Reflection Pond (17 page)

Agony was a barbed wire snake in her gut. It slithered into her chest and filled her mouth with rancid foam. She coughed, spattering the front of her dress with red.

She couldn’t breathe.

Such spirit!
The words were on autopilot. She heard his voice over and over, tasted imaginary soap.

Panicking, Callie shoved her fingers in her mouth, trying to scoop out the suffocating substance, but there was more and more, pouring over her hands like a faucet. Her lungs burned. Fireworks exploded across her vision.

She had a single, irrational thought that warred with her desire to lie down and give in. She needed to get outside, lie in the grass of
Eirensae
, and see the perfect velvet of night sky one last time. With that thought came the unwavering certainty that she wanted to belong to
Eirensae,
grow old there, be with her sister, finally have
friends.

Her face was damp when she crawled to the door, trailing red, every inch more brutal than the last. The pain came in vicious waves. Her fingers slid across the handle, slick with blood and sweat. She shook, arms, legs, hands. Shuddering, airless sobs crashed through her chest. She fought
to open the door, wanting to see her home and burn the image on the inside of her eyelids so she’d remember that she died in faerie and not flailing in a half-f bathtub in Pennsylvania.

Using one last spark of energy, Callie released the door hatch. She slid down the two tiny steps into the crisp grass. The sky swung above her, a blanket of black and
stars.

I am here,
she thought.

Everything grew heavy and the night settled across Callie.

She relaxed.

***

Rowan said goodbye over the smoldering remains of the pyre. Ash, and the others with fire magic, had sped the process. The prophetess had burned in a glorious rainbow of flame. In the morning, they’d collect the ashes and Sapphire would spread them in the river. The chairs were put away, the dying fire the only reminder of what had transpired.

The grass was cool beneath his toes as he strayed from the group. The imprinted headed for their homes in the city. A few stragglers went his direction and disappeared into cottages. The night was warm and dry, but away from the heat of the fire, Rowan shivered. It was nights like this when he thought of his foster home, the modest house on the modest street. For the longest time he’d had a normal life, even though he’d never belonged in it. He’d worn the human world like an ill-fitting suit to a high school dance. No matter how hard he’d tried, it’d never worked.

Much like everything, that life was a mistake.

Callie’s cottage came into view, her windows glowing with firelight. He debated stopping to apologize. Part of him wanted to keep his distance, but Sapphire’s words haunted him. Their lives
were intertwined, what was the point of staying away? As he thought this, her door flew open and something fell out.

At first, he thought she’d thrown something outside, a pile of clothing, a blanket, but as he drew closer, she took shape, arms and legs becoming a full body.

He started to run.

“Callie?”

She was frozen that way, chin tilted to her chest; legs sprawled on the stairs. Blood smeared her face and the front of her dress, a thin stream of crimson drizzled from the corner of her mouth. He dropped to his knees. Her skin was clammy when he touched her cheeks.

“No. Wake up.” Energy slid into Rowan’s fingertips and he felt it drain into Callie. “You’re going to be fine,” he ordered fiercely. “Come on.” He willed his power to work faster, harder, anything that would make her okay.

Through the gift of healing, Rowan saw Callie’s insides, torn to shreds. He saw an apple, laced with poison. Heat radiated from his palms and warmed Callie’s face. He felt her stir. “Callie?”

Her eyelids fluttered. She took a deep, rattling breath, spat blood. Rowan’s insides twisted as he lifted her carefully.

“The apple,” she murmured, voice ravaged.

Callie was a rag
doll. The back of her neck was damp and feverish against his arm. He held his muscles tight around her, making a cage, but she cried out every time his feet struck the ground. He had to get her to Hazel. Of all the things he knew, natural healing was the least of it. He could mend any injury, but he couldn’t stop poison. It would continue to eat away at Callie, ripping through her insides, until it left her system or they found a remedy for it.

The city hunched in the night, so far away. Callie groaned and a stream of bubbling red erupted from her mouth. Rowan paused, lowering her to the dirt path, protecting her head from the fall. He summoned his energy again, healing the ruins inside Callie. She cried now, thin rivers of tears that washed through the streaks of red and dripped cool onto Rowan’s hands. She quivered, her face tensed, and finally smoothed. He caught her up and continued to run.

After what seemed like hours, they reached the city. Rowan collided with Ash around the first corner. “Hey,” he said, before his eyes dropped to the limp body in Rowan’s arms. “Callie?” Ash’s expression dissolved into horror. “What happened? Is she…is she—”

“
It’s poison,” Rowan said already moving.

Ash followed, jogging to keep up. “Why aren’t you healing her?”

“I did. It starts all over again as soon as I’m done.” Rowan’s breath came in sharp pants. He had a stitch in his side. Callie’s graying face kept him going.

Callie coughed, splattered Rowan’s shoulder red.

“The blood,” Ash breathed.

“I know.” Rowan stopped again, dropping to his knees. Callie’s head lolled to the side. She moaned. He touched her cheeks, felt the pulse in her throat, sprinting fast as hummingbird wings. The energy at his core lagged as he tried to send it to Callie, the edges of his vision went dark and stayed that way, even after her face relaxed. Callie’s wounds were too much for him, and if they didn’t get help soon, he’d lose consciousness. “Get Hazel,” he ordered, lifting her into his arms once more. He didn’t wait to see if Ash obeyed.

Callie’s mouth opened and she gulped greedy mouthfuls of air.
“Rowan,”
she gasped, a world of pain in that one word.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, relieved to see the palace rise before him.

Her eyes met his for a moment before rolling backwards. She convulsed. Gagged.

Went still.

“Damn it.” He stopped to heal her, feeling every second as an eternity. Rowan had tunnel vision and even the parts he could see were blurry. His hands shook as he pulled Callie against his chest. Rowan gritted his teeth and stumbled forward. This time, he’d only taken a few steps when Callie started writhing again. His healings were growing less and less effective.

“Rowan,” she gurgled, curling in on herself.

“Stay with me.” His voice reached his ears as though coming from a great distance. “Hazel will fix this. You’ll be fine.”

Callie’s eyes closed. Each breath rattled. Rowan knew that sound—the calling card of death.

“Callie?
Callie!”
He careened up the palace steps, fumbling the last one and sprawling against the limp mass of Callie’s body. Energy stuttered into his fingertips. Rowan shut his eyes, finding her cooling cheeks beneath his fingers. He’d been here before, unable to heal someone he cared for.

He searched deep, for any reserve that hid in the abyss of his core. The flicker of energy was faint. Rowan forced it into his arms, relieved when it heated Callie’s face and her breathing evened out. He brushed stiff strands of hair from her forehead. Rowan saw her through a gray screen. “You’ll be okay.”

Hazel appeared beside him. Her hands were pale against the bloodstained skin of Callie’s face, her face a measured mask of concern. “Ash, go the library and get the old herb book.” She looked up and Rowan noticed the smudged moon faces of the small crowd that had gathered. “Jack, find Cypress and Sapphire and bring them to the hospital quarters. Hawthorne, check the wards and confer with the guards. I need to know if there’s been a breach. Everyone else, follow me.” Her eyes moved to Rowan. “Can you lift her?”

Defeat rose within him, bitter and debilitating. He knew he should say no, let someone less weary take over. His mouth refused. Instead, he nodded, and pulled the small weight of Callie into the shelter of his arms. If this
was the only thing he could give, then he would give it completely, until there was nothing left. She sagged against him and he tightened his grip.

They drifted through the palace doors in the slow motion of a dream. His feet were lead, every step, agony. Between breaths, he could feel Callie’s pulse hammering against his. It k
ept Rowan moving forward. They found the stairs.

“Set up the infirmary,” Hazel barked, her voice disjointed from the ephemeral scene around him. “We need blankets and a mortar.”

He slogged upward, feeling the steps would never end. Maybe they’d already given up, given in, and this was the road to heaven—a never-ending staircase.

Callie’s withered voice broke through the fog.
“Needs an elevator.”

Rowan felt his mouth curve. He would do this for her.

***

She lay on a cot, bowed against the pain. Rowan was there, across from her, bruises shadowing his eyes. He’d aged decades. Lines radiated from his eyes and mouth, his skin was waxy, the color of stone. Blood stained his shirt and hands. Callie knew she should worry, but all she saw was Rowan. He reached out a hand, and their fingers connected. The usual snap of energy never came. He closed his eyes, his lashes two dark marks resting on the sharp angle of his cheekbone.

The angry monster inside Callie reared again, rending her flesh, trying to rip itself free. She cried out, not as loudly as before, but enough to rouse Rowan. His hands crept up her body, a wounded animal seeking shelter, and found her face.

She tried to push him away. “No more.”

Rowan captured her weak fingers, drew them away. “Let me fix it.”

“It’s killing you.” She choked on blood.

The world swung over and around them. Hazel called out orders, someone brought blankets. Sapphire arrived, Callie felt her hands in her hair, smelled the scent of flowers as she wiped ichor away.

Rowan’s healing energy caressed her skin, what once was a powerful force, now just a feeble flutter. Still, coolness washed her, and she relaxed.

When Callie opened her eyes, Rowan was silent.

Still.

“Rowan?” She grabbed his hands, still resting on her face. They were slack. Dark strands of sweaty hair covered his closed eyes. His chest was eerily motionless.

Ash skidded through the door and slammed a heavy, bound leather book onto the counter. Hazel was there in an instant, flipping pages.

“Rowan?” Callie shook his hands. “Help him,” she croaked, eyes going to the gathered fae.
Why weren’t they doing anything?
“Help him.”

“Jack,” Sapphire called, her eyes never leaving Callie. A serene calm surrounded Sapphire, but Callie saw the panic in her eyes, felt it in the static of her power.

Jack’s face appeared above Callie, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. He bit his lip, tears in his eyes.

“Give Rowan your energy,” Sapphire said.

“No,” Rowan said. His lips barely formed the word.

Cypress blew through the door then.

“Cypress is here, Row. She’ll take over.” Urgency layered Jack’s voice.

“No,” Rowan mumbled again. He opened his eyes, caught her gaze, and Callie’s stomach turned over.

Cypress took over for Rowan, chasing away the pain, clearing Callie’s mind. She felt Cypress, her hands loaded with cool, healing energy, and Rowan, his body a bottomless pit of loss. With unconscious decision, Callie directed the energy into Rowan’s body.

Mere seconds passed and he tore out of her grasp, expression hard. “Get me away from her,” he said, rolling backwards and nearly off the cot. Callie watched as Jack and Ash helped him to the corner. They talked in whispers, and the whole time, Callie felt Rowan’s gaze on her.

“I found it,” Hazel declared a while later. She rambled a litany of herb names Callie didn’t recognize, giving orders where to find each item.

Rowan was sitting now, Jack’s hands in both of his. Rowan’s face was a picture of displeasure, as though he found the entire process repulsive. Some of the color had returned to his cheeks, and still, he watched her. Jack shook all over, and at first, she thought giving Rowan his energy was painful, but then she realized Jack was crying, his shoulders shuddering every time he looked in Callie’s direction.

One by one, the others trickled back, carrying flowers, pieces of bark, long leaves. Soon, a glass of thick green liquid was tipped to Callie’s lips. She bit back a gag as the bitter slime slid into her mouth. Everyone huddled around her, even Rowan pushed through the crowd to stand at her head, though he had to grip the cot to remain upright.

“Well?” he said, impatient.

“Give it a minute,” Hazel said.