“Of course, hen,” Cameron murmurs. And I am appreciative—even more so over how Jonah instinctually knew I wanted to say something but couldn’t. So much gratitude for him fills me up, too.
Kellan is immediately on his phone, telling Zthane Nightstorm, the head of the Guard, that the hospital needs to be cleared of gawkers, and that I’m finally awake. My gratitude meter is ready to spill over.
“Why isn’t she able to talk?” Will demands, and I want to take his hand and let him know it’s okay. He is, after all, the person who helped me finally open up after months—years—of holding too much in. Will Dane is the best kind of friend a girl could ever have.
I want to hug him. Hug them all.
“That’s an excellent question,” Kate murmurs as she bends over me. She’s insisted on checking me out; under protest, I’ve refused to let go of Jonah’s hand as she does so. I need the anchor, need the reassurance that I won’t be stumbling back into the darkness the moment he lets go.
It takes effort, but I manage to tap my throat meaningfully. Kate must understand, because she says, “All of the damage was repaired, Chloe. Physically, there isn’t anything medically wrong with you right now.”
“Thank the gods,” Astrid says, reaching out for Cameron’s hand.
Five days, I think, is a long time, because something must have happened between them. Not that I’m complaining—nobody would be happier than me to see Cameron and Astrid find their way back to each other, but it’s just ... the last time I saw them together, they were slow dancing their way through reacquainting themselves through dinners, coffee, and lunches, often in the guise of family events so all of us kids were there, too. And here they are, holding hands, and I am pleased and frustrated all at the same time.
What a clever little Creator you are, thinking you can break the hold I have on you so easily, a voice in my mind says as Kate continues to list off areas she’s checked. And here I was, fretting you were nothing but weakness, that it would take me months to recondition you to be what I need.
It’s not Caleb, the fairy who spent most of my life in my head as my Conscience. It’s—
Convulsions wrack my body once more, and I think people are yelling and scared, and I’m being pinned down, but oh my gods—oh my gods—I am nothing but pain. I want to fight, try to fight, but it’s sososohardtofocus.
That sound, the one that tore my mind apart back in the restaurant a week ago, refills my ears. Panic, sharp and defined in the midst of so much agony, laces tightly through my muscles. Part of me wants to just give in, to sink back into the murky depths I’d been wallowing in, but another part also remembers I’m a Creator. I’m the strongest of all Magicals. I cannot allow myself to take this lying down. I kick against those depths, claw like a rabid dog fighting for her sole survival. Get out of my head, I screamscreamscream inside. Get out. GET OUT!
The noise, the convulsions, and pain stop, leaving me exhaustion personified.
When the world comes into focus, I find Jonah once more over me, his hands on my face as he orders me to stay with him. Kellan is here, too, so is Will, and they’re holding down my arms and legs and—wait. They’re on their knees and all around us are pieces of bed and ceiling and wall.
I’ve destroyed the room.
I must have cried (albeit silently) myself to sleep. I flat out bawled once more in Jonah’s arms, admittedly hysterical until I hiccupped and then ... darkness, but I suppose it was the good kind, the soft kind that doesn’t weigh you down and threaten to drown you in its promises of abeyance.
So when I wake up again this time, I’m groggy and achy but determined to hold onto my sanity. I’m also glad to discover the room (which is apparently different than the last, as it’s not in ruins) only holds the twins and me. Jonah’s sitting on the bed, clutching my hand, while Kellan perches on a chair pulled up so close it’s touching the covers as they talk to one another their way—both in their heads and out loud, so anybody listening will be confused as to what’s going on. I take a small moment to study them; both are haggard and clearly drained. It’s obvious neither has shaved in days. Jonah’s hair—longer than his brother’s and normally slightly messy, anyway—shows signs of utter neglect. Honestly, though, Kellan’s is no better. Their clothes are rumpled and neglected, which isn’t like either of them in the least. And that’s the thing—they both look so utterly weary, so worn out, that my trusty old friend Guilt raises its ugly head within me.
It’s an emotion that does me no good, though. So I fight it back and squeeze Jonah’s hand to let him know I’m awake.
He shifts to face me. “Are you okay?” There’s so much relief in his eyes. “Are you in pain?”
Silly man. The two most powerful Emotionals to ever live are in this room with me; if I were in pain, I’m pretty sure they would know.