I called Ben into the room.
“Nothing,” I told him. “And I
checked . . . everywhere.”
“What about her throat?” Ben said quietly. He
could hear the residual rage in my voice. He got that he was talking to a crazy
person and had to tread lightly. “Right before she fainted, she said her throat
hurt.”
I nodded. “I looked. There’s no pellet in her,
Ben.”
“Are you positive? ‘My throat hurts’ is a very
weird thing for a freezing, malnourished kid to say the minute she shows up.”
He sidled over to the bed, I don’t know, maybe
because he was concerned I might jump him in a moment of misplaced fury. Not
that that’s ever happened. He gingerly pressed one hand to her forehead while
prying her mouth open with the other. Stuck his eye close. “Hard to see
anything,” he muttered.
