“Of course.” Wren swallowed thickly, racking her brain for anything else to quibble with. But she was a guest in his home. He was doing her an immense service. The very least she could do was swallow her pride and adhere to his ridiculous rules during her stay.

“Please, let me know if I can do anything else to put your mind at ease.” A concerned furrow appeared between his brows. “I understand it can be cold and gloomy here. I want to make you feel as welcome as I can.”

“No, no. You’ve addressed all my concerns.” She managed a smile. “As for updates, I’ll give you my initial assessment of the patient…”

“Henry,” he supplied.

“Right. I’ll give you my assessment of Henry tomorrow. I can meet you for tea?”

“Tea would be perfect.” Lowry slumped lower in his chair, pushing his curls away from his forehead. Like this, even in his finery and polish, Wren could see the cracks. He looked utterly exhausted—and deeper still, something else burned. Something like iron, determined and unwavering. And something … almost frenetic. “I cannot begin to tell you what a relief it is to have you here. I don’t think I can bear any more death.”

Wren understood that sentiment painfully well. “I’ll make sure you won’t have to.”

“Thank you,” Lowry said hoarsely. “From the bottom of my black and shriveled heart, thank you.”

“Of course.” Her gaze fell on the contract again. Although her gut roiled in protest, what else could she do? She signed her name. The ink shone red in the lamplight.

When she looked up, the taxidermied deer head behind him leered eyelessly at her. Wren shivered. She wasn’t superstitious, but to have so much death staring her down …

It boded ill for her patient’s recovery.

The hallway outside Wren’s room reeked of sickness: boiled herbs and stale air. Her body ached and her heavy eyes begged for sleep, but her healing magic pulled her toward her patient. The disease had settled over the house like a funeral pall, wedged itself into every woundlike crevice. She hated to admit that she was unsettled, but maybe the familiar rhythms of healing would soothe her.

It wasn’t that she was afraid. She just couldn’t shake the dread that had settled beneath her skin like a chill as soon as she’d signed away her freedom to the whims of Alistair Lowry. But it was an entirely unreasonable worry. Lowry was eccentric, as Basil warned her. Cautious, as anyone would be after witnessing so much death.

It wasn’t as if she needed to go anywhere, especially in this storm. It had begun in earnest now, wailing and rattling the windows like a ghost. Outside the hallway window, the view was solid, swirling white.