone?” she asks the girl.

  “My Mom had to go to school. She’s a teacher there. She will come and fetch me during her lunch hour.”

  Shannon observes the girl’s finger joints. They are extremely deformed and her knuckle joints are very swollen.

  “That hurt?”

  The girl grimaces. “Yes.”

  “I’m Shannon.”

  “Martha.” The girl waves her index finger. “Sorry if I can’t shake your hand.”

  “How long have you had it? It’s JRA, right?”

  JRA is juvenile rheumatoid arthritis.

  “Since I was eight. I started early. Guess I’m one of the unlucky ones. It’s pretty bad today. I’m on so many painkillers I’m practically a junkie.”

  “Let me have a look at that. I’m a physiotherapist. I came here to apply for a job.”

  Martha slowly stretches out her left arm, her face wincing. Her fingers remain curled and painfully immobile.

  “They’ve tried everything,” she says. “Anti-rheumatics. Penicillamine. Steroids. But the joint destruction
goes on. I can’t write anymore. The principal is trying to let me sit for my SATs with a tester.”

  “SATs? I didn’t think you were that old.”

  “I’m eighteen.” When Shannon reacts with surprise, Martha nods. “Steroids since I was nine. It retards my growth. I don’t even have my periods like normal kids.”

  With newfound sympathy, Shannon takes the girl’s left hand.

  “Maybe this will make it better,” she says.

  “I doubt it. I’ve been coming here for years, and I’ve even gone to hospitals upstate, but nothing ever makes it better.”

  Shannon strokes the girl’s fingers and knuckles gently, noting how knobby they are. Then she channels what has always been within her – the healing power which has been the crux and bane of her entire life. It’s subtle, and she sends a spool of it into the girl’s curled hand.

  Martha almost withdraws her hand in shock.

  “It tingles,” she says in wonder. “What did you do?”

  “It’s just my special massage. I have more static electricity in my body than most people. Don’t worry, you’ll feel better after a while.”

  Static electricity is one way of calling it, she supposes, though most people would have viewed her natural gifts as anything but science.

  Martha stills her hand, her eyes growing rounder and wider as Shannon continues to massage her fingers and send healing impulses into them.

  “I can’t believe, but the pain is gone,” she says.

  More than that will be gone by tomorrow, Shannon thinks. The joints and bones will need some time to remodel and knit, but she has started the process and it is irreversible. She dare not send too much power into Martha for fear of being flagged. But she sends just enough so that Martha’s recovery can be attributed to pharmaceutical science.

  “Let me have your other hand,” she instructs.

  She is so focused on what she is doing that she fails to register the presence beside them.

  A throat clears and a deep voice says: “Peggy out there tells me you’re looking for me?”

  Shannon looks up.

  Standing next to them is a gorgeous young man of about twenty-eight or twenty-nine. His long dark hair has been swept back and tied in a ponytail, and he wears the green scrubs of a surgeon. His eyes are a startling sea-green, and his features are so exquisite as to be almost pretty. But he carries himself in a very masculine way, with his hands tucked into his pants pockets and with his feet apart.

  His beauty is so stunning that it immediately hits her like a blow.

  “You’re Dr. Fitzpatrick?” she says.

  “Last time I checked.” His sharp eyes observe Martha’s hands. “Making friends? My sister tells me you’re new in this town.”

  Shannon is a little flustered in the presence of the man’s overpowering presence. She stands up and holds out her hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Kirk Fitzpatrick shakes it. His touch sends a delicious thrill coursing up her arm.

  What’s happening to her? Yesterday, she just had hot sex with a very hot man who made her feel like no one ever did before. And today, she meets another hot man who does exactly the same to her, only in a different way. And this new man might just be her boss!

  Are her hormones in ascendency or something?

  “How are you, Martha?” Kirk says in a kind voice. “Been waiting long?”

  “Um, great . . . I think, Dr. Fitzpatrick.” Martha is still looking at her hands, which appear exactly the same. Only she seems to have more mobility in the joints now. She flexes her fingers in increasing wonder. Shannon reckons that to be completely uninterested in Kirk, either Martha has to be a lesbian or her joints have just been transmogrified in a manner unbeknownst to her previously.

  She has to hide a smile.

  “I’ll see you later in my clinic, OK? Just let me interview this young lady first.” Kirk gestures to Shannon. “Shall we?”

  He turns to go into his clinic, and Shannon gathers up her tote bag to follow, with a parting, “See you soon” to Martha.

  Martha looks up, her eyes shining.

  “Dr. Fitzpatrick?” she says in a loud voice.

  Kirk turns. “Uh huh?”

  “Whatever you do, don’t let this woman get away. You have to hire her! Please!”

  Shannon flushes as Kirk nods and smiles at Martha.

  “I’ll think about that.”

  He opens his clinic door.

  “After you,” he says to Shannon.

  She enters, butterflies of a different sort fluttering in her stomach. She wonders what fate has in store for her now.

  * * * *

  The clinic is neat, with all the medical instruments put away nicely on the shelves and trolleys lined with green cloth. Kirk seats himself behind his desk while Shannon takes one of the chairs across from him. A skeleton hangs from a hook in a corner, and she has to wonder if it’s real. Glossy posters of bones and joints are plastered onto the bare parts of the walls, and a tendon hammer sits on the desk like a phallic symbol.

  She notes his personal mementoes on the shelves behind him – photos of his voluminous family, she presumes. She recognizes Ellie. One of the photos shows a family of seven siblings who resemble one another in some ways and not in others. There are five women and two men altogether. Kirk has the same eyes as his older brother, but he is handsomer by far and more prepossessing.

  “So, Shannon Bellamy, can you tell me more about yourself?”

  Shannon hands him her document folder containing her degree and accreditations. She gives him some professional details, but nothing personal and certainly nothing that cannot be accessed via her resume.

  “Impressive,” Kirk finally says, leaning back into his executive chair, which protests with a creak.

  “Thank you.”

  “I meant what you did back there.”

  “Huh?”

  His beautiful green eyes narrow shrewdly. “Martha has never been in remission from her JRA long enough to expect a full recovery. But what you did to her was a first. I have never seen her so surprised in the entire time she has been coming here.”

  Shannon shifts nervously.

  “I didn’t do anything. I just gave her a massage. I have lots of static electricity in my body.” She gives a short laugh. “People used to say I’m a walking generator.”

  “I think we both know it’s more than that,” Kirk says in a quiet tone.

  Shannon raises her eyes to meet his. His green ones are serious and understanding.

  “Would you like to work here, Shannon? You and I both know you have gifts. This is a safe environment for you to practice them.”

  The silence between them weighs heavily.

  Kirk goes on when she doesn’t say anything, “You get a basic salary with benefits, and on top of that, you get a commission for every patient you treat.”

  He writes down a sum on a notepad, tears the top sheet off and hands it to her. He smiles.

  “How does that look to you?”

  Her cheeks dimple. She finds herself warming to this quick-thinking, handsome doctor, who obviously is far, far more than meets the eye.

  “Yes,” she says.

  “And remember, don’t tell anyone here about what you can do,” he warns.

  She pauses.

  Then she says, “How did you know I can . . . do what I do.”

  He smiles sadly. “Let’s just say I have had personal experience with people who have your kind of gifts, except that they use them for anything but healing.”

  SETTLING IN

  For the next week, Shannon is kept so busy at the clinic that she scarcely has time to do anything else. Between work and making their new house a home, it is all she can do not to collapse into bed, exhausted, every night.

  Using her gifts makes her more tired than usual, but it is a good kind of fatigue – akin to exercise. To not use them would be to keep them bottled up inside her so that she becomes choked and restless. She is glad to be allowed to use the
m again.

  As for Dr. Kirk, he is a whirlwind of activity at work. From sunup to sundown, and sometimes well beyond, he is there, everywhere – tirelessly seeing and diagnosing patient after patient, sending them for X-rays and MRI scans, setting splints and bandages, operating and repairing. As Shannon is not his nurse or directly affiliated with what he does from day to day, she hardly works with him except for when he has a case to refer to her.

  “Mrs. Doherty needs rehabilitation,” he would say, and leave her to decide what is best.

  Or:

  “Mr. Hirsch has had a stroke, and the left side of his face is paralyzed. See if you can get those smiling muscles working again.”

  He does most of this through the phone or as a written instruction on the patient’s case file, so she hardly has any face to face time with him. Which suits her fine. He is her boss, after all, and their relationship must be kept strictly professional.

  Kirk’s nurse is Patty Kane, and she is particularly chatty during lunch hour. They are at the cafeteria. Shannon has chosen a chicken salad and a bottle of orange juice. Patty is beside her at the chow line. Her tray is laden with a plate of roast chicken with loads of gravy and mash potatoes, and she has added in a bowl of raspberry Jell-O.

  “So you’re the new girl,” she says to Shannon.

  “I guess I am.”

  “I heard you rented the old Pullnam place.”

  “I did.”

  Patty is a brunette with an upturned, freckled nose. “Do you sleep well at night?”

  “Yes.” Shannon finds the nurse particularly intrusive for someone she doesn’t know at all, but she is too polite to blow anyone off at this stage. “Why do you ask?”

  Patty wrinkles her button of a nose. “It’s just that the Pullnam place is rumored to be haunted.”

  Haunted? Shannon does not have ESP, but she has felt no vibes of ghostly activity there.

  She frowns. “How is that so?”

  They reach the cash register, and Shannon reaches for her wallet.

  “I’ll get that,” Patty says with a smile. “Consider it my welcome gift to you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Shannon wonders if this is Patty’s way of poking her nose in further, but she has very few friends in Dolphin’s Bay so far, and it might not hurt her to get to know some people if she is going to live here semi-permanently.