by Brea Viragh
The pain in her organs tripled.
What was left of Karsia’s heart dropped to her feet and she ripped the seatbelt from the holder. “Let me out here. Let me out!”
Her hands clawed at the door handle and she was out of the vehicle before Morgan could pull to a full stop, sprinting toward the front door.
“Mom!” she cried out. Using the flat of her palms, she pushed the door open. Power crackled as the wood splintered under her palms, and the old panels hung shakily on their hinges.
“Karsia, hold on a minute.”
Morgan struggled to catch up. She couldn’t wait for him. Footsteps echoed eerily along the empty corridors, the scents of beeswax and blood hanging overhead. Urged on by invisible hands, she flew up the stairs and down the hall until she burst into her mother’s bedroom.
What she saw there stopped her cold.
In the middle of the sitting area, surrounded by family, was a hospital bed. Machines hissed from both sides and white metal bars caged the mattress. An oxygen pump worked tirelessly. The steady beep of a heart monitor filled the room, along with the motorized mechanics of life support.
“Someone better tell me what’s going on, and fast.”
Thorvald Cavaldi looked up from the bedside, strain having aged him beyond his years. The skin beneath his pale blue eyes had swollen to double the normal size until his pupils were only remembered, shaded completely with exhaustion. A salt-and-pepper beard adorned the lower half of his long face and was in desperate need of a trim. The hair on his head had also grown to flow down past his shoulders. Though still a bear of a man with the same astounding presence, there was now a stoop to his frame.
“Karsia?”
By his side was Astix, eyes and cheeks wet. Karsia took her in, from the lines of tattoos on her shoulder and double nose piercings to the shared color of their reddish mahogany hair. She looked like a woman at the end of her rope.
“Is it really you?” The soft sweet voice of her older sister croaked out from a throat made raw by agony.
“It’s me.” Karsia kept her eyes trained on the floor to avoid the elephant in the room. “What the hell happened?”
The gravity of the situation made sense, the constant throbbing ache in her gut lessening now that she was here. Hell begged to break loose and it took every ounce of skill she possessed to keep it in check.
“Karsia, my girl.” Thorvald’s voice hitched. He rose from his vigil, a moving mountain, and held out his arms. “Come give your father a kiss. Please?”
No matter how she hated the show of weakness, she could no more deny him than stop breathing. She fought down urges and wrapped her arms around her father’s thick torso. He smelled familiar, of pipe smoke, liquor, the hard-caramel candies he always carried. There was safety and reliability in that hug. The antithesis of the horror she’d felt since the accident.
Thorvald squeezed her once before releasing, saying nothing about her long absence. “I’m glad you’re here,” he told her softly. “It would make her so happy to see you.”
“Will someone please tell me what is going on before I go out of my mind?” Karsia spared a single glance at the bed, the rails along the sides, and crisp white sheets tucked under the mattress.
How had she never realized how small her mother was? She’d always seemed larger than life, flinging her arms about in typical theatrical fashion. In their house, along with a swift temper and swifter retribution, there had always been laughter. A flair for drama and a keen magic honed by years of practice and a strong legacy. Varvara filled up a room and lit it from within.
The slender figure in the hospital bed was childlike and frail. Too small.
Black hair fanned out on the sheets in stark contrast. A tube wound down Varvara’s throat, her chest steadily rising and falling. Bruises colored most of her visible skin, like watercolors on canvas. Varvara’s beautiful eyes were closed, as if they’d never reopen. She had always been strong, invincible. This woman with her face was too shrunken and still.
Astix rubbed her raw eyes with one hand, the other curving over the bed railing. Her normally restrained hair was tousled by agitated fingers. She’d always been the sure one, with a plan and a desire to execute it. Now, with her bravado gone, she didn’t look so tough.
Astix and Thorvald were mirror images of each other, Karsia decided. Hollow-eyed and pale.
“There was an accident,” Astix said, returning her attention to the bed. “Yesterday. The police said she was inside the crosswalk when a garbage truck rounded the corner and hit her. We got the call almost six hours later.”
“She would never do that. Not my girl.” Thorvald wrung his hands as he vehemently denied the statement. “She would know better than to step out on the street without proper clearance.”
“That’s not possible.” Karsia stopped several feet from the bed, her dirty boots sinking into the pristine white carpet.
“It wasn’t an accident,” Astix snapped. She drew in a forced calming breath. “We’ve had a nurse here to get her through the night. We’re pressing charges when I can think straight.”
“It must be serious if you left the safety of the cabin.” Karsia walked to the edge of the bed, punchy and freaked, and stared down at her mother. Intrinsically she knew the worst of the injuries, where they were and what it would take to push her over.
She lifted a hand—one that had held her mother’s at every occasion until she hit puberty, that had encouraged young things to grow and only recently showed the world the utter chaos she had the potential to unleash—and raised it to her face. Her fingers shook.
“I’m done with the cabin. Let them find me here,” Astix declared. “I’m going to find whoever set this in motion and drop them. That’s a promise.”
Astix’s stone cottage far out in the countryside was a sanctuary, protected by magical wards until it disappeared from every map. After Aisanna had attacked two members of the Claddium, the three sisters had needed the protection. Then came the showdown in the cavern. And Karsia’s horrible choice.
If Astix was here without her safety net, she meant business.
“I wanted you to come. Hoped you would.” She turned and watched Karsia drop into a nearby chair.
For a moment the girl stared blindly at the morning sun shining brightly through the east-facing windows. “I had a feeling.”
“Glad your feelings are still up to snuff.”
Thorvald looked away from his wife only to send his middle child a glare. “Karsia, we could use your healing when Aisanna gets here. Then your mother will be fine. Of course she’ll be fine. Our best healer is home again.”
Karsia opened her mouth and then snapped it closed.
“She can’t, Dad. Don’t you get it?” Astix looked as though she was holding on to her sanity by the smallest tether. “Karsia isn’t…she isn’t herself.” She glanced up and their eyes met.
The unspoken question hung in the air between them, of how Karsia was dealing with her dark passenger. What would happen now that they were together.
And how grateful Astix felt.
Karsia broke eye contact, drawing an ottoman closer to the bed and situating her feet there. “I’m doing the best I can.”
“I…I don’t understand.” Thorvald’s gaze shifted between his daughters.
“There was a hitch in our plans. Her magic is tainted. She can’t heal anyone.”
“Oh. Oh.” It was clear he struggled to understand. Fought hard to widen his lips in a sorrowful parody of a smile. “Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re home, and that’s what counts. We can handle everything else.”
Karsia couldn’t meet her father’s gaze. Not when there was such hope in his voice. “Where’s Aisanna? Why isn’t she here healing Mom?”
Astix pressed her free hand to her heart. “She’ll be here soon.”
“Tell me more. I need to know.” Karsia settled in, although she refrained from touching anyone else.
“I’ll tell you what the
police told me.” Astix’s voice was low, resigned. “The truck was going too fast. The driver rounded the corner without checking the light and there she was. She hasn’t regained consciousness yet.”
Karsia tried to concentrate on the here and now, instead of what would happen next. That was too much to consider. For now she could only gather the pieces and see what she could do. “There’s more you aren’t telling me.”
“Well…I’ve done a little digging. The garbage truck wasn’t owned by the city, it was leased. And it’s licensed under an umbrella corporation. It took a little work, but I found out the top of the food chain leads to the Claddium.”
The Claddium? Karsia’s fists balled in her lap. “This is bullshit.”
“I’m sure you made a mistake.” Thorvald was adamant.
“I didn’t,” Astix insisted. “Orestes is behind this. Believe me.”
Sick at heart, Karsia shook her head. “What reason would your boyfriend’s father have for trying to kill our mother?”
But she knew the answer as soon as she asked. Power, her subconscious whispered. We have it. They want it.
It was true. She’d known it for a long time now. The rightness clicked into place and she saw beyond her pain, beyond the steady beep and hiss of the machines. She saw the larger picture and the pieces she and her sisters represented to the man everyone thought had it all.
“I don’t know why. I wish I did,” Astix answered after a time.
The dainty ormolu clock ticked loudly from a nearby vanity holding a wealth of expensive cosmetics, legs curving down to the floor in graceful lines. Varvara’s signature fragrance and the ubiquitous bouquet of white roses completed the tableau. A delicate chair, with the seat covered in a feminine pattern of blue and gold, was tucked neatly beneath the furniture top.
The room had not changed in many ways, yet had become resignedly different in others. Varvara Renata Cavaldi always enjoyed the finer things in life, from the gold brocade bedspread to the thick cream-colored carpet spreading wall to wall. Antiques collected over decades decorated the space in a blend of old and new, distressed and gilded.
The walls were painted white, usually accented here and there with vibrant blossoms born from magic. Now those flowers faded in their vases, with desiccated heads drooping over crystal rims. Karsia almost swooned, the moment felt so surreal. This was not her family, not her mother stuck in a coma.
Aisanna burst through the door, with her boyfriend in tow. Her entirely human boyfriend. She stifled a sob when she saw Karsia. “You’re back.”
Aisanna never cried, as a rule. Tears flooded her voice and she led the way into the room, moving past the set of wingback chairs and opening her arms for the long-awaited embrace.
It didn’t surprise her when Karsia stepped back and refused. “For now. Extenuating circumstances.” She kept an arm’s length between them.
Aisanna swallowed, fought to smile, and nodded. “I’m glad to see you, even though I can tell this is hard.” She gestured toward Elon Fayer, his tall, wiry body blocking the doorway, standing guard. “I can take it from here, honey. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I’m going to go downstairs and make some tea. Does anyone want—” Elon pointed back to the hallway, knew his presence was unnecessary and awkward, and cut himself off before he could finish. His mop of scrappy near-black hair disappeared down the hall and Karsia conjured a gust of wind to shut the door behind him.
“There. Now that you’re done putting everyone in jeopardy by introducing a human who could expose us, we can be alone.”
Aisanna refused to let her sister’s ire draw her into an argument. She leaned close to the bed. “I was here when they brought her home,” she told Karsia softly. “It doesn’t get any easier to see her like this. I hope she pulls through. I’ve done everything I could but it’s not enough.” She looked at her hands in disgust. “Nothing I do will work.”
Karsia cracked her knuckles. “It’s not supposed to be easy,” she said.
Aisanna had always been the one with a practical head on her shoulders. More so than any of the others. She lived far from the edge and took few risks.
Karsia recognized the sharpness in Aisanna, something that hadn’t been there when she left. An animal wariness of a person on the run. She recognized it in herself on the rare occasion.
“Is there any way you can…” Aisanna pointed and wiggled her fingers, a desperate plea for Karsia’s magic to sweep in and save the day.
“I can’t,” she bit out. “Or are you too stupid to understand?”
“I was just saying—”
Karsia stared at her. “Well, don’t.”
“Let’s not argue,” Aisanna said with a hint of suppressed emotion. “We’re here and that’s what counts. It’s always what counts in the end.”
They surrounded the bed and held their breath as though it would be mere minutes until Varvara opened her eyes. Shrugged off her chains of tubes and monitors to tell them it was all an elaborate joke.
Eventually, Thorvald wore himself out with worry and passed into a fitful sleep. He curled in the chair, light snores intermittently breaking the hush. The instant he did, Astix and Aisanna rose to use the bathroom, leaving Karsia alone with her mother.
The machines did not stop, did not tire as they pumped oxygen into her broken body. Karsia listened to it in the silence before tensing her hands.
“How could you do something like this? Now, of all times. How could you?”
She spoke to the empty air, anger rising, clouding her vision in red and causing goose bumps to rise on her skin. Her mind and heart wanted separate things. She was tired, even if her body didn’t feel it. She was tired of having to run, always feeling the wolf at her back and forcing her feet to keep moving ahead.
“I’m having such problems, Mom.” She bit the inside of her lip, squeezing her eyes closed. “You’re not here for me to talk to. You’re not here to tell me everything is going to be all right. Why would someone do this to you?” She hung her head.
Unfortunately, there was no one there to answer her questions.
“This horrible thing has happened to me, and when my mind clears, when I finally have a fucking minute of lucidity, I know I shouldn’t have left you. I shouldn’t have left you without a word because I know you worry. But I thought it would help. You would be safer without me.”
At last, she crossed the distance separating them, taking Varvara’s limp fingers in her own. She linked them together and tried to draw on her magic. Tried to draw on the healing energy she kept cocooned inside her body. It should have been easy, but she hit a wall. There was no familiar heat burning her fingertips. Instead of sadness, bitterness grew from a tiny seed. It took root until she only saw her failures.
“This is my fault, Mom. It’s my fault, and you’re paying the price. And there isn’t a goddamn thing I can do about it.”
Thorvald woke when his two older daughters returned. Woke and broke down, weeping in front of his children without a care. He sank down to his knees. One large fist balled in those blankets and came down hard, the blow absorbed by the mattress.
“Please stop crying.” Astix began to pace, long strides up and down the length of the room. “I can’t handle your blubbering.”
“Then get out of the room!” Thorvald bellowed. His hand crept across the bed to his wife and clutched at whatever part of her was closest. “Get out!”
CHAPTER 9
That was the way of disaster. Swift, out of the shadows, when least expected.
The three girls let themselves out of the room. For Karsia, her sadness warred with frustration. She felt completely lost. Stomping down the stairs, she made her way into the kitchen as wrath pounded in her chest with the force of a hammer.
Elon and Morgan were congregated around the center island. One stood with a teapot in his hand, while the other grasped his cup in preparation. Both turned to look at her when she entered, different ends of the spectrum making the best of a
bad situation. Elon, with his wavy dark hair and boyish blue eyes. Morgan, distinguished and older, taller, thinner. Both men had been thrown into something beyond their control and forced to tread water.
“We’re on our third pot of tea and getting to know each other. Any change?” Morgan asked her. “I’m sorry about your mother, by the way. Truly sorry. I hope she pulls through.”
“I’m glad to see you two are getting chummy. It seems oddly fitting.” She grimaced and closed her eyes, catching a glimpse of herself, her old self.
That Karsia knew her mother was in trouble, realized she should have been able to help but could not, nearly brought her to her knees. A cry caught in her throat and she clawed at the fake heart in her chest.
Morgan moved instantly to gather her into his arms.
“Let go of me,” she said, her tone sharp but the plea halfhearted. Though no tears came she felt the sting of them aching to burst out and grant her relief. Shock, pure and simple, had her gasping to fill her lungs with air. “This is stupid. I shouldn’t be crying like this. Evil doesn’t bawl like a baby.”
“No, but you do. And you’re not evil.”
Elon continued to line up the porcelain cups and distribute the brewed beverage. He kept any comments to himself, his personal grief unvoiced.
“I know if there was a way for you to fight this, you would be in there healing her with everything in your power,” Morgan murmured against her ear.
“But I’m not, Morgan. I’m not in there and I’m not healing her because I can’t do it. This thing inside of me won’t let me help my own mother.” Karsia shook, afraid to give voice to the terrible things her mind already knew. “It was no accident. Someone hit her on purpose.”
She recognized now why she’d been drawn back here in the first place. There were forces at work beyond the original players in their story.
“My mother could die. And it’s my fault,” she said it for impact, watching Elon wince at the words.
