“Heal, Michelle. You can do this. You can live like this. You just have to heal!”
Her eyes fluttered but did not open.
I forced every bit of healing power I had into her, but it was not enough. The blood kept flowing. Her skin was getting cold. Unless someone else got here, she was going to die. I couldn’t lose her. I’d planned to spend our lives together. Her short three hundred years would never be enough, but it was what we had, and it would have to do.
“Please,” I begged. “Please heal. I love you.”
Hands covered mine. Magic, sharp and painful, went through my flesh and into hers. The flow of blood slowed; the flesh began to knit.
“Elron, you can let go. It will be easier if we don’t have to work through you.” Dr. Stiles gently shouldered me out of the way.
It took two tries to unclench my hands. I stumbled getting to my feet, but Greg caught me.
He handed me a towel without looking away from Michelle’s crumpled form with Nancy and Dr. Stiles kneeling over her. “I’m sorry. You’re exactly the man I want her—” He choked up. The rest of the words were lost, but I could hear “marry.”
“I want that too,” I breathed. The towel was soiled long before my hands were clean, but I could not leave. I had to be here, helping or watching, but here, near her.
Beside Dr. Stiles, Nancy worked on healing Michelle, pausing only to use the back of her wrist to push away her tears.
I stood there, too numb to pray. Three hundred years, give or take, was what I had expected to have with her. It could not end like this. I could not watch her die. Only days ago I had thought we would kill the demons, take time to mourn our own losses, and then set a wedding date. It never occurred to me that I would watch a woman of Michelle’s strength fight and lose a battle.
If only strength mattered. I knew from my own experiences with loss that this was not a war of might but of survival and endurance. And I knew even the strongest among us could not win every fight. This was a war where a single battle could make all the difference, and today, in those short moments when I had been away, Michelle had lost a skirmish. I prayed we could turn the tide and win the war. I love you. Please do not leave me. I love you. I want to marry you.
Nancy rocked back on her heels. Blood covered her hands and stained her pants from the knee down. “She’s going to make it.”
Michelle’s chest rose and fell, her breathing even and predictable. The pool of blood made my stomach clench. There were large stains and small smears of it all over her clothes. Even her face was dotted with blood, making it impossible to tell if she had more color.
Normally people looked peaceful or relaxed when they were asleep. Michelle’s face was pinched, like even now she was in pain. A muscle in her cheek twitched. I would almost see her struggle. To live, to accept her new life, or stop fighting because she had no idea how to be a person without magic who had lost her entire life. I wanted to help her, but there were no words to heal this wound.
Dr. Stiles wiped sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a smear of blood. Her eyes moved between Michelle and the rest of us. “We can keep her alive, but I don’t know how to help her.”
“How do you help other witches who lose their powers?” I asked.
Her lips flattened into a thin line. “It’s rare.”
“How do you help them?” I demanded. The woman I loved had been heartbeats from death. Evasion was not acceptable.
“Few survive the initial injury.” She slowly exhaled. “Of those who do, there is a high suicide rate.”
“Do you put them in a care facility?” Greg asked tersely. “Is there a program to help them adjust?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Think of the hundreds of thousands, even millions, of witches there are in this country. I see, perhaps, three cases a year. Do the math.”
“You do not know.” My voice was flat. The expert had no idea how to treat Michelle. We would have to come up with our own plan.
“The ones who adjust the best never had much magic to begin with. For those with more power, I’ve looked at images of their brains.” She hesitated. “I’m not sure they can survive without magic. It’s part of them.”
“That is not good enough.” My voice was echoed by several others. Not only Greg and Nancy but Landa, who was standing just inside the door with a cart of cleaning supplies. Ethel, who had settled at the dining room table, looked furious.
I could feel a fight brewing.
“I refuse to believe Michelle is incapable of adjusting.” Ethel glared at Dr. Stiles. “Michelle took a risk so all of us could have better lives. Now we must determine how to give her the best life possible. Witches who have their power blocked can lead very fulfilling lives.”
“Blocked isn’t the same is removed,” Dr. Stiles shot back. “They still have magic but can’t access it. Michelle is no longer capable of holding magic, never mind manipulating it. Those parts of her were burned away by the amount and potency of the energy she used for the spell.”
“Then give her a way to store some energy.” Ethel drew herself up. “Do not tell me it’s impossible. Find a way to make it possible.”
I cut in before the argument could continue. “Whilst I am in favor of anything we can do to help Michelle long-term, at the moment she needs physical care.” I knelt down beside her and gently scooped her off the floor. In the process I acquired more bloodstains on my clothes, and my hands were coated again, but it did not matter. She was in my arms and alive.
“The tub is filling.” Landa’s voice was soft.
Nodding, I walked through Michelle’s bedroom and into the bathroom. I was trying to determine the best way to check the temperature when her father brushed by. He stuck his hand under the faucet, then wiggled the knobs. A moment later he checked the temperature again and nodded.
She was still fully clothed when I set her in the tub. Someone touched my shoulder. Glancing up, I saw Nancy.
“I can take it from here.” There were deep shadows under her sorrow-filled eyes.
I backed away, letting Michelle have the comfort of her mother’s presence. Nancy touched her daughter’s cheek and whispered a few words I recognized. A sleep spell settled over Michelle, ensuring we had time to care for her and determine a plan before she awakened.
Greg stood beside me. “I’ll never be able to thank you for saving her.”
“There is no need to thank me.”
Greg nodded. We stood there in silence, watching Nancy dampen a cloth and begin washing Michelle’s face. Greg sighed. “You should get cleaned up.”
For the first time I noticed just how much blood I had on me. My shirt was streaked, and my pants were nearly wet. My eyes darted over to Michelle. Last time I had left her for a moment, and it had very nearly been the last time I saw her alive. I knew nothing would happen to her, but it was still difficult to turn and walk away.
“Greg, will you watch over her for me?”
“We all will.” He patted my shoulder. “She’ll be alive and as well as we can make her when you return.”
“My thanks.” With one last look back at my betrothed, I retreated. In the living room Landa was scrubbing away the blood. Soon the evidence would be washed away and the event would only live in our memories.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The various healing and sleep spells kept her from awakening overnight, which everyone had agreed was for the best. Marti had the official watch for most of previous afternoon and evening. Dr. Stiles, somewhat chastised after Ethel’s scolding, had taken the midnight-to-dawn shift and spent the night on her phone and computer, searching for anything she’d missed, anything that could help Michelle. Nancy had wanted to stay up all night, but Greg had ushered her off to rest, reminding her that neither of them would be of any help if they did not get some sleep.
When I arrived for my shift at dawn, I sent Marti off to her bed. Needing to reassure myself that Michelle was healed, at least physically, I pull
ed back the blanket and pushed up her sleeves. Where there had once been a jagged, open wound there was now even, olive skin. Not even a line marred either of her arms.
I tugged down her sleeves and covered her with the blanket. Then I settled in to wait. She should awaken sometime soon. When I had inquired as to when, Marti had shrugged and told me the sleeping spell had worn off so it should not be long.
Michelle’s color was better, not her normal robust glow, but she looked alive. I hoped to never again see her as I had yesterday. Perhaps time and enough good memories would dampen the vividness of that memory, but I had my doubts. It stood out so starkly and with such clarity.
My thoughts drifted back to my first wife, Sylvia. There had been a time when I could not imagine my life without her. When I thought she was killed, though I later learned she had been captured by the demon Gremory, I fell into a depression not so different from what Michelle was experiencing now. It had taken me two hundred years to learn to live, learn to love, and learn to enjoy my life.
Whilst I could wait, Michelle did not have a century or two. Every day she spent recovering was a day of life she lost, and I did not want her to finally recover only to find she was an old woman with the best years of her life having passed while she was frozen with grief. If only we had more time.
There was a hitch in her breathing, pulling me out of my reflections. She took a deep breath, her eyes open enough to peer around the room, and then promptly snapped them closed.
“Michelle?” I kept my voice soft.
She did not respond.
Minutes passed. Michelle simply lay in bed, eyes closed. I could hear the changes in her breathing. I could see her eyelashes flutter as she peeked at the room.
The angle of the sun filtering through the window changed as morning slowly faded away. Only a lifetime spent working with plants whose thoughts often took weeks to form gave me the patience to wait for her to make the first move.
“I’m sorry.” The words were mouthed more than spoken. “I’ll do better.”
I leaned forward. “There is no reason to be sorry. I… Well, all of us must apologize to you. We did not offer enough support or fully understand what was occurring. You are not and will never be at fault for being injured.”
Michelle turned her head just enough to look at me. “I love you.”
I swallowed. “My love for you is tougher than dragon hide and as unrelenting as the ocean.”
Perhaps her eyes brightened, but she did not smile. After looking at me for some time, her face crumpled and tears started to fill her eyes. “I don’t feel right. I don’t feel like me. I don’t feel like a witch.”
I scooped her up in my arms and settled back in the chair with her securely cradled against me. “You have said, a great many times, that you are not a witch because you can manipulate magic but because you were born a witch. You are still a witch, and you will always be a witch.” My voice was firm as it glossed over one very important fact. Until now Michelle had always been a witch who could use magic.
“As for feeling poorly,” I continued, “that is to be expected. You have been injured. Your mind and body need time to adjust, and you need time to heal. Eventually you will feel better.”
She sniffled. “Do you think I’ll ever be able to do another spell?”
I carefully gathered my thoughts, not wanting to give her false hope. “Dr. Stiles would say no. From a purely factual perspective, I would agree with her. However, I know you better than she ever will. If anyone can overcome this, it is you.”
Michelle leaned her head against my shoulder. The cloth between us grew damp with tears. “Will you love me if I can never cast another spell?” she whispered.
Glancing down at her, I waited to answer until she met my gaze. “I will love you forever.”
For the first time there was a hint of a smile, a tiny nod. Then she snuggled against me and fell asleep.
Her face was more relaxed than it had been, but even in sleep the corners of her mouth were pinched and her brow furrowed. I would love Michelle for my entire life. Witch or not, I would love her long after she was gone.
I saw Ethel in the doorway. Last I’d heard, she was investigating a treatment, perhaps even one that could help Michelle. She shook her head and closed the door.
As good as Ethel’s intentions were, I doubted she would ever find a way to restore Michelle’s powers. Witches could do amazing things, but there were limits, and I feared this area was one of them. A memory drifted to the surface. I did know a witch with strange powers. One whose magic felt nothing like that of other witches I had encountered.
I tried to dismiss the thought, but it lingered. Why would her powers feel so different? They reminded me of the stories I had heard as a child. Witches had not always been their own race but had started as members of the fey. Long ago, before they were distinct peoples, witches still had nature abilities and their magic was very different from what they had today.
Shaking my head, I headed for the door. Ethel would contact anyone she thought could help, and as premier, she knew the witches of this land. If a witch could help, Ethel would have them here. I shouldn’t be thinking of contacting someone on my own.
I shouldn’t, but I was.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Thank you for seeing me.” I settled into the hard-backed chair across from the witch who’d healed me after the black pine attacked. Ashley’s furniture was uncomfortable enough to discourage protracted meetings.
She tapped her fingers on the oversized oak desk between us. “I know your wrist was successfully healed, and you have no other severe injuries, not of the body, so why are you here?”
My eyes narrowed. “My mind, my soul, are my own.”
Her fingers stilled. “To those of us who are trained and have seen a great many injuries, some wounds simply show.”
I searched her face, looking for anything that would help me ask my questions. Her thoughts were firmly locked behind old eyes and wrinkled skin. “You are different from other witches.”
Ashley simply looked at me as if I was no more interesting than any student to walk into her office.
“How long have you been a healer?”
Her eyes unfocused as if she was looking into memories dulled from age and disuse. “A very long time, especially by the standards of my people.”
Leaning forward, I locked eyes with her. “How old are you?”
The door to her office banged open behind me. Her eyes flashed. “You should leave.”
“Not without an answer.” I made a show of relaxing into my seat. If she was paying attention, it would not fool her. She would sense the rapid beat of my heart. “You see, I am a man who has twice in recent days been forced to contemplate a life without the woman whom I love more than anything in this world. I held her while she cried because in saving the citizens of this land, she was injured and would never be the same again. Then I realized that one day I would be holding her as her body released her spirit. I would be there, but as I am now, with a thousand years left to live, and she would not be there.”
Ashley froze.
Clearing my throat, I continued. “You see, we never talked about the age gap. From disdain and frustration, between life-and-death battles, we found love. In the midst of that… Well, an age gap hardly mattered.” I had to breathe, steady my voice. “If you could see her now… Well, it’s clear. Three hundred years is her life span, but to an elf who can easily live for three thousand years, well, her life span is a phase.”
The door shut with a soft click, and she lowered herself into the chair.
“Michelle is not a phase. She is everything to me, and I do not wish to have our time together shadowed by the inevitable.” There was more I could say, but Ashley’s posture had softened and her eyes no longer shone with the hard edge of anger. “I think you may know how to help Michelle.”
“You ask for secrets that are not mine to share.” Her voice was even rougher than before.
“Then tell me who to ask. Tell me how to find this person, and I will leave you in peace.”
Her barking laugh startled me. “If only it was that easy. No, elf, I will not risk the wrath of the spirits of the earth, the water, or the air.”
“I suspect you are referring to mother earth, or perhaps some of the forest spirits like Leshy Apalchen.” Her eyes narrowed and I smiled. “Have you heard of my betrothed? Michelle Oaks? Currently joined to two clans: the Wapiti and Docga?”
Ashley shook her head.
“Now that’s odd. You see, most witches have heard of her. She’s going to be the next premier.” If any of that information meant something to Ashley, her wrinkled face didn’t show it. I changed tactics. “You must have felt the great work that washed across the world a couple of days ago.”
Her eyes widened and she nodded.
“My betrothed to be was the focus for that energy and cast the spells.”
Ashley sank into her chair. “That was done by one witch?”
“Oh, dear me, no.” I forced a smile and a cheerful tone. “All the witches in this country banded together. Michelle simply channeled the power that cast the spells.”
“She should have died.” Ashley’s voice wobbled.
My good humor faded away. “Yes, but she survived.”
“You said she was injured.” Her eyes locked onto me. “How badly?”
I took a deep breath, hoping the words wouldn’t hurt. “The doctor, and other witches, say she will never be the same.”
Ashley surged to her feet. “I want to see her.”
I hesitated. “I do not know that she would welcome you.”
“Quickly, elf! We do not have much time.” Ashley shuffled out of the room.
Catching up to her, I grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face me. “Time for what? You will tell me before I allow you to see Michelle.”
The fierce light in her eyes was determination, the type that would lead someone to their death if that was what it took to complete a mission. “There’s a chance she can be healed.”
A Witch’s Demons (Witch's Path Series: Book 6) Page 22
