What happened?”
I placed the jar on her table.
Nell leaned closer.
Then she went pale.
“Where did you get that?”
“From Gideon’s ear.”
Her hand flew to her mouth.
For several seconds, she stared at the creature.
Then she whispered something I did not expect.
“So somebody finally tried it again.”
I seized her wrist.
“Again?”
Nell looked frightened by her own words.
She pulled away and approached the window.
“Not here,” she said.
“There are things about Saint Agnes that people have spent twenty-nine years trying to bury.”
“Then tell me.”
She turned toward me.
“First, we find someone who can keep your husband alive.”
The person she chose was Dr.
Miriam Bell.
Miriam was thirty-three, unmarried, and one of the few formally trained women physicians in the territory.
She had recently established a small practice above Coldwater’s apothecary.
Because she refused to prescribe whiskey for every complaint and challenged the town’s older physicians, many influential men considered her troublesome.
Nell considered that an excellent recommendation.
We found Miriam examining a ranch hand’s injured wrist.
After inspecting the jar, she closed her office door.
“Where exactly did you find this?”
I told her everything.
Miriam examined the creature through a magnifying lens.
She turned the jar gently.
The leech attached itself to the glass.
“This isn’t a common creek leech,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“It resembles the medicinal variety doctors purchase from suppliers.
