Burning Emerald by Jaime Reed Page A

able to pump his stomach and give him insulin, but he’s still in bad shape. We’ll have to wait and see.”
    â€œLike a food allergy? What did he eat?”
    â€œI was hoping you could answer that question,” she said with a hint of reproach.
    â€œYou think he took drugs or something? Come on, Mom, Caleb does not do drugs. I would know if he did. I was with him the whole night, and I didn’t see him OD on anything but candy,” I said in his defense.
    â€œNo, no, I believe you. They’re pretty sure it’s an allergy to something he ate.” Mom took her time getting to the root of the matter, bracing herself for my response. “I thought maybe it was just a coincidence, but then he wasn’t the only one affected. You had the same reaction.”
    â€œTo what?” I yelled. “Were we poisoned?”
    â€œI didn’t want to rouse any suspicion, no more than there already is, but ...” Mom glanced at the door before saying in a low, sneaky tone, “Remember what I was telling you about last week, my research about olive oil?”
    â€œOlive oil?” I repeated, not sure if I heard her correctly. “Why would Caleb drink olive oil and what does that have to do with him being sick? That’s all myth, Mom.”
    â€œIs it? Cambions are myths as well. Incubi and succubi aren’t supposed to exist. Why wouldn’t this rule apply?”
    â€œBecause it doesn’t work—just crazy superstition. I even proved it that night, and I was fine... .” I paused, my mouth forming the word yet to be spoken, when a recollection struck. Its truth seemed to have caught in my throat and gone down the wrong pipe.
    While talking to Mom in the kitchen, I’d licked the oil on my finger and soon after, I’d gotten nauseous and spent half the night puking. My stomach muscles had curled into knots and Lilith had writhed in her own sphere of agony, a feeling very similar to the one on Halloween night. But only a few drops had coated my finger, not even a teaspoon.
    Staring off to the far end of the room, I shook my head. “Are you sure about this, Mom?”
    â€œThere’s no other explanation. You don’t have any past medical conditions, and you rarely got sick as a kid. And these aren’t exactly textbook symptoms of a food allergy. In fact, it’s more of an ‘internal’ issue.” She stressed the word with air quotes before continuing. “The staff around here have a lot of unanswered questions. No one has seen anything like this.” Mom tucked in her lips, holding back the sob that was ready to break loose.
    I sat there in an unblinking trance. My thoughts ran in opposite directions, and each path led to a dead end. Aside from pizza, I’d never liked Italian food. Salads of any kind were against my religion, let alone fancy dressing. Which posed the question: How did olive oil get into my body?
    Closing a shaky hand over her mouth, Mom broke into another fit of tears, but this time I joined her. “My God, you could’ve ...”
    I reached over and fingered her curls. “Mom, please don’t cry, please. I’m fine.”
    â€œCome here.” Mom pulled me in her arms. “Now do you see why I keep hounding you about your bracelet? I’m not trying to run your life, I tell you these things for your own good. You’re the only child I have, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” Mom smoothed back my curls and rained kisses on my cheeks and temple. “The doctor says you’ll be fine in a few days, but you need to rest and stay hydrated. Your father came to see you this morning. He should be back tomorrow. He’ll be glad to know you’re awake.”
    â€œIs he mad at me?”
    There was something very creepy about her laugh. It seemed to mock me as if I should know better. And I did. I could almost see Dad barging through the door demanding answers