“Sorry for breaking my window, sorry for entering my home uninvited, or sorry for intending to steal food from me?”
“A-All of it. We’ll just…leave.” She opened her eyes; they were unfocused for a moment before they rolled back to display their whites. The woman tilted to the side, teetered briefly, and collapsed. Her knife clattered on the floor as her body seized, limbs tense and jerking.
The boy wheeled around and dropped to his knees. “Addy!” He released his knife and grasped her arm to turn her onto her side. Tears brimmed in his eyes. “It’s okay, Addy. It’s okay. I’m here.”
Merrick frowned. The tightness in his chest strengthened, but it was hot and acidic now, decidedly unpleasant. He stepped toward the humans.
The boy twisted to look at Merrick and frantically grabbed his knife off the floor, brandishing it in one hand while holding the woman’s shoulder up with the other. Worry and anger warred on his face. “Stay back!”
“Put the knife away, boy,” Merrick said.
Danny swung the blade. Merrick halted, and the clipped tip of the knife sliced through the air less than an inch from his leg. He couldn’t deny the boy’s bravery—nor his stupidity.
Merrick scowled. The long years had not granted him the patience to deal with this. “I said put your knife away. She’s in poor enough condition as it is; would you like to be in worse?”
The boy hesitated, but finally lowered his weapon. “Don’t hurt her.”
Moving forward another step, Merrick knelt on the floor beside Addy. Her convulsions continued, and foamy spittle trickled from her mouth. He didn’t understand his concern for her. He didn’t understand why he was about to try helping her when he should’ve cast them out—or killed them—the moment they’d broken the window.
“Who is she to you?” Merrick asked.
“Her name is Adalynn, and she’s my sister. She’s sick.”
Merrick frowned, glancing at the woman again. “What did you bring into my home?”
“She’s not contagious,” the boy replied, a sharp edge in his voice, “and she’s got it way worse than you right now. Sorry I touched your fucking peanut butter, dude, just…help her, please.”
The boy’s words shouldn’t have held any sway over Merrick. How many humans had died during his lifetime? Billions? The number had been unfathomable when Merrick was born, and it made little difference to him now. And yet something about this human female called to him. Something about her urged him to do anything he could to help her.
And her brother’s plea, however rude, had moved Merrick.
He knew this was another waste of his energy, another waste of his time, and he wasn’t even sure it would work. His magic could do a great many things, but healing mortals was not amongst its strengths. And yet he was compelled to try.
Danny tensed when Merrick reached toward Adalynn, but the boy simply pressed his lips together and said nothing.
Merrick settled his hand over her forehead. He could feel the faint tremors coursing through her body, could feel the tension brimming in her. He closed his eyes and focused, careful to keep his magic from manifesting visibly.
Humans had their own magical resonance; it was a melody common to their entire species, but each individual had their own spin to it, had a unique harmony laid over it. Such mana songs were complex and difficult to learn. Hers was no less complex than any other he’d encountered, but it was stronger—and its familiarity extended beyond him having sensed it when he first saw her.
He altered his magic to suit her resonance, and a thrumming path—bridged by magic—opened between them.
There was immense beauty within her, he could feel it, but there was a thick, oppressive darkness clouding her mana—her impending death. Merrick nearly reeled back when he brushed against it; it was malicious, aggressive, hungry, not unlike the dead who now walked the Earth. But this was no magic-fueled monster. It was a mutation, a defect. A human imperfection that he knew he could not cure despite the power at his disposal.
He clenched his jaw and drew upon the energies swirling deep inside him, channeling them through his arm and into her—still careful to keep the magic from appearing on his skin and alerting the boy to Merrick’s nature. He amassed that power in the shared space between their minds and souls, wishing that he were connected to her like this for a good reason, for the right reason, wishing he could enjoy the brightness of her beauty at his leisure.
And once the magic had swelled into a pulsating mass, he thrust it at her illness, turning his mana song—now mingled with Adalynn’s familiar, exquisite resonance—against the discordant notes of the disease eating away at her.
The darkness in her receded. As it did, overwhelming pressure built inside Merrick’s head—a throbbing, stabbing ache like he’d never felt. The heat of his magic intensified; it was not meant for this. So many texts warned against it, but all the texts concerning what he was and the magic he wielded were vague on such matters—the chroniclers who’d documented such things had, in accordance with their eras, often written in metaphors that welcomed a thousand conflicting interpretations.
Adalynn’s body eased, and her head lolled. Merrick severed his connection with her and withdrew his hand like it was on fire, lowering it to his side to hide its trembling from Danny.
Her skin was sickly pale but for the purplish bags beneath her eyes, and spittle trickled from her mouth, but her features were no longer strained with tension, and she was unmoving save for the rise and fall of her chest with her slow breaths.
The pain in Merrick’s head remained, each pulse of it filling his vision with star-like bursts. For the first time in a long while, he felt…spent.
Whatever illness had taken root inside of Adalynn, his efforts were meaningless. It was her end. Her doom. And that knowledge instilled in him a consuming sense of helplessness and despair he’d not felt in more years than he could count—if he’d ever felt their like at all.
Danny’s voice was small and awed when he asked, “What did you do to her?”
Frustration flared within Merrick again; he didn’t know what he’d done to her, only that he’d never attempted anything like it. She was relaxed now, was at rest, but he knew he hadn’t defeated the malevolent presence within her.
He reached up with his other hand—which was also shaking—and snatched a dish towel from the counter to gently wipe the foam from Adalynn’s mouth. He let it fall aside once he was done and shifted his position to slip his arms beneath her.
Danny tensed. His knuckles were white from his grip on the knife, but he didn’t raise the weapon again. “What are you doing?”
“Moving her.”
“To where?”
“To the dungeon,” Merrick replied dryly.
Danny’s brow furrowed, and his lips parted as though to speak, but it was a few seconds before he got any words out. “I don’t know if you’re serious or not. But…if you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”
The boy backed away warily as Merrick lifted Adalynn off the floor and stood. For an instant, the room spun around Merrick, but he locked his knees and settled his hip against the counter to keep himself steady. As soon as the dizziness had passed, he walked toward the door.
“Gather your belongings,” Merrick said.
There was a flurry of movement behind him—boots on the floor, rustling cloth, the sloshing of bottled water, and the click of a knife being folded closed.
Merrick stopped at the doorway and glanced over his shoulder as Danny zipped up one of the backpacks. “And put my damned peanut butter back before I change my mind about helping.”
Danny stilled, staring at Merrick with eyes as large and round as dinner plates. Slowly, he reached into the small opening of his bag and withdrew a red-lidded peanut butter jar. He set it on the counter without breaking eye contact.
“Good boy. You might survive the night after all.” Merrick stepped into the hallway and carried Adalynn toward the parlor. Danny’s boots thumped down the
hall behind him.
The woman seemed so slight and frail, so delicate, so precious. Even her resonance was diminished now. Merrick struggled against the urge to hold her tighter; he feared anything more would break her. How had she survived so long in a hostile world?
It was a foolish question. He’d seen her spirit. He knew its light, its strength. That was all that had kept her going to this point, he was sure. Her spirit…and her protective little brother.
The deepening evening left the parlor gloomy. The shadows were nothing to Merrick, but he doubted Danny could see very well. Those doubts were confirmed when there was a loud bump, and the coffee table rattled. The boy muttered a curse.
“Mind your step,” Merrick said. He stopped at one of the couches—the one facing the fireplace—and carefully laid Adalynn atop it. Her resonance called to him through the discomfort in his head, and, despite everything, he was sorely tempted to make that connection with her again.
He thrust the urge aside and stepped to the fireplace. Danny set their bags down on the floor near the couch and knelt in front of his sister.
“She gonna be okay?” Danny asked, brushing a strand of hair away from Adalynn’s face.
Merrick’s fingers twitched; he wanted to brush her hair aside like that, wanted his fingertips to trail lightly over her pale, soft skin. Instead he turned his back to Danny and Adalynn and leaned down to light the fire. “How should I know?”
Once the fire was burning, Merrick stood up, bracing himself with a hand on the mantle as a rush of lightheadedness threatened to topple him. Using his magic had never affected him like this before, and it shouldn’t have now regardless of the amount of energy he’d expended—he was still far from his limit. What was this? What had he done?
He looked back over his shoulder. Danny was crouched near his sister’s feet, digging through one of their bags. The couch was cast in the soft orange firelight, which was reflected in the beads of perspiration on her skin and sparked coppery highlights in her brown hair.
Who was she?
Merrick drew in a deep breath and pushed away from the fireplace, allowing himself not even a moment’s hesitation before stepping to the couch, reaching forward, and plucking a hair from Adalynn’s head. Electric jolts coursed up his fingers and along his arm when his fingertips briefly brushed her skin, but she made no reaction.
Was the sensation the result of his magic, or something more? Perhaps Adalynn wasn’t as human as she seemed at a glance.
Danny rose with a thin, worn blanket in his hands, meeting Merrick’s gaze. The boy’s earlier bravado had vanished, leaving only concern and a lingering hint of fear.
I’m not going to sympathize with a boy who broke into my home to steal from me, who threatened me, regardless of their circumstances.
It doesn’t matter that they aren’t a real threat…
“Tend to your sister,” Merrick said, “and stay here.” He turned and walked toward the hall, keeping himself steady only through sheer willpower—and by squeezing that single hair between his fingers, clutching it like a lifeline.
Danny said nothing, but Merrick felt the boy’s gaze on him until he’d turned the corner.
Merrick didn’t know whether that should reassure him or reignite his suspicions.
He hurried up the spiral staircase, taking the steps by twos, and crossed the loft to return to his study, shutting the door behind him. Now that he was alone again, his annoyance resurged—this time directed as much at himself as the two intruders.
Humans were trouble. That had always been true and would always be true, no matter how the world changed. All they could possibly do was bring him headaches—and they had literally done so within the first few minutes of their arrival!
By the time he reached his desk, his vision was blurred from the pounding in his head. He dropped into the chair, propped an elbow atop the desk, and clamped his finger and thumb over his temples to massage them. Somehow, he’d taken a bit of whatever ailed Adalynn into himself. A touch of her darkness. He wasn’t concerned for the long term—human ailments meant nothing to him either way—but it was frustrating to feel so…weak.
He’d only experienced sensations like this after receiving horrible wounds—wounds that would have killed a mortal—and those had been fortunately few given the length of his life.
While he soothed his temples with one hand, he absently twirled Adalynn’s hair between the fingers of the other. How did she endure this pain? How had she survived like this?
The hair resonated with her mana song; he found himself focusing on it, letting it wash over him, and it brought unexpected comfort in its sweetness and familiarity.
Merrick knew there were human bloodlines carrying magic, and he had to assume those bloodlines had awoken fully with the Sundering, much like his own magic had come into its fullness. Was she the same? He’d read accounts of inherent arcane powers consuming mortals from within because they didn’t know how to vent the building power—their physical bodies could not handle the excess energies. Was that what ailed her?
Was that why he was so drawn to her? Power calling to power was a simple explanation, a neat explanation, a convenient explanation, but it wasn’t the right one. He’d felt no substantial power brimming within her apart from the impressive strength of her spirit.
He squeezed his eyes shut and increased his focus, separating his mind from his discomfort, from his other concerns, from the physical world, until only magic remained. Only magic—and Adalynn.
Her mana song reverberated through him from her hair, and as he attuned himself to it again, he suddenly understood why it was so familiar, why it was so soothing—he had sensed it before her arrival. It was there, deep within him, underscoring his own song. He’d felt it since his magic had first woken during his adolescence.
Adalynn’s resonance had been playing in Merrick’s heart, ever-present but barely noticeable, for more than a thousand years. The sound of his own heartbeat filled his ears, providing the rhythm for their mingling songs.
He dropped the hair atop his desk and severed his connection with it, with her, but he felt it still at the back of his conscious mind. Felt the call like a siren’s song, luring him down to her. Why should a human have such sway over him? Why should he be compelled to go to her side, to help her, after actively seeking solitude for so long? Why did he have so deep-seated a connection to a mortal?
A sick mortal.
A dying mortal.
Chapter Three
Adalynn returned to consciousness slowly, as though drawn out of a dream she didn’t want to wake from—a dream in which an ethereal presence had wrapped her in its comforting embrace, freeing her from pain, fear, and guilt. She wanted to stay in that embrace. Why return to a world where everything was falling apart, and only suffering awaited her?
But that wasn’t quite true—Danny was in the real world. He was waiting for her. He needed her.
She opened her eyes. Her blurry vision cleared slowly, finally focusing on the ceiling. The flickering light of a nearby fire was just strong enough for her to make out the intricate patterns on the plaster overhead—sweeping, symmetrical flourishes radiating outward in circles and squares from a central light fixture, cast in stark relief by the contrast between shadow and light.
Her brows creased.
Where am I? What happened?
That man confronted us and…and I had a seizure.
Where’s Danny?
Alarm flooded Adalynn; her only concern was for Danny. Was he okay? Was he here? She turned her head and shifted to rise. “Danny?”
“Addy?” Suddenly, Danny was beside her, his face filling her vision as his wide, worried eyes scanned her face. “How do you feel? You okay? You scared the shit out of me.”
“Don’t. Cuss.”
Danny laughed. “You are okay.” His laughter faded as quickly as it had come. “Really though, you okay?”
Adalynn opened her mouth to tell him she was fine purely out of h
abit—she was never without some sort of pain or discomfort these days—but it occurred to her that she really did feel fine. Her seizures were usually followed by disorientation, anxiety, and physical exhaustion, but she felt none of that now—only an odd but undeniable sense of rightness. Her mind was clear, and she felt like she’d just had a solid ten or twelve hours of restful sleep.
“I…feel good. Really good, actually.” She sat up slowly, not wanting to push her luck, and Danny shifted back to give her space.
She looked around, her gaze moving from the crackling fire in the grand fireplace to the old-fashioned wallpaper, from the antique, upholstered chairs and sofas to the expertly carved coffee table, finally landing on the patterned rug. With a little light, the place was even more immaculate than it had seemed earlier.
“You sure?” Danny pressed a hand to her forehead. “You don’t feel…strange? Weak? Anything?”
She offered him a smile and reached up to guide his hand away. “No. I feel fine, Danny. Don’t worry.” She glanced around the room again, brows furrowing. “Where’s that man?”
“Upstairs, I think? I’m not sure.”
“Did he say who he was? If he’s…going to hurt us?”
“No. He just carried you in here and left.” He leaned closer and narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you sure you feel okay?”
Adalynn laughed and nodded. “Yes, Danny, I’m fine. Why don’t you believe me?”
Danny shrugged and sat back on his heels. “I don’t know. It was just weird is all.”
“What was weird?”
“I mean, you’ve had seizures before, some pretty bad ones—and this one looked real bad—but when he touched you, you just…stopped.”
“Stopped?”
“Yeah. You kinda just went limp. You looked like you were just sleeping, almost like it never happened.”
Adalynn frowned. She hated the worry in her brother’s eyes and voice—it tore her heart to pieces knowing she was the cause of it. A kid his age shouldn’t have had to worry about much more than schoolwork and getting his chores done. Instead, Danny had been forced to deal with the sudden loss of both parents, the inevitable loss of his sister, and surviving in a harsh, unforgiving world.
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