“Finally, cupcake,” a familiar voice groused. “I was wondering if you were ever going to wake up.”
I cracked my eyes open to find Oscar sitting in a pixie-size recliner on a table close to the bed I was lying on. A pixie-size table was also there, and Oscar was playing solitaire with a deck of miniature cards, while Tiny ambled around him, sniffing the cards to see if they were edible. The tortoise huffed, disappointed that they weren’t.
Oscar put his cards down, flitted over, and landed on the bed beside me. “How are you feeling?”
“Better now,” I said. “Much better.”
He nodded, his face creasing with relief. I concentrated and realized that I did feel better. The stab wound in my side had been healed, and so had all the other cuts, scrapes, and bruises that I’d gotten during the latter part of my fight with Victor. Angelo and Felix had used their healing skills on me yet again and I felt perfectly fine.
Except for the bright blaze of magic in my body.
I could still feel Victor’s power running through my veins, waiting to be unleashed, wanting to be used in some way. I’d thought it might burn out of me, the way monster magic did when you used it all up, but I felt the magic as strongly as I had last night. And I knew that if I concentrated, I could call it up, could call forth that lightning and use it however I wanted.
I shivered. The idea of having so much magic, so much power . . . it made me sick to my stomach, especially since it was Victor’s magic, the blood magic he’d stolen from others. But it seemed as if it was mine to keep now. I didn’t know how I felt about that, much less what I would actually do with the power, but I would worry about that later. Right now, I wanted to know what had happened while I’d been unconscious.
So I shoved a couple of pillows behind my back and sat up, my gaze flicking over the room. A bed, a nightstand, a cabinet full of medical supplies. I frowned, wondering if we were where I thought we were. “Are we back at the Sinclair mansion?”
“Yep, in one of the infirmary rooms,” Oscar said. “After the battle last night, Claudia ordered that the injured be brought back here and that everyone else get started on the cleanup. I promised Devon I would watch over you until you woke up. He’s been overseeing the guards and pixies who are going through the mansion, seeing to . . . everyone.”
He bit his lip, took off his hat, and scuffed his black cowboy boots back and forth on the sheets. What he really meant was that the guards and pixies had been taking care of all the bodies of everyone who had been killed when the Draconis had attacked the mansion. He blinked a few times, holding back the tears in his eyes. Yeah. Me too.
Oscar cleared his throat. “Anyway, the Itos and Salazars have both come over to help as well. It’s actually been . . . nice, knowing that we aren’t at war with them anymore.”
“And what about the Draconi guards?”
He shrugged. “Claudia has Deah overseeing them. The guards are going to remain in their quarters over at the Draconi compound for the time being, but it seems like most of them are willing to forget about Victor and what he had planned. Claudia, Hiroshi, and Roberto all plan to let the guards choose which Family they want to join. Or if they don’t want to work for the Families at all anymore.”
I nodded. I hadn’t really thought about what would happen to all the Draconi guards, workers, and pixies, but it made sense that they would be able to decide what they wanted to do going forward. That was certainly more of a choice than Victor had ever given them about anything.
Since I was feeling better, I threw back the covers and went back to my own room, with Oscar flying through the air behind me, carrying Tiny in his arms. To my surprise, a new door had already been placed into the frame. My stomach twisted as I remembered the utter destruction of my room the last time I’d been in here, but I drew in a breath, turned the knob, and stepped inside.
Someone must have been working in here all night long because my room was already clean. All the ripped clothes, mattress stuffing, and other debris had been removed and replaced with new furniture, including a new bed made up with a black-and-white-striped comforter.
Somehow, Oscar’s pixie house had even been patched back together and put on its usual table close to the patio doors. The ebony trailer was more rundown, rickety, and ramshackle than ever before and held together with glue and duct tape in more than one place, but it warmed my heart to see it sitting in its usual spot.
“Who did all this?” I asked.
“I did,” a voice called out behind me.
I turned and Devon was there. He gave me a crooked grin and leaned against the doorframe. Dirt smudged his face and streaked his black T-shirt and khaki cargo pants, but I thought he had never looked more wonderful.