by A. E. Lowan
Colin’s hands remained still, but she was used to that.
“Papa?” His stringy brown hair hung down, concealing most of his face. His jaw was slack and his lips were parted. Had he fallen asleep?
“Wait…” Erik began.
Winter touched her father’s shoulder and some delicate balance was disrupted. Colin toppled in a boneless heap on the ground. A tremor started in her belly and radiated out to her hands, her lips. Winter knew death. It wore her family’s faces. She followed him down to the ground, to her knees. Her eyes were wide as she stared down at him. But she couldn’t touch him. Her useless hands just hovered over his body and she was certain in some corner of her mind that if she touched him again, this time she would shatter him to dust.
Erik was behind her. “My God… Colin…?”
“Papa? Papa? Papa?” She kept hearing the word, over and over, the voice of a frantic little girl. With a start she realized it was her and clapped her hands over her mouth. Her heart pounded hard enough to make her rock with the rhythm. Not him… Why? “I need… I need to call…”
“Winter… little girl…” Erik touched her back.
“Please!” Winter shot to her feet, away from the Vampire King. “Please, don't… I need to make phone calls.” The information was in the kitchen. Funeral home; the long, long list of relatives’ phone numbers all crossed out. It was easier, after so very many deaths, to just keep it all near the phone.
She went to the front door. She needed to call the funeral home, and… and… She wrapped her arms tight about herself and pressed her forehead against the carvings. Nothing had changed since Kelley and Martina’s funeral. Just as then, there was no one left to call. Erik was already here, so even the small torture of saying it aloud over the phone was spared her. Wait… there was Katherine. And there was Corinne. The Lion Queen was more Winter’s personal friend than friend of the family, but she would… Winter stopped breathing as realization washed over her.
Corinne and her husband Santiago would be at Colin’s funeral, but Winter wouldn’t. It would take a couple of days to arrange the cremation and the service. She wouldn’t live long enough.
“I don’t see a wound. What happened?” Etienne’s low voice carried to her. Every sound was so distinct. The crunch of sand against the stepping stones under their shoes. The waves slapping the rocks in hissing rhythm. The echo of each of her breaths against the door.
“Let’s just get both of them inside and deal with it there,” Erik replied. Winter heard movement, and then his voice came from right behind her, soft and gentle. “Little girl, you need to let us in.”
Her hand rose to the handle of its own accord while her mind spun off in thought. Who would open the door when she was gone? Would the House shutter itself? Or would it stand open to the lashing winds and rain, an abandoned ruin – a home no longer? She pushed the door open and stepped into the grand foyer. Impetus carried her into the center of the room, to the big circular table that held the pictures of her immediate family, and she stopped, frozen by their beautiful smiles. Her sisters, her grandparents, her aunts and uncles, her sweet little niece.
Papa.
Her legs were carrying her down the hall, towards the back of the House, as grief tried to claw its burning way up her throat.
“Winter?” Etienne’s voice chased after her.
“Let her go,” she heard Erik say. “She won’t go far.”
Winter dropped her bag and broke into a run, one hand clamped over her mouth to stifle the sobs that tried to escape. She couldn’t. She couldn’t. She skidded to a stop in the kitchen, pushed open the sliding glass doors, and fled out to the garden. She ran up the gradual slope of the hill on familiar paths, ignoring both the overgrown plants that whipped at her body and the few pixies who had braved the October morning. She didn’t stop until she reached the top of the cliff and the gazebo that crowned it. She stood there, eyes swimming with tears, and fought to keep her panting breaths from turning to… she gritted her teeth. Just thinking about it invited it, and she couldn’t afford to break down. She couldn’t. She had to hold together, and she had so little time left. Instead she stared without seeing at the sun sparking like embers on the waves and let the wind pick away at what was left of her loose bun.
Winter wrapped her arms around herself and gripped her shoulders tight, as if she would break apart if she let go. She didn’t know… maybe she would. Her mind felt like it wasn’t full of thoughts, but rather frantic little mice running around with no pattern or reason. One little mouse found its way to the front, and her eyes widened.
Was this her fault?
In her anger and bitterness at her father, through the worry about Cian, the circular arguing with Erik, her body finally breaking down, and the revelation about Midir’s plot, she had completely forgotten that she had confronted the great sidhe prince last night. He had felt her attempt to soul-read him and it had angered him. Angered him enough to frighten her. To hurt her. Had she angered Midir enough to bring him to her home?
Had he come looking for her, and found her father instead?
“Winter? Can you hear me?”
Cian’s tenor voice cut into her horrified thoughts and she turned to face him. How long had he been there? She clung to her self-control by a fraying thread, so she only nodded to acknowledge his presence and dug her fingers more tightly into the fabric of her coat.
He approached her, worry plain on his beautiful face. “I… I don’t know what to say. How to say it. I want to help.”
Winter turned away. “No one can help,” she whispered. “It’s already over.” She clapped her hand over her mouth and fought down the burn in her throat, the rising tears.
“I think… I want to help.”
Winter could hear his frustration as he struggled to express himself in English, but right now she just did not have the room in her psyche for both patience and despair. “Go inside, Cian.”
There was silence behind her for a moment. And then, “No.” His voice was firm, determined, and then his hands were on her shoulders.
She twisted, startled. He was tall, taller than her. She was so used to Etienne calling him a boy that she had thought of him as a child, but he really wasn’t. He was simply young. She tried to pull herself away from his hands.
Cian shook his head. He pulled her gently against his chest and wrapped his arms around her.
“No… please, no…” But it was too late. His tenderness was her undoing. The burning tightness travelled up her throat, rushed into her mouth, and burst from her lips in a choked cry. Her knees buckled with the force of her sorrow and Cian followed her down, folding his body around hers as sob after racking sob tore through her, the despair of twenty years clawing its way free to howl into the morning air. This was no gentle mourning. She screamed her wordless grief for her family. For her father. For herself.
Cian held her against his body and rocked with her, his cheek against her hair, his thumb moving in slow circles over her arm.
Winter had no idea how much time passed as she cried, as he held her. An hour? An eternity? At last it ended, at least for now, and she hung limp in his embrace, her cheeks burned by wind and the salt of her own tears. Her hair had fallen from its bun at some point and long coils of it danced about the two of them, threatening to bind them together in tangles. She closed her eyes, and as she did she felt a sharp pain in her belly. She swallowed. She had been out here for longer than she thought. The painkiller was wearing off.
Cian lifted his cheek from her hair and a moment later he slipped one arm behind her knees and picked her up off the ground. She gasped, but it was from surprise. His movement was smooth, effortless, and didn’t jar her belly. He carried her into the gazebo out of the wind and sat in one of the corners, a foot propped on the bench, with her tucked in between his long legs.
Winter felt him wrap his arms around her again and was conflicted. On one hand, this should be awkward. Cian was younger than her. Exactly how much s
he wasn’t sure, but somewhere around Brian’s age she guessed, maybe a little older. And she didn’t know him well. But on the other hand, as he tightened his embrace and she settled her head against his shoulder, she was so tired and this was so comforting. And she had needed comfort for so long. His hand came up and stroked her tangled hair. His breath sounds rushed past her ear. She let her eyes close.
The pain stabbed through her belly and a whimper escaped. She shifted positions to try to escape it, but it found her a moment later.
“You’re hurting.” Cian’s soft voice resonated under her ear. It wasn’t a question.
She nodded, her cheek still pressed against him. “I’m dying.”
He stilled under her for a moment. “Why?”
How to answer that? “For a long time I’ve been in a position where I’ve had to do the work of many wizards, all by myself. I made a series of choices – maybe they were mistakes, it’s too late now to really know – where I had to choose between my health and my responsibilities. My health lost. When I started I thought, ‘I’ll just do it today. It’s safe every once in a while.’ And then when I was using them more often it became, ‘I know what I’m doing. I’ll just use them for a while, just while I need to and it will be safe.’” She sighed. “I stopped telling myself that several weeks ago. I knew the energy potions were addictive and I knew that with extended use they cause organ degeneration and death…” She stopped. “I’m sorry. If I’m using words you don’t know just stop me.”
Cian had returned to stroking her hair. “I don’t mind. I can figure it out from the other things you’re saying.” He was quiet for a moment. “Are you scared?”
Winter nodded. “Very.”
His fingers caught in a tangle and he paused to tease it out.
If it wasn’t for the increasing pain in her belly she could have stayed here forever. She wanted to fall asleep with him, just like this. She needed to go inside and take more of the painkilling potion, but that would mean bringing this moment of being comforted to an end. So instead she kept talking. “I’m afraid of the pain. That’s a downside of being a physician, because my training and experience tell me that there is going to be a time, very soon, where the pain will become too extreme to control. And I’ll have to choose…” She stopped again. Her choice was irrelevant. One would spare her from pain, the other would give her friends a few more hours to say goodbye. She would have to have this talk with Erik, later, but he would yell. Katherine would yell and cry. So would Corinne. She had worked so hard to be what they all needed, and she had failed them, anyway.
“What I fear the most is what will happen to the people I love after I’m gone.” Pain lanced through her belly and between her shoulder blades. She turned her face further into the warmth of Cian’s shirt as she struggled to breathe through it. If the pain was shifting to her shoulders how much blood was she holding in her abdomen, now? “I did this to myself because this city is on the verge of tearing itself apart.” She spoke in a whisper, but she knew he would hear her. “My family used to be the ones who kept the peace, but now we’re gone. Even without Midir’s plans, the preternatural groups will war for dominance. The balance will be broken, and Seahaven will fall into chaos.” And with Midir’s plans thousands would die and there was nothing she could do to save them. Not like this. “I just wish…”
Cian shifted his position and sat her upright against his bent leg. His hands went to the buttons of her coat and he started unfastening them.
The air was cool on her cheek, away from his shoulder, and Winter looked up at him. “What are you doing?” Her limbs felt heavy, and she noticed in some part of her mind that she was only vaguely curious about what Cian was doing. She felt floaty and numb, and wanted to return to being cuddled and comforted. She thought she might be in shock.
Cian finished unbuttoning her coat and spread it open. “I’m not sure. But I can feel that you hurt.” He gave a small frustrated frown and met her eyes. Tucked against him like this he was very close. “I don’t know how to say it right. Can I show you?”
Dazed, Winter nodded.
He reached into her coat and slid his hand up under her sweater to lay it with splayed fingers over her stomach. He was very gentle so he caused her no additional pain. His eyes closed and his red-gold brows knitted together in concentration.
His hair tickled against her nose. He smelled like the store shampoo, like Etienne… but also different. Still good, though. Still male. What was he doing? She sat there for several long moments feeling the warmth of his palm on her skin through the fabric of her dress. His fingers were long and his hand seemed to stretch over the whole of her abdomen. It was a new experience for her, and it wasn’t unpleasant. She parted her lips to ask, and then gasped as sidhe magic began to flow from his hand into her body. Her eyes widened. It felt like warm water rushing into her belly, twisting around the pain and filling her up. Her spine bowed back over his knee with the strange mix of pleasure and agony, and she flailed with one arm, wrapping it around Cian’s shoulders and digging her fingers into his shirt. She grasped at his wrist with her other hand, but she didn’t try to pry him off of her.
She thought she knew what he was trying to do. The day she had met him and Etienne, Jessie had wrenched her shoulder trying to pick up that backpack. Winter had watched Cian heal the injury. It had been messy, but effective. Jessie had been too distracted by her pain to notice the magic, something Winter still needed to speak to the girl about. But what Cian had done with Jessie was a light touch compared to what he was attempting now.
His magic was still messy, but he had access to so much power! Winter had read about those who could heal by touch, but had never met one. He had the ability, and the desire, but she realized as his magic moved through her damaged and failing body that instinct alone wouldn’t be enough for a healing this extensive. He needed guidance.
She slid her hand down over the back of his larger one. Her breathing had become labored, forcing spikes of agony through her belly again and again, and she struggled to find her voice. “Relax.” She brought her other hand up from his shoulder to the back of his neck and slipped her fingers into his silky hair. “You’re using too much energy. At this rate you’ll use it all up before you’re done.” She swallowed hard past the pain and felt the flood of power begin to ebb. Her body relaxed. “Good. Good. Now, reach down with your magic into the earth. Can you feel the energy there?” He stretched out a tendril of power and using the magic from her own sidhe heritage she followed with him to make sure he went far enough. He did, and she felt him nod against her neck and shoulder. “Pull it into you. Slowly. Like you’re drinking from a stream.” She rested her cheek against his fragrant hair and closed her eyes, the better to focus. If he drew power too slowly he would deplete and fail, but if he did it too fast he could hurt himself. It was even possible to die from too much power. But Cian apparently had excellent instincts. “Very good. A little more… yes. Just like that. You need to maintain the flow while you work and use it to fuel your magic.”
“I feel… strange.” His lips tickled her skin.
“The extra power is making you light-headed. Push it into me, now, and I’ll guide you.” His hand pressed into her belly and Winter couldn’t catch the whimper of pain before it escaped. He tried to pull his hand back but she held him in place. “Don’t. I don’t know how this will feel, but right now I’m in a lot of pain. You can’t let it stop you.” Besides, suddenly pulling away like that would only hurt her even more, but he didn’t need to know right now.
Cian hesitated and then nodded. He let out a steadying breath and the flow of magic into her body increased.
Winter felt her spine begin to bow again and she fought to keep her breathing even. Here was hope. Given the destructive nature of the energy potion she wasn’t sure how much hope it was, but if he could buy her just a few more days, long enough to stand against Midir. To serve her city one last time. To attend her father’s funeral. That was all she
needed.
But first she had to be Cian’s guide and teacher in this healing.
She shuddered under her body’s onslaught and cast herself again into the flow of his magic, following his magical senses into her own damaged body. It was a strange experience, visualizing inside herself like this, and seeing the systemic extent of the degeneration was shocking. And painful. What was it about looking at an injury that made it hurt more? For a moment she was overwhelmed, but she shook it off. She had seen, and successfully operated on, guts that had been shredded by bullets, blades, and claws. Bellies that had been torn open and the things both tender and foul, organs not meant to be seen that were exposed to the air, which pulsed with life and recoiled from touch.
It had simply never been her before. She had worked while exhausted, while shaking from pain and effort, while frightened – even while weeping. But she had never been the one on the table. This was a different kind of agony.
“Let’s begin at the top of the abdominal cavity.” Winter slid Cian’s hand upward a few inches, bunching dress and sweater fabric over their joined wrists. “Here’s the stomach, with the esophagus feeding down into it.” Through his magic she could see the organ in its entirety, as clearly as if it were laid open to the light. Fascinating. “Do you see how the tissues are eaten away and bleeding? How it’s swollen and raw?” She stopped and thought back to what she had said. Would he understand everything she needed to tell him? She had to remember that Cian’s grasp of English wasn’t strong, and she had to keep her explanations simple – not an easy task for a physician in her element.
Cian nodded and turned his face downwards against her chest as if he was trying to see it more closely. Maybe he was. “Yes. I can feel it’s wrong. It’s pulling at me to make it right again.”
