by Eden Briar
“Indy?” Jazz’s footsteps pad across the room toward me.
“The—the mirror.” I’m afraid to look at it or him as I cover myself with my hands.
Jazz brushes past me, and then he’s back, wrapping a soft towel around me.
“Thanks.” My words come out in a stutter as another sob escapes. I open my eyes, keeping my gaze trained on Jazz.
There’s a knock on the door outside, a concerned voice calling. Clearly, my scream carried.
“I’ll handle it.” Jazz heads out into the bedroom, leaving the door open. “That was some scream.”
The shower is still running, the room slowly filling with steam.
Jazz returns a moment later. I haven’t moved, still frozen in place.
“Okay?” he asks.
I try to gather myself, to tell him I’m fine, but all I manage is another sob. He pushes closer, wrapping his arms around me, and I cling to him.
“Hey, shh. It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
His murmured reassurances and the way his arms wrap tightly around me is enough to silence my sobs. I bury my face in his neck, breathe in his deep, earthy scent, and let it ground me.
I don’t know how long we stay like that before I pull back a little.
“Sorry, Jazz. I just…” I glance at the fogged-up mirror, but all I see is our reflections. No river of blood.
“You saw something?”
I meet Jazz’s concerned gaze through the mirror.
“Just… an echo of what happened before.” My hand goes to my throat, my fingers trembling as I run them over the unmarked skin. “My overactive imagination, I guess.”
He isn’t buying it. “You and mirrors… I think it’s more than that.”
“Well, it’s gone now.” I gesture to the mirror. “Just you and me in there.”
He turns toward the door. “Then I’ll leave you to clean up.”
Before he reaches the threshold, I call him back.
“Wait, Jazz?”
“Yeah?”
I gesture toward the shower. “Could you stay while I…”
“Sure.” He sits up on the cabinet beside the sink, his body blocking my view of the mirror from the shower.
A little self-conscious now, I unwrap the towel and hang it over the door. I step inside, under the spray of water, relief in every muscle as the heat plays across my skin. Unbidden, another sob tears its way from my throat.
“Jazz?”
“Yeah?” His voice sounds closer now.
I look down at my body, at the smears of blood that are the only evidence of how close I came to dying.
“Could you…”
Before I finish my question, I feel his presence behind me. I glance over my shoulder to see him standing at the shower door, his hands gripping the hem of his T-shirt, a question in his eyes.
At my nod, he strips out of his clothes, tossing them aside. I reach for him, and he takes my hand, letting me pull him inside. I hug him again, wrapping my arms around his bare back this time, pressing my chest to his.
“It’s my fault, isn’t it?”
“What is?” His fingers catch my chin as he tips my head up until our eyes meet.
“Ben.”
He slips a hand behind my head, his eyes intent on mine.
“You said you saw something when he was healing you. What did you see?”
“Terrible things.” My voice cracks. “Death. So much death.”
“Whose death?”
“Everyone’s,” I croak. “A world of destruction at the hands of an army. The city destroyed. The oak tree in flames. It looked like hell on earth.”
“You saw all that?”
“Ben saw all that. I was just along for the ride.” Like watching from behind a curtain, one step removed. But Ben saw it all firsthand, and he saw it because of me. “Maybe it was too much for him to take.”
Jazz shushes me, leading me from the shower and wrapping the towel back around me. At his urging, we return to the bedroom, dry off and change. I grab the first things that come to hand— just a long T-shirt over some panties.
I climb into bed, and Jazz follows, putting himself between me and the door.
As I huddle on my side, he presses against my back and wraps an arm around me.
“Ben’s going to be okay,” he whispers in my ear. “I know it.”
I press my hand to his, holding on tightly, wishing I had his faith.
“I should never have come here.” I choke back a sob.
His hand tugs me around until we’re face to face, then he guides my head to rest against his chest, running his hand through my hair.
“No, Indy. You’re right where you’re meant to be. I know that, too.”
We lie there for what seems like hours until I finally drift off. I’m afraid of what my dreams might hold, but Jazz is right there to wake me from my nightmares.
23
Clean and feeling more like myself after our nap, I follow Jazz back downstairs to see Ben. As we walk, my anxiety ratchets up. When I hesitate at the bottom of the stairs, Jazz reaches back to take my hand.
“Indy?”
“I’m not sure I can see him like this.”
“We don’t have to stay long. But you need to see him, and I want to check in on him. He needs us right now.”
I steel myself and nod. This is not the time to be selfish or scared.
As we enter Ben’s room, Peter stands alone by his bedside. I’m almost afraid to look at the bed, scared of what I’ll see.
“No luck?” Jazz asks him.
“No.”
“Luck?” They both glance at me.
“Ben had some clairvoyant visitors—his father and his uncle.”
“I know. Lynea said.”
It can’t have been a happy reunion.
“Ben’s uncle is a contemporal clairvoyant,” Jazz adds.
I try to puzzle that out.
“What does that mean? He can see the… present?”
“That’s exactly it.” Peter sounds almost pleased that I got something right. “Most clairvoyants see the past. Fewer see the present, and fewer still observe the future. Those like Ben’s uncle see what’s happening at any given moment. It gives them the unique ability to reach people who are unconscious.”
“But not Ben.”
“Not Ben,” Peter agrees gravely. “Wherever he is, it’s somewhere we can’t follow.”
He steps out, leaving me and Jazz alone with Ben.
I step closer to the bed. Ben looks different lying there—pale, frail even. But there’s a tension in his frame, his face a mask of pain. He doesn’t look like he’s sleeping; he looks like he’s fighting.
I turn to Jazz for guidance.
“What next? If the healers and the clarys can’t help him, what do we do?”
“You could go old-style and try a kiss.”
I glare at him. This is not the time for jokes.
He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “If looks could flay, my flesh would be peeling off my body right now.”
The imagery cuts a little too close to the bone, and I wince. Those visions I saw as I was dying, as Ben healed me, flash before my eyes.
“Indy,” Jazz prods gently.
“This happened because we touched. He couldn’t take his hand away while he healed me. How can me touching him again help? What if I hurt him? What if I make things worse?”
Jazz lays a hand on my shoulder, and I fall silent, breathing hard. My eyes never leave Ben’s still form. I did this to him.
“I can’t take that risk, Jazz. I can’t.”
“I get it, Indy. Believe me, I do. When I reached the corridor and saw you on the ground, blood everywhere, and Ben slumped over you…”
“Ben wasn’t conscious when you got there?” My memories are hazy, but I remember seeing Jazz’s face before I passed out.
“I didn’t get there right away. I was at the front door, dealing with Isa—”
“Wait, Zac was here?”
Jazz makes a face. “Shit, I wasn’t supposed to say that. Look, just…”
“No, tell me about Zac.” I grab Jazz’s hand and squeeze it tightly. “Please.”
Why was he here? He couldn’t have come with her, the woman who’d tried to kill me?
“He turned up at the door in the middle of all the chaos. He claims he was here to warn us about an attack by one of Matthias’s proxies. Too little, too late if you ask me.”
“What happened to him? Is he okay?”
I don’t understand what he’s still doing in the city. He was meant to be long gone, far away and safe from harm.
Jazz rubs his hand awkwardly across the back of his neck.
“He’s fine. Needless to say, no one was reassured by the presence of a vampire in the building after one of their proxies had just tried to kill you.”
“You didn’t hurt him, did you?” Knowing Jazz and Zac’s respective strengths, I’m not sure how they’d fare if they went head-to-head.
“Course not,” Jazz says easily, but I know there’s more he’s not telling me. I give him a pointed look.
“He surrendered. For everyone’s safety, Archer had him put in a cell in the sub-basement.”
“You locked him up?”
“He’s a vampire, and a vampire’s proxy just tried to kill you.”
“Half-vampire. Zac’s the guy who staked the vampire whose proxy slit my throat. He didn’t do this. Matthias did.”
Jazz holds up his hands again. “It wasn’t my call, Indy. It was Archer’s. And he was just acting out of an abundance of caution.”
“Or an abundance of prejudice. This is exactly why Zac wouldn’t come to the guild house with me. He can’t help being half-vampire.”
“It’s not about him being a vampire.”
I’m not buying that shit, and my expression says it all.
“It’s not just about him being half-vampire,” Jazz amends. “It’s… complicated.”
“Uh-huh. I want to see him.”
“That’s not a good idea. Archer said—”
“I don’t care what Archer said. Sub-basement, right?”
With one last lingering look at Ben, I head for the door. I hear Jazz’s footsteps behind me before I reach the corridor.
We encounter token resistance at the door to Zac's cell in the form of Dean, a half-clary, half-druid in his mid-thirties.
“Did Archer give you the okay to be down here?”
“Five minutes, Dean,” Jazz says before I get the chance to speak. “She just wants to make sure he's okay.”
“Fine. But if Archer asks—”
“You can tell him I strong-armed you.”
“Better yet, tell him I did.” I step forward, impatient to see Zac. “Maybe a bruise or two would make the story more compelling?”
Dean holds up his hands and backs off. “Just don't let him escape.”
Jazz unbolts the door and takes down a complex series of runes crisscrossing the metal before pulling it open.
It's clear from the first glance that Zac isn't trying to get away—he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor opposite the door, his head tipped back against the wall, his gaze trained on the ceiling. Relief floods me when I see him, seeping right down into my bones and leaving me warm inside.
“Zac.” My voice cracks as I speak.
He's on his feet before I get his name out, and we cross the room toward each other.
“Indy,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse.
His arms wrap around me in a tight embrace, and I hold him just as closely. Something inside me loosens, a sob escaping before I clamp down on my emotions.
“You're still here.”
His voice is rough and tired.
“I couldn't leave. I tried, but I couldn't walk away from you. Two of Matthias's proxies came after me. One of them spilled the beans on what they planned for you. I got here as soon as I could, but I was too late.”
He pulls away, holding my arms and looking me up and down.
“You weren't too late,” I promise him.
“No, I was.” His thumbs stroke my skin as if he’s reassuring himself of the reality of my presence. “I smelled your blood. Lots of it.”
His hand cups my cheek, his eyes searching.
“Ben healed me,” I admit. “It was a close thing, but he brought me back from the edge.”
“Thank god for him.” The words sound strange on the lips of a vampire.
“Yeah, well,” Jazz pipes up, sounding none too impressed. “Warnings aren't much use after the fact.”
“But you're okay.” Zac ignores him, keeping his focus on me. “That's what matters.”
“I'm okay.” I hesitate. “Ben's not.”
“What happened?”
“He's half-clary,” Jazz says, as if that explains everything.
“He has visions of people dying when he touches them. When he was healing me, I think it… overloaded him? I saw… terrible things. Maybe what I experienced was only a fraction of what he saw? Because I woke up, and he didn't.”
My lower lip starts to tremble. Zac pulls me back into an embrace, talking to Jazz over my shoulder.
“What's been tried?”
“Caster magic, the best healer in the city, and a contemporal clary.”
“And?”
“No change.”
Zac's hand rubs up and down my back in soothing strokes.
“His ability has always been touch-activated, yes?”
It isn't until that moment that I understand. The guys haven’t just heard of Zac. They know him. And he knows them.
“Right,” Jazz says. “Since he was a young kid.”
I watch Zac’s face as he contemplates what we’re telling him.
“Indy, when Ben healed you, was that the first time you and he touched?”
“And the first time his healing ability kicked in,” Jazz confirms before I can answer.
“Have you touched him again?”
“Of course not.” If touching him once put him in a coma, touching him twice might kill him.
Zac glances from me to Jazz. “Worth a shot.”
I pull away, shaking my head. “No. I can't.”
“It's worth the risk,” he repeats. “Clarys who end up locked in like that—it doesn't get better, Indy. Maybe you'll jolt him out of it.”
“Like a human defibrillator,” Jazz adds helpfully. “Throw in some mouth-to-mouth, and how can he not wake up?”
It's two against one, and they're very persuasive. If doing nothing means Ben will just get worse, then how can I stand by and watch that?
“Okay,” I agree, twisting around to look at Jazz. “But if I’m going to do this, Zac comes upstairs with us.”
I can see he wants to argue, but this is Ben we're talking about.
“Fine. Let's do this.”
Dean does a double-take as we march out of the cell.
“He can't leave.”
“I'll square it with Archer,” Jazz calls over his shoulder, not even pausing in his stride. Zac and I follow.
Zac sticks close as we walk, brushing against me. There's something so steadying about his presence.
He came back. For me.
24
Lynea is just leaving Ben’s room as we arrive. Her eyes jump immediately to Zac, a ripple of tension running through her body as she takes in his presence. She looks like a cat ready to pounce.
I step in front of Zac, doing my best to reassure her. “It’s okay. He’s with me. Moral support. I’m going to try to wake Ben.”
She doesn’t move from her position blocking the door.
“Does Archer know he’s up here?”
“Archer knows,” a voice calls from behind us.
I wince, gingerly peering around to see Archer at the end of the corridor. Holding my breath, I wait for him to ream us out or send Zac back downstairs.
In
stead, he meets my gaze head-on and nods.
“It’s fine, Lynea. Indy is now our best chance of getting Ben back. If she needs Zac by her side to do that, then that’s okay by me.”
I’m grateful for his understanding, and for the compassion in Lynea’s eyes as she steps aside.
“Good luck,” she murmurs as we cross the threshold.
I get two steps into the room before I falter. Zac is at my elbow a second later.
“Indy?”
“What if this hurts him?”
Jazz moves to my side. “He’s already hurting, Indy. Just look at him.”
He’s not wrong. There’s a sheen of sweat covering Ben’s forehead. His face appears twisted in torment, his eyes moving back and forth beneath his eyelids. His muscles are tensed, as if he’s bound but fighting his chains. This is no peaceful slumber; he’s not at rest. He won’t slip gently away into the night.
I breathe out and move toward the bed. “So how do I do this? And don’t say kiss him, this is no fairy tale.”
Jazz crosses his arms, looking uncertain for the first time. “Just touch him. Skin to skin contact. There’s no manual for waking someone up from a… whatever this is.”
“Try holding his hand,” Zac suggests.
It’s a simple thing to do, but knowing Ben’s aversion to touch makes it hard. It takes two tries, my fingers trembling, before I touch him. It’s just a brief press of my fingertips against his skin before I yank my hand back. Ben’s hand makes a tiny jerking motion.
“Again, Indy. Take his hand,” Jazz insists.
Biting my lip, I do as he says. Ben’s hand feels cold as I slip my fingers into his palm. He jerks again, his whole body going rigid. Beneath his closed lids, his eyes move rapidly from side-to-side. I wonder what he sees.
“Should I let go?” As I ask it, his hand tightens around mine.
With a gasp, his eyes fly open, and he sits up. I jerk back, stopped by his hand still holding tight to me.
“Ben?” Is it too much to hope that he’s really back with us?
“Indy? Indy.”
His eyes lock onto mine, and I’m lost in the depths of emotion I see there—relief and something like awe.
“Are you okay?”
His eyes widen.
