Twenty-six
Sissy didn’t speak as we drove to the hospital. Warm sunlight streamed through the windows, but Sissy pulled her hoodie closer. She looked tired, the sort of tired you’d see on those who’d been through the hard knocks of life. Not the sort of look a girl her age should have.
I wondered if I’d looked that way at her age. I shouldn’t have. I’d had a good life. But moving from one world to another, from a parent who’d listened to me and instructed me and loved me to one who didn’t display emotions had taken its toll on my fragile self-esteem.
I’d never felt as if my mother loved me. I’m sure Sissy must have had a similar experience. Although Mrs. Dickinson had given her food and clothes and shelter, I wondered if she was able to reproduce the sort of love Sissy needed—the love of a parent.
In some ways, Sissy reminded me of myself. Damaged.
I glanced at Kull as he fixated on the skyscrapers. He looked at this new world with one part curiosity and one part suspicion. What kind of childhood had he had? Most of the time, he put on an easygoing, carefree façade. But the few times he’d let his guard down, I had also seen pain, like his sister. A warrior’s life couldn’t be an easy one, and soon he’d have the responsibility of two nations on his shoulders.
When we arrived at the hospital, Sissy refused to leave the car. It took fifteen minutes of begging, plus the promise of more apple pies, for her to finally climb out. At one point, I’d felt tempted to let the warrior wrestle her out, but I resisted. How do parents do this?
We made our way to the ninth floor, where the nurse at the desk pointed us in the direction of Jeremiah’s room. I thanked her, and we walked down the sterile white hallways.
Call me weird, but I actually liked hospitals. They got a bad rap sometimes—probably because normal folks couldn’t afford them—and not all hospitals were created equal, but without them, a lot of sick people would die. In Faythander, we didn’t have hospitals, and I wondered if sometimes people took them for granted.
My rubber-soled Docs made little sound as we walked down one hallway and up another. Pictures of stereotypical, pastoral scenes filled the walls. Meant to be calming, I supposed.
Sissy looked anything but calm. Her hands shook, a fine sheen of sweat coated her brow, and she looked ready to vomit. Good thing we were in a hospital.
We stopped at the wide wooden door leading to Jeremiah’s room. I reached out to knock, but Sissy grabbed my arm.
“I can’t,” she said. “I can’t go in there.”
“But he’s your brother. Don’t you want to see him?”
“I—” she swallowed.
To me, she didn’t look afraid. That look seemed more like the face of a guilty conscience.
“I don’t like to see him that way.”
Something else was wrong, something other than her overprotective foster mom and sick brother, but I wasn’t sure what. “He needs you.”
“Maybe.”
I scrutinized her. “What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you sweating?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you?”
She swallowed. “I just have a hard time looking at him like that.”
“I understand. But are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?”
Tears formed in her eyes. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”
“What wasn’t?”
“He got sick, you know? Right after I done something real bad to him.”
“What did you do?”
She shook her head.
“You can tell me.”
She exhaled.
“I know this is hard, but you’ll feel better after you tell someone.”
She nodded. It took her a few tries, but she finally found words. “We… we never had toys. At Christmas, people usually gave us socks or something. But for his birthday, my foster mom got him some LEGOs. I’d never seen him so happy. He played with them all the time. Couple weeks ago, he went in my bedroom and left them on my floor. I hated those things when I stepped on them.” A tear broke free.
“I threw ‘em away. I meant to go back later and get them out of the trash, but the trash truck came already. When he found out…” A sob caught in her throat, “…he started crying. He got sick after that.”
I hugged her, bony shoulders and all. “Sissy, this wasn’t your fault.”
“It is! You didn’t see the look on his face when he found out what I’d done. Like I’d betrayed him or something.”
“You’re wrong. I know it’s hard for you to understand, but he’s under a spell. Whoever did this to him is sick and depraved. This had nothing to do with you. Let me help him. I promise, you’ll have your brother back.”
She pulled back. Tears stained her cheeks. “I already tried. I did everything I could. He can’t be helped—he’s stuck like that. He’s never coming back.”
“That’s not true. I haven’t given up on him, have I?”
She stared as if she saw me for the first time. “No.”
I felt like I was finally getting somewhere. If she had information that she wasn’t telling me, now would be the time to find out. But how did I connect with her?
The way she stood there, arms crossed, tears in her eyes, reminded me of her mother. Perhaps mentioning her mom would be how I could finally get her to see reason. “Sissy, did you know that your mom and I were best friends in junior high?”
She looked up.
“Shawna was always laughing. She was one of the happiest people I knew. And she had a kind heart—she’d do anything for anyone.”
Sissy swallowed. “I don’t remember her much.”
“She cared for you and your brother. She loved you two more than anything and would’ve done anything to protect you.”
Sissy wiped away a tear. “She would?”
“I remember when she asked me to be Jeremiah’s godmother. She was in rehab, and I’d gone to visit her. She still had that smile, even though she was too weak to walk. Do you know what she told me? She said that she knew her two babies were special, that they could do great things if they were given a chance. And you know what? Your mother was right. You and Jeremiah are both special.”
Her eyes met mine. She looked on the verge of telling me something—something that could change the course of Jeremiah’s future. I felt it deep inside that there was more to Sissy than she let on. If she would just open up.
I took her hand. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
A sob shook her body. She shook her head. “It’s not that easy.”
“Why not?”
“Because I—they would—.” She closed her eyes. “I’d like to see my brother now.”
They?
“Sissy, is someone trying to hurt you?”
“No.” She pinched her lips. “No.” She stood tall. “Please, let me see Jeremiah.”
The sincerity in her voice was something I’d never heard. I wanted to press her more. I felt like I’d gotten so close to some hidden secret that could change everything. Maybe letting her see Jeremiah would be the best way for me to find out.
I nodded to his door. “You want me to go first?”
She exhaled. “Yeah.”
I opened the door. Smells of rubbing alcohol stung my nostrils. I’d never liked that smell. It reminded me of needles. Sissy grabbed my hand as we passed through the entryway and into the room.
My heart caught in my throat.
Jeremiah lay on the bed. Tubes ran out of his nose, his mouth. Beeping noises came from the machines attached to him. How had he gotten this bad? Why hadn’t Dr. Hill called me? Seeing him like this was harder than I’d thought it would be. It must’ve been worse for Sissy.
Her hand clenched mine, strong for someone so frail. Kull stayed by the door.
Sissy approached the bed, and I followed.
“Hey, Jer,” she said in a tiny voice. She reste
d her hand on his blanket. His eyelids fluttered, still dreaming. “It’s Sissy. I know it’s been a while since I seen you.”
Beeping sounds and an occasional sniffle filled the silence. I grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and handed it to her.
She took it without looking at me, her gaze fixed on her brother.
“Is he gonna die?” she asked me matter-of-factly.
How could I answer her? The only person she had in the world was near death, and I was nowhere close to finding a cure. What could I say?
“He’s strong,” I said. “He’s got a strong spirit, a strong soul. If anyone can beat this, he can.”
“I don’t want him to die.”
I rested my hand on her shoulder. “I know.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do for him?”
“I’m doing all I can. But I can’t do it without your help. If there’s anything you know, you have to tell me.”
She stared at her brother, and her face, usually a mask of defiance, was filled with anguish.
“Let me help him. Tell me what you know.”
She inhaled a deep breath. “If I tell you, will you promise not to tell no one?”
“I promise.”
“Mrs. Dickinson,” she said. “You should speak to her. She knows more than you think.”
“Where is she?”
She crossed her arms to keep her hands from trembling. Her pale face turned ash-white. She looked ready to heave.
“Sissy, you’re safe here. No one can hurt you. Where is Mrs. Dickinson?”
“At the foster home,” she whispered.
“Why did she go there?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“I… they would—”
Kull took a step forward. I don’t think he meant to intimidate her, but she took one glance at him and then bolted. One second, she stood by the bed, and the next, she was dashing toward the hallway. Kull stood by the door. When she rushed past him, he crossed his arms.
“Catch her,” I shouted.
She made it out the door. He didn’t move.
I rushed to the door. “What’s wrong with you? Catch her!”
“Let her run.”
“What?”
I hurried out the doorway.
Let her run? Really?
Sissy flew past the nurse’s station. She knocked over a food cart in the process. Applesauce splattered the floor.
“Whoa!” one of the nurses called.
“Sorry,” I yelled as I ran past.
The elevators loomed ahead. I heard a ding, and then Sissy disappeared inside. I could make it. The doors were closing, but I could make it.
The doors slid shut. I jabbed the button. It glowed bright orange, but the doors remained closed. I cursed under my breath.
“Trouble?”
I turned and saw the nurse staring at me. She wore green scrubs and had a round face that looked used to smiling. “Don’t worry about it. This kind of stuff happens more than you’d think. I’ll call security. They’ll catch her.”
“Thanks.”
Security? Did I really want them involved? I punched the button again, harder this time, hoping that would make the elevator gods cooperate.
Kull tromped toward us. The nurse stared at him. Her eyes turned dreamy, though she took a cautious step back. “It looks as if you’ve brought your own security.”
Fat lot of good it did me. He didn’t even catch her when he had the chance.
“Security will call when they’ve got her,” the nurse reassured me.
“No offense, but she might be harder to catch than they think. She’s pretty good at hiding when she needs to.”
The nurse gave me a condescending smile. “We’re used to this sort of thing, sweetheart.”
I ground my teeth. Did she really call me sweetheart? And why on earth wouldn’t these doors open?
“I’ll take the stairs,” I said and headed for the stairwell. Kull stayed behind. Good riddance. Couldn’t even catch a miniature fourteen-year-old girl.
Sissy had evaded both her foster mom and the police. She could probably hide out in a hospital forever and never be found. And Kull had just let her go? What was wrong with the guy?
Wandering the halls made me realize what a maze this place was. My heart pounded as I raced from one floor to the next. The halls and stairs became a blur. I couldn’t see straight anymore. A couple people stopped and asked if I needed help. I gave them Sissy’s description.
I’d made it to the fifth floor when an announcement came over the loudspeaker, detailing that they had a Code Adam and giving Sissy’s description.
When I reached the third floor, I left the stairwell. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep up this pace. I followed the hallway and found a waiting area. Trying to catch my breath, I leaned against the wall. I’d lost her. I could play hide and seek for the rest of the week and never find her. I had two choices: keep chasing after Sissy, or let the big guys handle it. The thought crossed my mind that I should go back to Jeremiah’s room, but I decided against it. There was a small chance that Sissy would end up back there, anyway. Maybe I should wait her out.
I felt selfish for not going back with Jeremiah, but seeing him in that vegetative state was more than I could handle.
No, I can’t go back.
I’d have to wait her out.
Soft amber light glowed from lamps that illuminated the waiting room’s sofas. I fell onto one of the seats, and the weight of the past few weeks crashed with me.
I felt alone.
I shouldn’t. I had friends, family. But still I felt as if I were the only person in the world trying to save my godson.
Bill Clinton told me not to feel that way, but pushing those kinds of thoughts out of my head wasn’t always easy.
I’d failed Jeremiah. I’d lost Sissy. Maybe I should throw in the towel and call it quits.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I grabbed a tissue off one of the tables and blotted my eyes. I hated crying. It made me feel pitiful and weak, but at the moment, I didn’t know what else to do.
Some tough and powerful practitioner I’ve become.
I felt grateful that no one was here to see me—especially one person in particular.
Al told me to pull it together.
After a few minutes of self-pity, I listened. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. A phone book sat on a table, and I grabbed it. This could accomplish two things: keep my mind occupied, and search for the elusive Mr. Green.
My heart sank as I searched the listings. Two-and-a-half pages of Green. I counted ninety-two in the Houston metro area. Finding Mr. Green was almost as hard as finding Sissy.
How long would it take me to call them all? What would I say? That I’d met him in a fairy world dreamland?
Sure. I would definitely get tossed in the psych ward—a place I’d spent time in before, but never as an actual resident.
I scanned through the listing of Greens, hoping the powers of the universe would illuminate the right one. No such thing happened. I was on my own.
“Found you.”
I looked up to see the Skullsplitter himself. He had some nerve.
“Got tired of sticking your thumbs up your posterior while teenage girls escaped you?”
He sat down across from me. “You’re angry.”
“What gave it away?”
“You’re cute when you’re angry.”
I gripped the phone book so tight my knuckles turned white. Nothing ever turned out how it should. Maybe I shouldn’t let him get under my skin—he had risked life and limb for me after all—but right now, all I wanted was to clout him with the phone book. If we hadn’t been wasting time at that stupid museum, I could have found Sissy sooner. I could have been there for Jeremiah sooner.
“They’ll find her,” he said.
“Will they? This isn’t Faythander. Humans aren’t used to tracking like you are. They don�
�t have magic to help them; they don’t have elven technology. She could hide out in a place like this for weeks.”
“Why do you concern yourself with her? She isn’t your offspring.”
“Someone has to take responsibility for her.”
“Why should it be you?”
I stared him down. Was he serious? I guess that’s what distinguished him from the rest of the human race. I’d started to think of him as an equal, but in reality, he was a warrior. Searching for stray kids was beneath him, but maybe I could explain it in a way he would understand.
“Sissy’s mom was my best friend when we were younger. Before she died, I gave her my promise to watch over her kids. I refuse to break my promise to her. I can’t let her down.”
“But you burden yourself too much. If you truly wish to protect the children, you’ll have to learn to let others help you.”
“Kull, I’m not like you. I don’t live in a castle surrounded with family and friends and servants willing to come to my aid at a moment’s notice. I live alone. I never see my family. The dragons have bigger problems. I’m by myself.”
“You aren’t right now.”
Why did he have to sound so sincere?
“And you’ll be married soon. You’ll have two kingdoms to rule. I appreciate your help, but honestly, how long can it last?”
He touched my hand. It was such a small gesture, but the warmth of his skin calmed my thumping heart. I exhaled, and my pent-up frustrations went with it. How did he do that? I would’ve blamed magic, but knew it couldn’t be. This was a power stronger than magic.
“I’m here now.”
Something inside screamed for me to push him away. The more attached I got to him, the harder it would be to let go. But he was right. He was here. No one else was. I cursed myself for being so vulnerable. This was my own fault.
He squeezed my hand and looked into my eyes.
He had gorgeous eyes the crystal-blue color of glacier ice—cold, yet comforting at the same time. I imagined what it would be like to wake up every morning and stare into those eyes, to feel his arms wrapped around me.
“Your hands are cold,” he said.
“They’re fine.”
“They’re trembling.”
“Trembling?” Next I’d have to tell him he was a scoundrel and remind him that I happened to like nice men.
“Your choice of a companion isn’t right for you,” he said.
When did we get on that subject?
“Brent is not my companion. I could say the same thing about your choice in companions.”
“Euralysia is an acceptable choice.”
“She’s also a powerful sorceress. She’s manipulating you.”
He laughed. He didn’t believe me. Figures.
“Are you sure she loves you?”
“Love is not the most important factor in a relationship like ours. We enjoy being in one another’s presence. We communicate effectively. We both count ourselves fortunate. In my situation, would you choose someone else?” he asked.
I hadn’t thought of it. Would I condemn two nations to war just because I wasn’t able to marry someone I wasn’t head-over-heels in love with? He said they got along, what more could he ask for?
“I suppose not.”
“I don’t have a choice. But you do.”
Since when had he become my therapist?
“I’m happy with my choice.” My voice sounded flat. I hadn’t meant it to.
“Why do you choose to stay with him?”
His question made me pause.
Because he’s normal and I’m not. Because my mother likes him. Because, in her opinion, he’s the only good choice I’ve ever made. Because I need stability in my life.
None of those answers were good ones. Still, I liked Brent. Probably didn’t love him, though. “All right, you’ve got me. I don’t have a good reason to stay with him. Why do you think I do?” I was a fool for asking it. I should have kept my mouth shut.
He leaned closer. If I looked up, I’d have to look into his eyes. I didn’t want to.
“Because he doesn’t love you.”
What? Of course he loved me. Why on earth would he stick with me if he didn’t? What was love, anyway, except caring for the person you’re with? He did love me. Kull was absolutely wrong.
“He doesn’t love me.” Saying it out loud rang with truth, as if church bells pealed when I said it.
No. No! Why was I thinking like this? If Brent didn’t love me, then where did that leave me? What did that mean for my future? It meant my mother was right, that I’d spend the rest of my days alone in my tiny apartment. At least I had Han. He had a good ten years left.
No—I refused to let my thoughts go there. It made me feel frightened, and most of all, alone. “You’re wrong. You don’t know Brent. You don’t even know me.”
“I know when I see indifference. And I know when I see attraction.” His eyes simmered like two stars caught in a storm cloud. They would’ve burned a hole through me had I held his gaze.
“Drop it,” I told him. “I don’t want your advice. You’re marrying someone you don’t know—don’t even realize how dangerous she is. Leave me alone.”
He dipped his head in a courteous gesture. He didn’t say anything, but the smoldering look in his eyes told me he wasn’t done with me.
My heart pounded. Sweat beaded on my neck. I wished he would go away, but I was stuck with him for another day at least.
Kull rose.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
He turned. “As you said, humans in this world aren’t skilled trackers. Fortunately, you brought one with you.” He smiled and walked away.
I unclenched my fists, only now realizing that I’d been pressing my fingernails into the palms of my hands. I attempted a deep, cleansing breath. I still didn’t know what to make of Kull. At times, I felt ready to kill him. Other times, I wanted to kiss him.
The ping of the elevator announced its arrival, and Kull disappeared inside. I mulled over our conversation.
Because he doesn’t love you.
Rubbish. He didn’t know me. He wasn’t a trained counselor. Still, his words rang with truth whether I wanted to accept them or not.
To prove him wrong, I grabbed my cell out of my pocket and dialed Brent. Maybe Brent didn’t love me, but maybe it was my own fault.
It rang several times and then clicked over to voicemail. Brent’s recorded voice came over the line, followed by a beep.
“Hey, it’s me. I’m ready to take you up on that date. Love you.”
I hung up before I said anything else I’d regret.
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