"Whitney, you can't sleep like this you're completely soaked."
I touched her forehead and felt the heat radiating off it immediately. The fever had already taken hold. She had been sitting in the rain for who knew how long, too deep in her grief to notice or care. I stood there for a moment, equal parts worried and helpless, then called for a maid to help clean her up and get her into dry sheets. With the baby to think about, I couldn't afford to push myself too hard in the middle of the night, but I wasn't leaving her either.
By the time the family doctor arrived, Whitney was feverish and barely coherent, her normally pale face flushed a deep, unsettling red.
The face at the door wasn't one I recognized. I looked at him carefully thirties, unremarkable features, a calm and unhurried manner. Not Dr. Laurence.
Lewis's voice came from behind me. "He's Dr. Mervin. He's one of ours."
