Mutt

  ***

  “Timothy. Can I talk to you alone for a minute?”

  Timothy and Miren were fooling around with Emery's paints on a spare piece of canvas; at the sound of Emery's voice, both of them looked up.

  “Um, yeah.” Timothy put his brush down and turned to Miren. “I'll be right back.”

  She smiled. “Okay.”

  Emery turned before either of them could get a good look at his face and led Timothy upstairs into the study. The countless, hallowed books and the scent of aged wood were usually among Emery's greatest pleasures in the mansion, but nothing could soothe him now. He closed the door when Timothy had entered. “I went to see Dr. Hanssen just now,” he said, forcing himself to look into Timothy's eyes.

  The relief he saw there crushed him. “Great,” Timothy said. “So all of this is finally over.”

  “Well,” Emery said, “that's what I want to talk to you about.” M. Petrou had told Emery he had a gift with words, but they all failed him now. Emery approached the desk on which the bag lay and produced the case. He slowly opened it to reveal the medicine.

  Timothy's eyes widened. “That's a lot of pills.”

  “Yeah. It's…” Emery cleared his throat. “It's three different kinds of antibiotics that are taken at different intervals over the course of a year. It's about ninety-seven percent effective at curing the kind of sickness you have entirely. It's a real wonder of modern medicine.” He was rambling. “This case is enough for one person.”

  “Wow,” Timothy said. “Where's the other one?”

  Again Emery locked eyes with the boy. He said nothing, but the grief on his face spoke for him. He watched, dying a little each second, as realization slowly dawned. “But the doctor said—” Timothy began.

  “He tricked us,” Emery said. “He's the one who told Three Dogs to shoot me. He wasn't planning to pay at all, and I guess this is all the trouble it was worth to him to keep what happened from getting out. The doctor says no one would believe me if I told them about his involvement, and he's right. He doesn't know what my secret is, but he knows I have one, and if I fight him, he'll get Unity to pry until everything comes out.”

  “So what do we do now?” Timothy asked hopefully. “There has to be some way we can get another one. Right?”

  “I've been banned from the upper hospital, the section where the doctors have access to this medicine,” Emery said weakly. “I'm going to try to find a way, but for now, we have to assume this is all we're going to get.”

  “Maybe we can split the pills up,” Timothy replied quickly. Emery tried not to notice the desperation in his voice. “Isn't there still a chance—”

  “It could buy us some time, sure, but what if we can't find any more medicine after that? Then neither of you is cured.” Emery's throat was sandpaper; he swallowed. “We need to assume this is all we're going to get. Timothy, you were here first, and I promised I'd do anything I could to get you back to your family alright. I want you to have the medicine.”

  It was a choice that Emery knew would be the end of him. He had gotten into this mess to save lives, not to choose whose he must end. Timothy's eyes welled with tears; he nodded slowly, resolutely.

  “So you'll take it?” Emery asked.

  “No.” The word was a whisper.

  “What?”

  “Of course not,” Timothy said. “I'm giving them to Miren.” He looked at Emery almost quizzically. “You had to know that would be what I'd say.”

  “Timothy,” Emery began, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. “I know you're really attached to Miren. You might even think you love her, but you just met days ago. And you have a family back home that needs you—”

  “My family needs me,” Timothy said softly, “to be a man.” He seized Emery's wrist, an expression of stunning intensity on his face. “And between what my father taught me and what you've taught me, I only know one way to do that. It isn't even a question. If I was the kind of person who let a girl die in my place when I could have done something to stop it, I wouldn't even dare show my face at home again.”

  “I'll try to find another way,” Emery began.

  “Don't say that,” Timothy whispered. “Because I know you'll try, but I also know you probably won't find one. So if something definite happens, tell me then. Otherwise, just let me get used to this idea. Don't make it harder for me.”

  Tears were flowing freely down his cheeks, but his voice was level, his eyes ablaze. It was his resolve that broke Emery's own: this boy, so young, was choosing his own death with a courage Emery could find nowhere inside himself.

  “I wish it could be me,” Emery said quietly.

  “I knew you'd say that,” Timothy said with a crushing little smile. The fourteen-year-old's face was aeons old. “And I know you mean it. But Emery, it can't always be you.”