Jenny Plague-Bringer: (Jenny Pox #4) by J. Bryan Page A

appeared perfectly healthy.  The crowd gasped.
    The assistant lowered the boy to his feet.  He looked off-balance for a moment, then
     finally took a chance and put his weight on his newly healed leg.  A smile burst across
     his face, and his mother cried out again.
    “Healed, praise the Lord!” the preacher said. “God is in this tent with us today,
     ain’t He?”
    The crowd roared that yes, He was, while the assistant carried the boy back to the
     side of the stage and handed him back to his shocked father and weeping mother.  Juliana
     immediately stepped forward and grabbed the assistant’s sleeve.
    “Me next,” Juliana told him.
    The assistant looked at her.  She hadn’t paid much attention to him before, focusing
     on the preacher like everyone else.  The assistant wasn’t much older than her, and
     he was handsome despite his scratchy, fuzzy attempt at growing a beard.  His intense
     blue eyes took her in, and something fluttered in her stomach.
    “Do I need to carry you, too?” he asked, with an amused smile.
    “I can manage on my own, thanks.”
    “I don’t think you’ll make it to the stairs.” He tilted his head to the far end of
     the stage.  Dozens of people, crammed tightly together, blocked her path. “It’s my
     way or no way.”
    “Then be a gentleman about it.” She held up her arms and let him grab her around the
     waist and lift her to the stage.  For a moment, her body was pressed against his,
     and the sensation of his strong, firm chest through her clothes made her flush red. 
     He set her on her feet.
    They waited while the preacher finished healing a man who’d lost a finger harvesting
     grain—it grew back, to the great delight of the crowd, who shouted lots of “Hallelujah!” 
     So did the chorus of three women.  The piano player kept the tempo moving fast.
    “Who else comes for the Lord’s healing?” the preacher asked, scratching his head through
     his odd-colored curly hair.
    “You’re on,” the assistant whispered in Juliana’s ear.  He steered her toward the
     smiling preacher.  As he did it, he pushed back her sleeve and laid his fingers on
     her bare arm, before she realized what he was doing.
    She gasped and tried to pull away, but he held tight.  Incredibly, his fingers did
     not boil and blister where they touched her, and he did not cry out and leap back
     in pain.  The boy’s touch was warm and gentle, and caused no unpleasantness for either
     of them.
    Her eyes widened in awe.  This was truly a place of miracles, because no one had ever
     been able to touch her without suffering infection.  She understood now that God truly
     was in this tent, and now He could cast the demon plague out of her forever.  She
     would no longer be a freak, and she would be free to touch anyone she liked.  She
     was more than happy to start with the preacher’s young assistant, whose hand lingered
     on her arm even as she faced the preacher.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, the Lord has brought us another sweet lamb,” the preacher said,
     eying her up and down.  He smelled like sweaty armpits and chemical hair dye. “And
     what is your name, little angel?”
    “Petra,” she said, giving her old, long-abandoned birth name.
    “Petra, Petra.  Will you let me lay my hands upon you, Petra?  Will you open yourself
     to receiving the Lord’s blessing?”
    “Yes...” she replied uncertainly.
    “And what is your affliction, dear lamb?”
    “I have...all kinds of diseases and plagues,” she told him.
    “Afflicted!” the preacher shouted to the audience. “Afflicted by many diseases, many
     plagues, ladies and gentlemen?  And do you know who afflicts with many diseases at
     once...a legion of plagues?”
    Some in the audience shouted back their opinion that “Satan” or “the Devil” might
     be responsible.
    “I said, do you know who causes such affliction?” he shouted, his face turning red.
    “Satan!” more of the audience shouted