“But because they are old hurts.”

“Skin and bone and muscle has to be pulled back into shape.”

“Fresh hurts are much easier.”

“But messier.”

They each hold one of my arms against the chair. Maida puts a hand against my chest, pressing me back.

“This is for the screams,” Zia tells me, which is hardly comforting.

I don’t know what she means until she puts her hand across my mouth. That’s even less comforting.

I decide I want to talk about this a little more, but I can’t move my mouth. They might look like skinny little teenage girls, but they’re shockingly strong. Their faces lean in close to mine.

“Here we go,” Maida says.

A sudden sharp pain, like someone chipping at the raw nerve of a tooth, tears through my whole body. My back tries to arch, but it can’t move because of Maida’s hand pressing me back. But I’m only dimly aware of that. Just as I’m only dimly aware of their murmured, “Sorry, sorry.”

There’s only the pain.

It feels like my arms and legs are being torn apart and whenever I think it can’t get worse—that it has to end now—it only gets worse.

I don’t think I can bear it.

I know I can’t.

If Zia didn’t have her hand over my mouth, I’d be screaming my throat raw.

I don’t know how long it lasts.

A few moments.

Forever.

I think I pass out for one blessed moment, then the searing pain spins to a crescendo. My ears pop.

And then it’s gone.

The worst of it’s gone.

The crow girls continue to murmur their sorrys. They stroke my brow and push the wet hair back from my face.

I’m soaked with sweat and trembling from head to foot. My temples throb with a headache that seems mild and soothing after what I’ve just been through. I feel nauseous and weak and if it wasn’t for them holding me, I’d fall right out of my wheelchair.

I realize my eyes are tightly shut and I open them slowly, wincing as the light intensifies the pain in my head. But as the crow girls continue to stroke my brow, the headache begins to recede, then goes away. The nausea fades. I’m still trembling, but it’s for a different reason now. I feel filled with more excess energy than I know what to do with.

I see Geordie standing in front of me wearing an expression that’s a weird mix of horror and worry.

“I . . . I’m okay,” I tell him.

“Of course, you are,” Zia says.

Maida nods. “You’re veryvery brave. I’ve seen big old wolves wet themselves over less pain.”

“I’m pretty wet,” I say.