“Remembering the Grace.”

Then Zia winks at me, a quick smile in her eyes. “But it has better sweets.”

Maida gives a solemn nod of agreement, humour dancing in her eyes, as well.

“This is veryvery true,” she says.

They jump onto the bed and bounce up and down.

“Time to go, time to go!”

And just like that, as suddenly as they appeared, they’re gone.

I feel breathless—the crow girls have the habit of making me feel that way. Only Lucius and Geordie ever seem truly calm around them.

Geordie sits down beside me. He takes what was the Broken Girl’s hand and runs his fingers over mine. They’re as healthy and flexible as his own, without even a hint of numbness or pain.

“Are you really okay now?” he asks.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt better,” I tell him. “Except maybe last night.”

He blushes, just a little, but he grins.

“I see they took the rest of the chocolate bars with them,” he says.

I push him back onto the bed and straddle him.

“Oh, who cares about a bunch of old chocolate bars?” I ask him.

“Not me.”

And he pulls me down, his hands going up the back of my shirt, his lips finding mine.

Matthew Garner’s been my physical therapist since I got out of rehab, lo so many months ago. I don’t see him every day anymore. These days, I only have an appointment every two weeks. But he knows my case. He knows my body’s strengths and limitations. So when I come waltzing into his office, sans wheelchair or canes, a bounce in my steps and swinging my arms, he just stares at me with that classic slack jaw look that you’re forever reading about, but never seem to actually see in real life.

It’s been like that since we came down for a late breakfast at the Custom House in Sweetwater through to seeing all my friends. Wendy and Sophie and Mona and just everybody. Even dour old Goon stared in surprise and then actually grinned when I came skipping into the Professor’s house after Geordie and I got back from Sweetwater.

I don’t even have my scars anymore, and let me tell you, I don’t miss them. Not because of vanity, since I’ve never been one for shorts or dresses. But because every time I looked at them, all I saw was the road map of my pain.

Geordie’s waiting for me now outside of Matthew’s office. He’s sitting on the balustrade leading down to the sidewalk, his fiddle case open beside him while he plucks out tunes on his fiddle. I give him a kiss—just because I can.

“How’d it go?” he asks as he puts away his instrument.

I smile. “He so totally has no idea what happened to me.”

“And wanted to run a million tests.”