you not to tell the doctor the truth about your injuries.”
I tilt my head to one side and immediately regret it. A sharp pain scissors across my neck, and I groan. “I doubt he’d believe me, anyway.”
Color rises in her cheeks. “She is from Brume. So, she just might.”
Ouch.
Cadence leads me down the hallway, past oil paintings of landscapes and ancient battles, to Rainier’s glass elevator. We get inside, and she punches the button for the ground floor so hard I wince. Especially since she’s gazing murderously up at me.
What did I do now? Did my assumption that the doctor was a man peeve her? I mean, yeah, it was small-minded but not an egregious affront to the female sex.
“Are you okay?”
“Great.”
And that’s the last word she says to me as the glass box slides down two floors. Cadence strides out first, streaking across the grand foyer like a comet, obviously in a hurry to get away from me. I trail behind, hands shoved in my pockets.
I recognize the doc, a woman in her sixties with a rope of gray hair and large brown eyes—the purple fairy at the party. My Blair Witch Project crew surround her, probably still here because they don’t trust me to keep quiet.
I take a seat on the sectional and peel off my shirt, the collar of which is already stained red. Should’ve kept a towel around my neck. Hopefully, De Morel’s little elf works overtime. Then again, if it’s a French elf, probably not.
“Mon Dieu!” If the doc’s eyebrows shot up any higher, they’d take off.
As she opens her satchel, I look around the room. Adrien is sitting across from me, elbows propped on his thighs, fingers clasped together and supporting his chin. Gaëlle is perched on the arm of the couch next to Rainier’s wheelchair. Cadence is leaning against the wall beside the picture window, arms still crossed. Her cheek keeps dimpling, and since she doesn’t have dimples, I assume she’s biting the inside of her mouth.
“That stray dog really did a number on you.” Doc turns my face, eyes going from my jaw to my neck. “You’re lucky Adrien was walking around and found you.”
So that’s the story? I got attacked by a stray and Adrien, forever the hero, saved me? Damn. Why couldn’t I have just saved myself?
“Yeah. Thank the good lord his girlfriend kicked him out of bed in the middle of the night. Prof, remind me to thank . . . What’s her name again?”
It’s a really low blow, and I daresay I’m not too proud of it, but Cadence is still seething, angry with me, and I don’t know . . . it makes me spiteful toward the man she worships.
The muscles in Adrien’s jaw twitch. “Charlotte.”
The doctor pats an alcohol-soaked square of gauze against the teeth marks on my jaw. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a wound quite like this. What sort of dog was it?” She’s now putting some kind of ointment on my skin, and it stings.
“It was—” Adrien starts, but I talk over him.
“A German Shepherd-pug mix.” I’m going to make this story mine.
The doctor’s entire face scrunches up. “That’s an . . . odd mix.”
“Ugly, too. Tiny legs, wrinkly head, beady black eyes, super shaggy.”
“Are you kids sure it wasn’t a rat?”
“That’s what I thought, but Adrien insisted it was a dog. Insisted on the mutt’s breed too. Canine mixes are his hobby.”
Adrien pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Is that so, Adrien?” The doctor discards the reddened gauze. “I love dogs too. I’ve been meaning to get one but wanted help picking the right breed. Maybe you can suggest one? If you have time, that is. I know teaching keeps you busy.”
He breathes in, then out and offers the doc a smile. “As soon as I get Slate acclimated to Brume—he just started at the University—I’ll make the time to come see you and discuss breeds.” Damn, the guy is suave.
“A heart of gold, just like your maman.” The doc’s eyes gloss over with tears, which she whisks away with a couple lash battings.
There’s a melancholic lull in the atmosphere. Well, crap . . . I’m guessing his mother either left or died.
“The dog that attacked this boy is going to need to be found.” Doc thankfully puts an end to Mercier’s pity party. “And we need to issue a warning to the college students.”
“Prof, you called Paw Patrol, right?”
Adrien stabs me with an irritated look. At least he doesn’t look weepy