Everlost (The Night Watchmen Series Book 3) Page 13

  As for me, I hope the next time I see you, the bad blood between us will have dried up. And more so, I hope that I will see you again, not for my own life, but so I can make things right with you and Claire. I will try to make it to the rooftop… but even now, I see Clara is on my floor.

  I must go. Be well, brother.

  I know I have yet to say it, so in case I never see you again, thank you. Thank you for saving me. Thank you for loving me and never giving up on me. I know I have disappointed you, but I am doing the right thing now.

  Love,

  Maddock Aaron Jacobsen

  I stop and look up, trying to coax my vocal chords into moving. Trying to think of something to say that’s worthwhile, but what do you say to this? How can I tell him that everything will be okay, when it’s a lie? Because this is far from okay. She was never going to let Sterling live. Not even if I had gone to Ethryeal City.

  Weldon’s eyes are bloodshot, but his face is neutral. He’s trying to keep his posture collected and composed, but I see the slight tremble in his fingertips. The slight quiver on his lower lip.

  I roll the paper back up and place it back in the bird, closing the doors. Jaxen runs his hand down his face, and then crosses the room, pulling Weldon into a hug. Gavin stares at them, his eyes pressed with worry.

  I’m still trying to remember how to swallow.

  “What now?” Gavin says.

  Jaxen lets go of Weldon. Steps back. “It’s up to you,” he says, looking Weldon square in the eyes.

  Weldon swallows hard and bites his bottom lip to keep his emotions from spilling over. I want to hug him so bad. Tell him how sorry I am. But I anchor my feet in place, knowing that’s not what’s needed. Not when he has a big decision looming over his head.

  “We have to go back,” he says.

  “What about the spell? There isn’t enough time for both,” I say.

  I already know his answer before Weldon looks up at me. “You have to stay, mouse. We need you to work the spell with Katie. You’re her only chance.”

  My nerves pop loose like strings on a guitar.

  “I’ll take Cassie, Gavin, and Jaxen with me. I’ll need all the help I can get to make sure everything runs smooth.”

  “Got it,” Gavin says, heading out of the room for Cassie I suspect.

  “And you?” I ask, looking at Jaxen. “How will you function without powers?”

  “I’m more than my powers, Faye.” He says this with more surety than defense. His head hangs a little, and he adds, “I was wrong about leaving Sterling behind.”

  “No, you weren’t,” Weldon says. “Going back for him without the guarantee that my brother was helping would have been stupid. Even Sterling would agree. But this,” he says, taking the bird from my hand and holding it up, “this is a shot. This is a chance to get ahead. My brother, if anything, will make sure of that, and I won’t let his risk go to waste.”

  Jaxen’s fists tighten at his sides as war flashes in his eyes. “What’s the plan?”

  Weldon’s eyes flash gold. A smirk lifts the corners of his mouth.

  “We put on our Saint panties and save the day.”

  IT’S BEEN FIFTEEN MINUTES SINCE Weldon, Jaxen, Gavin, and Cassie walked through a shadow. Fifteen minutes since I’ve taken a proper breath.

  Jezi’s working her magic on the stove, putting eye of newt, essence of a ghost, and many other ingredients into a concoction that Katie says once spelled, will have to be poured around the perimeter of the entire house.

  “We’re out of everything,” Jezi says as she drops the last frog into the last pot. A strand of damp hair is stuck across her forehead. “We’re going to have to stock up for future spells.” She drags her hand across her forehead, wiping away the sweat.

  But I’m so far away from caring about that.

  “One thing at a time,” I say, bracing the edges of my chair.

  Katie looks up at me. “Whoa, are you okay, Faye?”

  I quickly nod, moving my gaze to the table. One eye is focused on the table, and the other watching every one of Jaxen’s moves through his eyes.

  “They’re on the rooftop now with minimal injuries,” I recount, feeling like my heart might finally break through my ribcage.

  I hear a wooden spoon slam against the counter and look up. “You don’t have to do the play-by-play thing, you know,” Jezi says, pointing to her head.

  Right. She can see too.

  “In fact,” Jezi continues, propping her hand up on her hip, “it might be a better idea if you close yourself off from it for now, because we need to finish this spell, and we can’t do that if your head isn’t in the game. They’ll handle their end of the job. We have to handle ours. So shut down your emotions.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe. She’s right. Annoyingly so. I find my internal switch and, with one inhale, shut it all off.

  “I need your blood, Katie,” Jezi says, turning away from me.

  Katie stands, walks over to her, and takes the dagger from Jezi’s hands. She doesn’t even blink as she drags it along the palm of her hand. With her gaze locked on Jezi’s, she moves her hand over each of the pots, letting just enough blood stream into them before pulling it away.

  Jezi takes Katie’s hand and looks back at me.

  Right. My power.

  I open myself up to Jezi and let her take what she needs from me. She pulls just enough to heal Katie’s hand, and then turns back to the four pots which are boiling furiously now.

  “Now for the spell,” Katie says. She steps into the circle of salt poured onto the floor. Lets another drop of her blood drip onto the black candle in the center of it. “We all must stand inside.”

  Jezi and I move into the circle.

  “I know the circumstances are messed up, but I’m glad we’re doing this together,” Katie says, smiling at me. “I’m glad I can finally help.”

  I return the smile, feeling my heart expand a little. “Me too.”

  “Take our hands, Faye,” Jezi says. “Let us use some of your power. The more magic behind it, the stronger the spell.”

  I take each of their hands, and then Katie murmurs the spell.

  We chant with her and, all at once, I feel the drain of power as I push every ounce of my intent into the words. The more we chant, the louder we grow. The liquid lifts from the pots, forming into a ball above us. With every word, the liquid forms into symbolic wards that belong to the Underground. Wards that only dark magic use, and it makes me wonder just who in her family wrote this spell.

  Katie breaks from the chant and begins calling out the names of only those who can cross the barrier we will set. She names all of us, and then looks to me, waiting for any names that should be added. I recite the names from Mack’s letter and look to Jezi. Jezi doesn’t say a word.

  With one last chant, the liquid lowers back into the pots, and then a blast of dark light shoots from our conjoined hands, lifting them in the air, pointed toward the pots.

  “We are connected to the spell now,” Katie says. “Once the brew is spread, only we will have the power to grant or deny passage into this house. “

  Jezi peeks into one of the pots, stirring it. “It’s ready,” she says, clanking a wooden spoon against the rim. “We only have enough to maybe wrap around the house, but nothing further out than that. Stay as close to the edges as possible.”

  “That doesn’t give us much leg room,” Katie says.

  “What do you want me to do? Pull the ingredients out of my ass?” Jezi retorts. “I told you we’re out. This is all I can make, and we have to make it work. Later, if we can get more ingredients, we can extend the spell. Now, shut the hell up and let’s get this over with.”

  We each grab a pot. Katie almost drops hers, which warrants an acidic look from Jezi.

  “So help me, God,” Jezi says under her breath, her face strained from the weight she’s carrying. “Open,” she says, using more of my energy to fill her magical needs. The door op
ens under her command, and then we each waddle out the back door and down the stairs.

  We make quick work of pouring under the moonlit night. Jezi goes back for the last pot, and then meets Katie and me by the front door. When the line connects, the earth drinks up the darkly colored brew and disappears as if it never was.

  Katie looks up at me with a small smile. Jezi looks around, pinching her bottom lip with a pensive expression. And then Katie lets out a scream as one by one, people I’ve never seen before begin to appear right in front of us, bloodied and bruised.

  MAYHEM, I THINK, HAS BECOME MY SHADOW.

  I can’t escape it. Can’t hide from its jealous nature, because every time calm sets in and I get a firm grip on the ledge of reality, it steps on one of my hands again and the fear of slipping past the point of no return reappears.

  “Help!” a girl with hair the color of wheat screams out just a few feet away from me. Blood is dried up within her messy braids and caked on her face, masking her features. Terror has taken shape within her wild eyes. “Someone help him, please!”

  She’s on her knees with a young man’s head resting on her lap as she leans over him with her trembling hands pressed against his abdomen. He’s coughing and choking on blood as it leaks from his mouth and his nose. Grabbing and clutching onto strands of grass.

  Time slows to a jarring stop.

  Screams and shouts for help assault us from all sides as the number of people multiply with every second that passes, filling the late-night air. Another, smaller, brown-haired girl appears not too far from them, clutched against the chest of a dark-haired boy covered in blotches of blood. His eyes are wide, shock taking over his ghastly features as he stumbles forward. Drops to his knees, laying the girl carefully against the ground.

  I turn and catch a glimpse of Weldon lowering a different dark-haired girl’s stilled body onto the ground, and then he darts back to the porch and disappears into another shadow. I don’t have time to think or dissect what could have gone wrong. And in this moment, I’m glad that Jezi talked me into shutting down my emotions.

  “Kat, get her. Jezi, check the other girl,” I command, dropping in front of the boy choking on his own life force. Blood is everywhere. All over his body, making it near impossible to determine what type of injuries he’s suffering from, and I’m doing everything I can to keep my stomach from doing somersaults.

  “Please,” the girl in front of me says desperately. “He needs help.”

  “What happened?” I ask, swallowing my nerves. Straining for control. “How was he hurt?”

  She’s near hyperventilating. Every gurgle… every cough the young man makes, she cries a little harder. Goes a little more hysteric, and seeing this desperation—this helplessness—causes something in me to click in place. A strength I didn’t know I had. Control over my own fears of blood and death that have hidden themselves from me for far too long.

  I place my hand on her arm and squeeze lightly, forcing her to look up at me. “What’s your name?”

  She stares at me for a moment, eyes fluttering like she’s trying to make sense of what I just said.

  “Your name?” I repeat slowly, calmly, offering her some strength with a small, encouraging nod.

  “Joanna,” she finally says, her whole body wracked with tremors.

  I maintain eye contact with her, trying to keep her focus on my words and not on the choking sounds coming from who I assume is her partner. “Okay, Joanna, I need you to concentrate for me.” She nods. “I need you to tell me what happened to him so I can help.”

  She’s still nodding as she forces through chattering teeth, “We were ambushed on the rooftop. Garrett was blocking the spells flying at us, and then he—he was shot by an Elite. Twice.” She looks down at him, biting her lip, and uses her shaking hand to point to the small hole on the left side of his chest, and the other just below his right ribcage.

  “Okay,” I say calmly, trying to keep my thoughts and worries about the others from bubbling up. Moving her hand from the wounds, I notice there’s barely any blood pumping out anymore. What skin I can see has lost color, and his lips are taking on a pale shade of blue.

  I can’t let him die. Can’t let Clara claim another life because of me.

  Urgency roars its engine inside of me, pumping out adrenaline to every one of my limbs. I press my hands against his chest, tapping into my magic, and begin the task of removing the cursed bullets. After a few seconds of digging and trying not to think about how violently his body shakes every time I move, I feel the bullet lodged firmly in his breastbone. It’s been in here too long.

  And my confidence sputters.

  I try to get a good grasp, but my fingers keep slipping from all the blood. Joanna, I don’t think, has taken a single breath since I started.

  Breathe. You can do this, I tell myself, drawing on air for composure, but the smell of metal and iron rattle my senses. I close my eyes, wrap my fingers firmly around the bullet, and wiggle it back and forth a little, trying not to hear his cries of pain. It takes all of my strength to pull it out, but once it gives, I drop it and move onto the next wound. It takes little-to-no effort to find and remove the tiny bullet, and it practically slips from my hand as it falls to the earth.

  “I need you to help me heal him, Joanna” I say as calmly as I can, locking eyes with her as I grab her hands and hold them over the wound below his ribcage.

  She’s shaking her head, trying to pull her hands away. “But I’m not a Witch. I’m his Hunter.” Her watery eyes are so gray, they almost seem silver.

  I reinforce the placement of her hands. “It’s okay. I’m going to lend you some of my power. Focus on the wound on his chest, and I’ll heal the other.”

  She nods, sucking in a huge breath, and then together, we begin the task of repairing all the internal damage. I feel tendrils of the curse leaving his bloodstream, and all I can think about is the person who invented these bullets and how deeply I want to strangle them right now. How swiftly, and without remorse, I would end their life with the very same bullet they invented.

  When the holes seal shut, I ask him if he’s okay, but he’s lost so much blood by now that he’s passed out. I flip his hand over and press my fingers against his wrist. Barely any pulse.

  Please don’t let me be too late. Please don’t let him be another victim of Clara’s.

  “Garret?” the girl says manically, shaking him a little. “Garret, please wake up. Please!”

  “He’ll be okay,” I say, trying to sound confident. “He’s just lost a lot of blood, which we can fix with the right potion.”

  I try to swallow my lie, because without ingredients in our pantry, no potions can be made.

  We need a miracle.

  “Chett!” I hear Katie scream out.

  I look up and find her racing across the yard toward Seamus and Chett, who have just appeared on the porch.

  I reach blindly for Joanna’s arm and squeeze. “Wait here with him,” I say, and then I dart off after Katie, past the girl she helped, who’s just now sitting up, and past Jezi, who’s still trying to remove a curse from the other one. Weldon appears again, this time with Gavin and Cassie, who’s already working a spell to heal what looks like a gunshot to his thigh.

  I can’t keep my eyes from scanning the porch for Jaxen. He’s not here. Breathe, I tell myself, but my lungs aren’t listening. They can’t when my heart continually slams against them like a bucking horse trying to shake off the panic living inside my bones.

  Weldon appears again, this time with Katie’s dad and Mack.

  Still no Jaxen.

  Mack’s cursing out, yelling at where Weldon once was before he disappeared into another shadow. “I told you to leave me!” he shouts. Jonathon is leaning against the porch railing, holding his side with one hand and using the other to hug Katie.

  Dread replaces my blood. “What’s wrong?” I force out when I approach Mack.

  He spins on me so fast, still cursing, when he pul
ls me into a hug. “Thank the God and Goddess!” he says, squeezing me tightly.

  I push myself out of his clutches. “I asked you a question.” My eyes keep shifting from his face to the porch, where Weldon should be appearing. “Where’s Jaxen and Sterling?”

  Darkness settles across his features. He turns to face Jonathon and lifts his brows, almost as if questioning Jonathon if he should answer or not.

  “Tell me. Now,” I say, my voice deadly low. I can’t feel any part of me except my pounding heart that’s beating so hard inside my ears.

  “This was never going to be easy, Faye. You knew that going in,” Mack says, his eyes still filled with the memory of battle.

  I think I might scream. Might rip apart this entire house. “Don’t give me that shit!” I snap. “Just tell me.” I can’t keep from searching for him. I try to connect with his mind, but there’s nothing but darkness. Nothing but quiet.

  And it nearly rips the strength from my limbs.

  “No,” I say, backing up, shaking my head.

  “You motherfuc—” Jezi says somewhere near me, yelling at Mack and Jonathon. I barely register her limbs flying as Chett grabs onto her body, holding her back from landing any of the blows she’s so desperately trying to.

  “Faye,” Mack says, reaching out for me, ignoring the insults flying from Jezi’s lips.

  Gavin, only a few feet away, looks up. Curses under his breath. He pushes up to his feet and hobbles over to me. Catches me before I can move back any further.

  “He’s coming back, Faye. There was just a… a hiccup.”

  “A hiccup?”

  “Yeah, a hiccup the size of Clara,” Weldon says, dropping Sterling and Jaxen onto the porch, both unnaturally still.

  I’VE NEVER SEEN JAXEN SO still. So peacefully quiet before.