Love Croakies by Sam Cheever (the kiss of deception read online .txt) 📕

Lea frowned. “Is this all of it?”

“No,” I admitted. “But hopefully it will be enough?”

Lea sighed. “Yeah, hopefully. Come on.” She motioned toward the dividing door. “We need to call Whom right away. Hobs is in really bad shape.”

22

It’s Bad, Naida

Sebille and I sat on the couch, perched on the edge in tense silence as we watched Doctor Whom bending over Hobs on my bed. The sprite had healed all my weird rose-growing cuts. We’d sent Lea downstairs with Florence Nightingale’s first aid kit to help the rest of our group with their battle wounds.

Narina and Eddie had poked their heads into the apartment several minutes later, and I’d gone out to tell them what was going on.

Narina had hugged me. In my exhausted, emotional state, the action brought tears to my eyes. She’d tucked a strand of my dusty hair behind one ear and told me they’d be in touch.

Eddie hugged me too. “I’ll see you soon, sis.”

“Thanks for your help today,” I told them, wiping at tears. If I wasn’t so scared and miserable about Hobs, I’d have been grinning like an idiot to have my family back.

I watched them leave and went back inside, dropping back down on the couch again. There was nothing left to do but wait and watch.

I chewed the inside of my lips at the sight of my hobgoblin. He was so pale that even the light blue of his eyes looked dark by contrast.

Mr. Wicked and Slimy were on the pillow next to Hobs. Slimy’s dark eyes were fixed on the little hobgoblin, his throat rhythmically working. There’s a dirty red aura over him, the frog said. It’s bad, Naida.

Sebille and I shared a look. Her lips were pinched, and the freckles on her face stood out against the chalky pallor of her skin.

Wicked’s gaze was fixed on Whom. He watched the doctor as if he didn’t completely trust him with his friend.

Hobs’ skinny chest barely rose and fell under the sheets. He shuddered violently every few seconds. He was literally dying from a broken heart. And I hadn’t even known he was in love.

I frowned, wanting to kick myself for neglecting the little guy. I should have paid more attention. I should have known he was in trouble before it got so far.

Sebille glowered at me as if hearing my thoughts. “This happened fast, Naida. We were busy with the signing. It’s not our fault.”

“Our” fault, she’d said. As if she was wading along the same treacherous thought process as I was. I supposed she probably was. Sebille and I were like co-parents for Hobs. We were responsible for him. We’d somehow failed.

But she was wrong. We should have known. Hobs was more important than some stupid book signing.

Whom had taken the vial of serum from Sebille when he arrived and had disappeared to do his thing. He’d only just emerged from his little travel house with a new gob of owl puke in his hand, which he’d proclaimed was the antidote to the love serum. He’d pressed the mess onto Hob’s chalky chest, right over his heart. While he waited for it to work, Whom had used the stethoscope nestled in the feathers of his cloak to check Hobs’ vitals. He’d then pinched a tiny yellow bead in front of Hobs’ nose. The bead had burst, sending a flare of golden energy into the little guy’s nostrils. Then he’d pulled a second bead from another pocket. The second bead had been bigger, colored a pale cream, and he’d pinched it into Hobs’ mouth.

Finally, Whom had pinched two pink beads into Hobs’ oversized ears. He’d glanced at us. “Healing supplements.”

We nodded.

Then the good doctor sat back on his haunches, looking for all the world as if he was perching on a tree branch, and jotted notes into a journal while we waited for the medicine to work.

The minutes ticked past. I shifted nervously on the couch. Sebille got up and paced. But the minutes didn’t bring Hobs back to us. In fact, he seemed to get worse. The hobgoblin’s color changed from chalky white to gray, and a film seemed to cover his fixed, pale blue gaze.

He looked as if he were already dead.

My heart slowed and my breathing turned shallow as I clung desperately to hope. Even as despair tried to rip all hope away.

“Doctor Whom?”

The owlish physician looked over at me, blinking his oversized eyes.

I opened my mouth to ask him what else we could try.

Something crashed heavily to the floor downstairs. The distinctive sound of shattering glass followed the crash.

Doctor Whom’s beakish mouth opened. “Whooo?”

Sebille and I jumped to our feet and ran to the landing outside my apartment door. Confused by what I was seeing, I looked down at the communicating mirror we’d used to travel back from the black castle in The Enchanted Forest.

A woman stood at the bottom of the steps, her back to us as she perused the shattered mirror. She was dressed in a red cape, a hood covering her hair and much of her face. Only her delicate nose and a slash of one pale cheek showed, telling me it wasn’t a man.

I grabbed Sebille’s wrist, squeezing as I leaned in and whispered. “You never told me what happened to Dacara.”

Sebille frowned. “She was in a state of suspended animation on a bed of thorny roses.” She shook her head. “Even Dacara couldn’t have gotten out of that without help.”

I winced, narrowing my gaze on the woman below. “Would she have woken up when we banished Desiree?”

The first signs of panic slashed through Sebille’s gaze. That was all the answer I needed.

As if she heard our urgent whispering, the woman down below turned her beautiful face up to us, a pleased smile curving her lush lips.

It wasn’t Dacara.

“It was very helpful of you to leave the portal open and your mirror unveiled,” she told us. “It’s such a shame