by Cédric Sire
“I’m fine,” Vauvert said, gritting his teeth.
The world was spinning though. Faster and faster.
He reached out and grabbed Eva’s hand. Her skin was burning with fever.
“Hang in there, big girl,” he mumbled once more.
He felt a third hand resting on theirs.
Turning his head, he saw a little figure, between them.
The little girl was pretty. A radiant smile lit her pure-white face. Unruly curls framed her round cheeks.
Her ruby eyes, stunningly pure, were staring at Vauvert.
“What…”
His mouth fell open in surprise. The medics were busy. They closed the ambulance doors. Obviously, none of them were able to see the little albino girl.
Her resemblance to Eva made it all clear to him. There was no need to ask any questions.
The girl smiled at him again.
“Take care of her,” she said.
She vanished.
Damn right I am going to take care of her, he said to himself.
He squeezed Eva’s hand harder.
He saw that her head was turned his way, offering him her usual impenetrable smile.
He smiled back at her.
“I am half-sick of shadows,”
said the Lady of Shalott.
—Alfred Tennyson
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © Cédric Sire, 2010
First published in France as De fièvre et de sang
www.cedric-sire.com