Love at First Fight - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Fourteen

Doctor Phineas O'Reilly specializes in immediate psychological care of youth, ages eight to twenty-six. Before his transfer to the Gallagher Academy, he worked in the trauma ward of one of London's largest hospitals, assisting with burn victims, bridge-jumpers, and everyone in between. According to rumor, he had once been responsible for saving the life of a daughter to parliament, although no one knows which daughter. Another whisper had said that, at one point, he had been the on-call psychiatrist to the royal family.

No one except Phineas himself could confirm the rumors, and he wouldn't. I had tried plenty of times. All I ever got was a smooth smile and a topic change, so I had know way of knowing if Phineas was really as experienced as the whispers said.

Except I think that he probably is, because when I slammed open his door that night and said, "I am being attacked," he didn't even throw the covers off, as if this were a completely normal occurrence.

Pacing-the pacing was a new development of mine. Pacing had been Alice's thing since we were kids, but I was starting to see why she fell into it so easily. There was something soothing about it. The pulse of my feet against carpet was the perfect way to drown out the pulse of my heart against my ribcage. There was something compulsively satisfying about stopping and going.

Phineas remained unfazed and unawake. His eyes were still closed when he reached above his head and flicked a light on. "You're in one of the safest buildings in the world, Maggie," he said. "I don't think you're being attacked."

"But I am," I told him and I was locked on to the steady back and forth of my footsteps, my hair falling loose from the half-assed bun I had twisted it up into. I probably looked about as crazy as everyone expected me to be. "I'm always being attacked all the time. I'm surrounded by people who know how to manipulate me."

Phineas still had a cheek in his pillow, his accent getting lost somewhere among his sheets. He didn't complain about the hour and he didn't complain about how loud my voice was. He never did. "I think, perhaps, some context would allow me to better help you."

It was my move now. I could give him the information or I could refuse. I liked that about Phineas. I liked that I had the choice. "Luke Collins was in the Gathering for six years," I said, mostly so that I could hear the words aloud. "He learned from Blake Hughes for six years and he knows how to manipulate people."

"Ah yes," he said, something coming to him through the haze and the drowsiness. "You had a date tonight, correct? Alice said you had a date."

At the mention of my best friend's name, my pace halted. For a moment, I was left wondering. He knew Alice? Did he know that she was and Anderson? Did he know that, at this very moment, Finn was above our heads, sleeping in Alice Anderson's bed? I didn't dare ask, so instead I just said, "How do you know Alice?"

It was a slow, painful crawl into an upright position. "I know all of you girls," he said. "Do we need to talk? Should I make tea?"

"The world is out to get me and I think I've got a crush on an international terrorist."

Phineas stared at me for a moment, as if the sentence he had just heard was far too complex for this late at night. He gave me a long blink, trying hard to keep his eyes open, and then his glazed look snapped into that of a trained-albeit exhausted-professional. "I'm going to make tea. Do you want tea? I am definitely making tea."

He threw his blankets off of him and plucked his kettle off his desk as he passed. The running water echoed in that tiny bathroom of his, reminding me just how much someone as qualified as Phineas must love his job if he was willing to put up with such a small room. With a yawn and some fumbling around, he set the kettle back down, flicked it on, and sat back on his bed.