Erica's Arc

Chapter 7 of 7

Erica lay on the couch, too weak to stand. Beside her, Lydia shivered under a blanket, her face pale and hot with fever. Both girls had thrown up again on the way back from the yard. Neither could reach the barn. Neither could even sit up straight. Then a new sound cut through the cottage. A door banged. Small feet slapped the floor. Malia ran past them and into the little bathroom off the hall. The door hung open. Erica heard her hit her knees. Retching. Then worse. Malia was sick from both ends at once, gripping the trash can while her body shook. "Erica," Malia sobbed. Her tummy was swollen and red, pushed tight against her shirt. She couldn't stop crying. "It hurts. Make it stop." Erica tried to rise. The room tilted and she fell back. Lydia grabbed her wrist. "You'll pass out again. We can't reach her." Her voice cracked. "We can't do anything." Erica shut her eyes. She thought of Malia in the woods, months ago, stuck in wolf form and terrified. One thing had calmed her then. A stuffed animal she'd carried everywhere. It had gotten torn apart. Erica had never replaced it. She fumbled for her phone. She called the one person who could still walk. Stiles. He and Erica butted heads often. He thought she took too many risks. She thought he talked too much. But he'd hauled four wolves across town when no one else could. "Erica?" His voice came fast. "You sound awful." "We're all sick. All three of us. Malia's the worst." Erica forced the words out between breaths. "I need you to go to the general store. Get a stuffed animal, the softest one they have. And tummy tea. As much as you can carry." A pause. She waited for an argument. "A stuffed animal," Stiles said. "You're dying and you want a toy." "For Malia. Just trust me. Please." Another pause. Then, softer, "Yeah. Okay. I'm going." The wait felt endless. Malia cried in the bathroom. Erica talked to her through the wall, telling her to breathe, telling her help was coming. Her own stomach twisted with every word. The door finally burst open. Stiles came in with snow on his shoes and a paper bag under his arm. He'd run. He knelt by the bathroom and pulled out a soft plush wolf, gray and floppy-eared. He pressed it into Malia's arms. Malia clutched it to her chest. Her sobs shrank to hiccups. The stuffed wolf soaked up her tears. Her shaking slowed. Stiles set the kettle on and made tea. Steam filled the small kitchen. He carried mugs to Erica and Lydia, then one to Malia on the floor. Erica held the warm mug in both hands. Malia was quiet now, hugging the wolf. The three of them were still too weak to train a single horse. But the worst had passed. And Erica knew now the pack could lean on Stiles when they broke down all at once.