Felix didn’t protest, sinking into the chair right away. His face relaxed immediately, and I realized he must have been a lot worse off than he thought. Illnesses scared all of us. We couldn’t age, but we could still get sick. Our health care was limited to whatever Felix had brought in with him in 1907, which consisted of a few bandages and whatever else was in the pantry. A fever, like the one Theo developed while he was going through withdrawal, could really only be treated with cool cloths, and a shit ton of hope.

I pressed my wrist to his forehead, and then my lips. “You’re burning up. Are you sure you feel okay?”

He rolled his eyes. “I feel fine. Just that odd chill. Can we go back to what we were doing before now?” He tried to pull me closer, but I stood my ground.

“No way. You’re going to bed immediately.” I pulled him up to his feet and pointed towards the door. “March.”

“You’re as bad as Luther sometimes, you know that?” But Felix didn’t protest, walking out the door with only one small glance back at the orchid he had been staking.

“I’ll finish staking her. You worry about getting yourself upstairs to bed.” I shooed him on.

“Okay, but gentle hands. Give her a good water when you’re done. None of that one tablespoon bullshit you tried to tell me. She likes to be soaked.” He was still talking to me from the stairs, calling out directions I ignored.

Ten minutes later, Felix’s orchid was situated, and I followed him up the stairs, a stack of fresh washcloths in my hand. Luther and Theo’s bedrooms were both empty, which meant we had the rare opportunity of privacy for the time being. Not that we could do anything with it, as sick as Felix seemed to be. He was completely undressed by the time I reached his bedroom, curled up on his side under the blanket. “How are you doing?” I asked quietly, trying not to disturb him if he was sleeping.

His teeth chattered in response. “I’m fine, really.”

“You do not sound fine. At all.” I pressed my wrist to his forehead again, pulling it away when I realized how sweaty he was. His fever must have been crazy high, but without a thermometer I had no way of knowing. “Felix, I need you to tell me the truth. What exactly are you feeling?”

If I was going to treat him right, I needed to know the symptoms he had to narrow down the causes. I wasn’t an expert by any means, but I had been pretty handy with an internet search and a bottle of painkillers growing up. Dad didn’t trust doctors, so he would only take me to get checked out if it was something he couldn’t cure himself, like a broken wrist or infected cut.