by Iris Kincaid
She always ended with a jokey virus and a special message for the cops. “Officers, I hope you’ve appreciated the special gift from me to you. Now go get yourself some doughnuts. You fellas work way too hard.”
They always had to come back sheepishly to retrieve their payment. After a while, they just learned to leave her alone. After all, how many times does anyone want to write up that report? And the hacker was in a wheelchair, for heaven’s sake. Not to mention, she was always two steps ahead of them. Best to leave well enough alone.
While grateful for their incompetence, Martine’s alienation from others continued to grow.
She did have one regular customer who, as a general rule, didn’t get on her nerves. His name was Jeremy Todd. He was a young public defender and would probably win the award for the least annoying person that she knew. Hopefully, she wasn’t swayed by the fact that he was inordinately cute—’cause that would just be shallow. And besides, he wasn’t available. And even if he were, Martine grimly understood that the wheelchair and her illness had cut off a multitude of options in her life, most notably love and romance.
Jeremy had a very interesting love life. Or at least a very interesting girlfriend, which she never tired of goading him about.
“I can’t believe you’re dating the mayor. What on earth does she see in you?”
“Rugged 007 good looks. Einstein genius. Charisma for days.”
“All of that is such blatant nonsense that normally, I would have to conclude that you are just filthy rich. But you’re not. I’ve seen your bank account.”
Jeremy’s mouth dropped open. “You have not.” But he didn’t sound so sure.
“I have to do background checks on all of my clients. I have to make sure that you are who you say you are. You don’t want your secrets out? Hello! That’s kind of what I do. And bank statements are generally a window into a person’s . . . arteries. But no need to be embarrassed. You’re in remarkably good shape for a man who eats as much takeout Chinese as you do. Didn’t anybody ever teach you how to cook?”
“As it so happens, the mayor is very fond of Chinese food. That’s right. And you are a piece of work.”
“Sorry. Too much time on my hands, I guess.”
Jeremy had never heard the full story of why Martine was in a wheelchair. He had always assumed that she had been in some kind of accident and might be completely paralyzed from the waist down. But recently, once or twice, he had seen her leg move. It seemed to cause her quite a bit of discomfort. And though he hated to intrude on her privacy, he also needed to know if there was anything he could do to help.
“Promise not to get mad.”
“At you? I don’t know. You do have some pretty annoying tendencies. What’s up?”
“What’s wrong with your legs? And yes, I know it’s none of my business.”
She should have been annoyed. But it had been a long, long time since anyone had expressed a personal interest in her. And she had peeked at his bank account. Maybe she owed him one.
“I need a bone marrow transplant. And I’m a really hard match. My parents forgot to have a few more siblings who would’ve made really useful donors. So, things just got worse and worse. And here I am. And this is the way things are.”
Jeremy’s mind was racing. “Transplant. Huh. I think I know where you might be able to find exactly what you’re looking for. Maybe a bit more than you’re looking for.”
“A bone marrow match? For me? What makes you think you could even begin to locate such a thing?”
Jeremy shrugged cockily. “I know a guy.”
“And he’s . . . a wizard?”
“Why don’t you sit tight, and I’ll look into it?”
“Oh, sure. I’ll sit right here. Won’t move until you get back. Promise.”
Jeremy flinched. That wasn’t quite what he’d meant to say. But if his “wizard” transplant doctor could change her life, then all would be forgiven.
CHAPTER TWO
Dr. Harold Svenson was neither wizard nor witch, although he was developing more familiarity with the witch community than he ever could have imagined. After Lilith Hazelwood, the town’s most powerful witch, had died, the transplant specialist had taken possession of her organs, and one by one, he was making sure that her body parts were put to miraculous life-changing use through organ transplantation.
The miraculous nature of these transplants had little to do with the doctor, talented as he was. They had everything to do with the witch’s remarkable body, powerful, even in death, as one operation after another had demonstrated.
Her organs were infused with magic, and the power they contained was transmitted to the transplant patient. Defying all laws of biology and compatibility, the witch’s organs were a universally accepted match for all donors.
Dr. Svenson was a kindly white-haired man in his mid-sixties. His assistant, Ruby Townsend, was a sweet, earnest young woman in her mid-twenties. She was in complete awe of her boss and of the results of these transformative transplants. On this occasion, the two of them were huddled with Jeremy, in a secluded corner of the hospital’s transplant wing. It was a conversation that demanded the highest degree of secrecy.
“She says that she’s a hard bone marrow match. But I recalled you saying that didn’t really matter for the other transplants. Do you think you can help her?” Jeremy inquired hopefully.
“The organs of the witch have never failed. I think your friend will be on her feet before the end of the week.”
Jeremy was heartened by the doctor’s confidence. He had every reason to trust Dr. Svenson’s judgment, as his own girlfriend, Mayor Wanda Macomber, was herself one of Lilith Hazelwood’s organ beneficiaries.
“What about chemo?” Ruby inquired.
“That is standard procedure. But I don’t know if it is necessary,” Dr. Svenson mused. “I suspect not.”
“You take care of her, Doc,” Jeremy warned. If anyone could use a break, it’s her.”
“Is she in a lot of pain?” Ruby asked sadly.
“I think so. Although she’s never much for sharing. She’s a real hermit, you know. I don’t think that she’s left her apartment for a couple of years. She just kinda gave up on being part of the world. But smart. Uber smart. And a bit of a pessimist. But why wouldn’t she be?”
“After the operation, I wonder what she’s going to be like?”
“She’ll be happier, should be healthier, and she will be able to walk. That is the most important thing,” Dr. Svenson replied.
“But what else should be able to do? All of Lilith Hazelwood’s donors became very special after their transplants. Is she going to . . . be able to fly?”
“Lilith Hazelwood’s organs do not turn them into birds.”
“But it does turn them into something special. I wouldn’t mind if I were a bit more . . . special.”
“And what life-threatening disability would you like to suffer to qualify for such a transplant?” the doctor scolded.
Jeremy smiled at a chastened Ruby. “The mayor likes you fine just the way you are.”
“Do you always call her the mayor?”
“Always. She sure earned it. Speaking of whom, I have a date for dim sum. So, if you’ll excuse me. Good luck with Martine. And Ruby, she doesn’t really have any friends. Maybe you could keep an eye on her.”
Ruby nodded solemnly, and Jeremy made his departure.
The doctor turned to Ruby. “Ready to make a house call?”
*****
How had Jeremy and Dr. Svenson found a donor with no more difficulty than finding a date on Tinder? As Martine lay on the operating table, her mind was swirling with gratitude and disbelief. Was it really possible that a true bone marrow match had been found for her after all these years? That her lifelong sickliness and debilitating pain were about to vanish? That she was eventually going to be able to walk again? Walk again. Walk again. Walk again. The words revolved over and over again in her mind as she succumbed to the anesthesia.<
br />
But wait a minute! The anesthesia hadn’t worked properly. In a haze, Martine saw the doctor hovering over her and panicked at the thought of being operated on before she was fully unconscious.
“Don’t . . . do the operation. Not yet. I’m not ready,” she said weakly.
“The operation is over, Ms. Cadet. And it went quite well. I’ve taken the new blood samples and will receive the results very shortly. Take deep breaths and sit up as soon as you’re able.”
Martine groggily obeyed. The operation was over? But she had only closed her eyes for a few seconds. It almost seemed like someone was playing a prank on her.
Lilith Hazelwood’s ghost made a point of attending all of these transplant operations. After all, it was her organs that were being doled out like potatoes at a food pantry. By rights, she should have had say over what was done with them. But as a ghost, her powers were limited. In life, they had been vast. No other witch in Oyster Cove had more than a fraction of her awesome abilities, and she had reveled in her superiority.
In death, she was driven by one obsessive goal—to discover who was behind her demise and how to inflict the most painful and explicitly gratifying vengeance on them. She would not rest until it was done. But she would need earthly assistance for such a mission, from someone with formidable powers who was also beholden to her. One of these transplant witches. They owed her their life. They owed her.
Martine Cadet now had her very bones, the most basic foundation of the body and the powers that resided deep inside her, although how they would manifest themselves, Lilith could not be sure. She would have to keep an eye on this latest beneficiary to assess her usefulness toward the goal of revenge.
Martine was wide awake now, legs dangling over the edge of the hospital bed, still in her hospital gown.
“All right, my dear. I have a very busy day scheduled, so I think that we are done here. I will give you a call tomorrow afternoon about the blood results. For now, you can go home.”
“Okay, but . . . how am I going to get home? Are you going to call that van transport for me?”
“You’re going to stand up right now. And then you’re going to walk home,” the doctor said, with more certainty that he actually possessed. “Stand up. Right now.”
Stand up? What about a walker? What about rehab? Martine didn’t much feel like crashing to the floor on her weak, unreliable legs. But Dr. Svenson was fairly insistent. So, she gingerly scooted her way to the edge of the bed and gripped the edge of the bedside table, pulling herself to her feet in one frantic burst of energy.
“Excellent. Now, let go of the table and come here to me.”
Martine could barely hear him. She was completely fixated on the thing that was missing—the complete absence of pain. It was gone. Vanished, without a single lingering ache remaining. Almost involuntarily, she began to move her feet, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. No pain, no pain, no pain! She kept shuffling her weight from one foot to the other until she found herself right in front of Dr. Svenson. She had just walked! She could walk!
Though they were relative strangers to one another, Martine and Dr. Svenson fell together in a joyous embrace. Martine closed her eyes, and a vision flashed in front of her of being in the doctor’s arms for a waltz . . . at a wedding. He was beaming at her with the pride of a parent. What a weird, fanciful thing to be imagining at this moment.
“I’m going to let Ruby leave for the day so that she can walk you home. You live about one hour from here, yes? It is a challenging walk, but I don’t think you’ll mind.”
Martine’s slow smile was as genuine as it was rare. “No, I won’t mind.”
“And we will have a follow-up visit in two days. But until then, you must be sure to call me in case anything unusual happens.”
“Unusual, like what?”
Well, your bone marrow donor was a witch. So, something very freaky is about to happen.
“I would not care to venture a guess.”
All surgeries are physically traumatic, even those of the healing nature. They also take a huge psychological toll on the individual, even when successful. Dr. Svenson was sure that this was not the time to tell Martine that she was probably a witch.
*****
Ruby walked quietly beside Martine, thrilled for the other young woman and giving her the space that she needed to grasp the unfolding of her new life. At times, Martine’s gait was hesitant and self-conscious. At other times, she broke into a jog that Ruby could barely keep up with. At one point, she stopped abruptly in front of a fish and chips restaurant.
“I couldn’t get into this place. See this bump right here at the entrance? My wheelchair couldn’t roll in. Not unless someone was behind me and tilted my chair up. Meaning I’d have to ask for help, which I never wanted to do. I stopped going out at all soon after that.”
“Now you can go anywhere, do anything.”
“Can I? To the beach. Could we walk on the sand? Right by the ocean. That’s one thing that you never do when you’re in a chair—go onto the sand. It’s been so many years since I was able to do that.”
It was a detour that Ruby was happy to oblige.
Digging your feet into wet sand and wading into cold, crisp waves was so vastly different from the feel of a hardwood floor. Martine felt much like a convict just out of prison. And the longer she was out, the more resistant she was to returning to her apartment, which now felt like an insufferable cage.
Of course, she did have to return. But she tried to make the most of her time inside by starting to dismantle the guardrails around her queen bed. And by climbing up into a chair to climb onto the counter to check the highest shelves in the kitchen. She had never seen them before. In fact, everything in her apartment needed to be stood upon, climbed, or even kicked with her joyously restless new legs.
She would have slept standing up if she could.
*****
Oyster Cove was nowhere near the size of its adjoining Cape Cod neighbors. But there was far more to it than Martine could remember from her teenage days. Admittedly, she had never wandered far afield from either school or home. She hadn’t been any kind of explorer at all, in fact. Even before her legs failed her, she was usually wrapped up in a book or a computer screen.
But that was then. Today’s Martine was determined to walk down every square inch of every Oyster Cove Street. What a truly enchanting little town it was. Everywhere, there were murals and statues and mosaics and a patchwork quilt of color blanketing the town. She had read of the town’s reputation as a haven for artists, and now she could actually see what everyone had been talking about. It truly looked like a town she might want to live in.
It was full of small businesses that she had never paid much attention to, certainly not in her chair-bound state. But now, heretofore impossible opportunities leapt out at her right and left.
Yoga. First class free! Well that was certainly worth checking out. There was nothing that drilled home her new realm of possibilities like the standing tree pose. Not that she was flawless, but she could do it. Her legs could do it. And they could downward dog—that was pretty easy—and they could warrior. And they could keep up with everyone else, which was truly a dream come true.
Then there was the gym membership. Oh, she absolutely needed one of those. Just looking around the crowded, buzzing, sweaty gym got Martine all jazzed up. Elliptical trainer! Treadmill! Any weight equipment that involved the legs was particularly appealing. She made an appointment for an orientation session and continued on her way.
They say you never forget how to ride a bicycle. That may well be true, but if you’re an adult who never learned how to ride a bicycle, that’s a whole ’nother ball of wax. Still, this was one activity that had filled Martine with such regret and envy. There were plenty of rental shops along the boardwalk, and she found one with her kind of bike.
She suspected that it was primarily for senior citizens, but what the heck. It had training wheels on it that w
ere as large as the bicycle’s front wheel, and there was a sizable wire basket behind, possibly for groceries. Oh, she was going to have to admit it—it was a big old tricycle. But it was fun. And having fun was such a novel sensation that she barely recognized it.
By the end of the week, Martine had signed up for in-line skating classes, swimming classes, and a rock climbing wall. That last one was particularly intriguing. It just felt as if it would be such a triumph to go from a wheelchair to the top of the mountain, or at least the mountain that was painted on the rock climbing wall. And then there was surfing! That would certainly be a fairytale dream come true. But, she did recognize that signing up for that class would be a bit premature. After all, she didn’t yet know how to swim.
What surprised her most of all was how glorious it felt to be outside. The sun on her back in the salty fresh air and the sound of the waves and the gulls drew her back to the beach time and time again.
On one particular afternoon, not even a week after her operation, she again found herself at the water’s edge, but this time, she wasn’t merely content to stick her toes in. There were several kids body surfing and others who were just standing in waist deep, letting the waves bob them up and down like a merry-go-round. That didn’t look terribly dangerous. In fact, she was sure she could handle it. She pitched off her shoes and waded in all the way to her waist.
She may have drawn a few curious stares. After all, she was fully clothed. But it was a hot day. She would dry off fast enough afterward, and besides, the water felt so nice. She hopped contentedly up and down with the waves, sometimes facing the shore, sometimes facing the horizon.
