They’re both quiet for several beats. And then, Jonah explodes with, “I don’t know what the fuck happened! I don’t know who did this! Don’t you think if I did, I’d have their fucking head off already?”
“J.” For once, Kellan sounds like the rational one, and all my perceptions flip-flop in the black. “We will figure this out. We’ll find whoever this is, and I swear to all the gods, they will be punished. But right now—”
More silence between the brothers.
Jonah finally whispers, “It’s ... it’s not right. I tried. Repeatedly.”
I struggle to make sense of what he’s talking about.
“It’s like,” he continues, voice nearly breaking, “she’s not even here anymore. Tell me I’m wrong. Prove to me I’m wrong.”
How can he not feel the sheer terror I’m saturated in? How can neither of them feel it?
Another hand touches my face, one so familiar my Frankenstein-monster heart aches. “Chloe?” Kellan asks. “Please wake up for us. Don’t you give up.”
It’s no good, though. As desperate as I am to give these two men what they want, what I want, I can no longer hang on. Darkness reclaims me.
Soft light streams through the windows, and it’s so sharp and painful I can barely keep my eyes open. There are beautiful paintings on cool, white walls and a warm body curled next to me, my hand enveloped in his.
It’s Jonah. His head rests against mine, his breath heavy yet steady against my cheek. My eyes trace the long lines of chest to arm to hand, and it strikes me that his rumpled clothes are different than the crisp button-down and slacks I last saw him in. As for me, I’m in pale blue scrubs. Oh gods. I’m in the hospital. We’re in the hospital.
The sting of tears, born of relief, nearly overwhelms me. I’m alive. He’s alive. I want to squeeze his hand, wake him up, but I feel like a newborn kitten, all trembling and weak in my efforts.
Quiet voices nearby send my focus to the other end of the large room. I make out Kellan and Will, matching in cross-armed, tense stances as they talk with Astrid Lotus and Kate Blackthorn. They’re not alone; at a table nearby sit Cameron and Callie, exhaustion coloring them almost as strongly as that I feel here in this bed.
“This is unacceptable,” Kellan is saying, his voice low, like he doesn’t want to wake his brother or me up, but it’s angry, too. “You’re the Council’s lead Shaman!”
“Sweetling,” Astrid murmurs, reaching out for her son’s arm, but he yanks out of her grasp.
“No. I’m sorry, but no. This is not acceptable.”
She tries again. “Kellan—”
He’s livid. “We’re going on five days, Astrid. Five. Days. How is it, with all of the worlds’ best Shamans working on her, nobody can wake Chloe up? Or at least figure out what the fuck happened to her?”
Five whole days? I’ve been ... asleep, or whatever it is I’ve been, for nearly a week? What did that Jens-like person do to me?
I’m desperate to let Kellan—let them all—know I’m okay, that I’m finally awake, but only a tiny rasp escapes me, like somebody has stolen my voice. Speaking shouldn’t be so difficult. Curling my fingers around Jonah’s hand shouldn’t be so tiring.
Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.
“I’m going to have to concur with Kellan,” Will is quietly saying, yet his words are just as harsh as Kellan’s. “I know I’m only a Métis, but I’m pretty sure that with all the Magic you all can do, something should have worked by now. I mean, you are Magicals. Isn’t this the bloody point?”
Cameron stands up, a hand going to his son’s shoulder. “William—”
“Dad, don’t even try to excuse this. Weren’t you raving to Erik just this morning how somebody better bloody do something or heads were going to roll?”
Cameron doesn’t deny this in the least, nor does he look chastised.
“We’re trying our best, but Kellan,” Kate says, “maybe it’s time to prepare yourself.”
“Prepare myself?” he sputters. “What, like ... you mean accept that she’s gone and not coming back?”
Try as I might, no words escape my lips. I’m here, I want to shout. I’m alive and awake. Turn around. See me.
“Or,” he continues bitterly, “prepare myself that you’re going to keep her on some kind of Magical life support until some new Creator is born? Because that’s what you’re thinking, right?”
Astrid says his name again, all heartbreak and sympathy in her syllables.