Fight the Darkness

by W. J. May

  A cold sense of calm washed through Simon as he acknowledged the simple truth in the words. It wasn’t in their hands. It was in Tristan’s. And, like his Botcher, there was no one in the world that Simon would trust more.

  With a shaky breath he pushed back up to his feet, gesturing to the knives still gripped in Jason’s hands. “Again?”

  But whether or not he would have any more success, they would never know. At that moment, the door to the Oratory banged open and Peter-the-orderly ran inside.

  “You need to come quick!”

  Both Simon and Jason froze, staring across the room with something close to dread.

  But even as he spoke, a beaming smile lit the young man’s face. “He’s asking for you.”

  Chapter 2

  WITH THE SPEED OF A falcon, both men tore their way towards the infirmary. A tiny crowd had gathered outside the room, but everyone melted away as they pushed themselves inside.

  Sure enough, there was Tristan. Sitting up against the pillows. Smiling weakly towards the door. But none of that was what struck Simon most.

  His eyes were open.

  “Tris.” Jason moved forward with a huge smile, perching on one of the chairs beside the bed and delicately gripping him by the shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

  Tristan chuckled faintly and he licked his chapped lips. “L-Like I got struck by lightning and a building fell on top of me.”

  His skin was still sickly pale, and there was a distinct tenderness to the way he was holding himself. Like the rest of his body had yet to wake. But his blue eyes were as sharp as ever, and they scanned the room quickly, coming to rest on Simon still standing by the door.

  “What are you doing lurking in the corner?” he teased. “Get in here.”

  Simon’s breath caught in his chest. To be honest, the second that he’d seen his friend was awake and moving, the second the initial relief had subsided, he’d felt a sudden stab of panic.

  As many times as he’d imagined Tristan waking up, he’d never quite figured out what he would do when that happened.

  Would Tristan even want to see him? Would he banish him from the room?

  The thought had plagued him every night when he went to sleep, squirming and adjusting in that hard-backed chair. But looking at Tristan now, there didn’t seem to be anything behind his smile besides complete and utter exhaustion. There was no hidden malice, no bitter edge.

  Simon ventured forth cautiously, and Jason graciously gave up his chair.

  “Hey.” As he sat down, he automatically reached towards the bed before he caught himself. “Glad you could finally join us.”

  “I know,” Tristan breathed, flinching as he pulled himself higher on the pillows. “I feel like I’ve been out forever.”

  “Yeah,” Simon fought to control his emotions, memorizing every expression and movement lest he slip away again, “it felt like that to me—to us—too.”

  Jason leaned forward, grave. “It’s been nine years.”

  Tristan and Simon both laughed, but Tristan glanced reflexively at his reflection in the window just to be sure. They were still settling down when Dr. Stein came bustling in. He snapped his fingers and the rest of the room emptied like a sieve, calling out their hushed but ecstatic goodbyes. When Simon and Jason automatically remained, he simply rolled his eyes and began his cursory examination.

  “These two been giving you trouble?” Tristan guessed as a flashlight was shined in his eyes.

  The doctor gave a long-suffering sigh. “You have no idea.” He jerked his finger in Simon’s direction. “This one hasn’t left your bedside for more than an hour since you got here.”

  “Is that right?”

  Tristan’s eyes met Simon’s, but he said nothing. Instead, the three of them patiently waited as the doctor went through his examination, mumbling occasionally and scribbling things down on a chart.

  When he was finally finished, he looked up with a smile.

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Tristan. The contusions have healed, the hemorrhaging has stopped, and all neurological signs are normal. Despite having recently fallen from the sky, you’re in better shape than anyone here.”

  “Excellent,” Tristan grinned and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

  He pushed to his feet before anyone could stop him, and three sets of hands were quick to press him back down. They needn’t have bothered. The second he was vertical, he tilted dizzily and reached behind him for the bed.

  “Take it easy,” Simon chided, laying him back on the pillows. “You just woke up. Give yourself a freakin’ moment to adjust.”

  The doctor was equally stern, but Tristan merely rolled his eyes. Only Jason seemed amused by his efforts even though he, too, had been quick to stop them.

  “So what do you say, session tomorrow afternoon?” Jason quipped.

  Tristan’s arms buckled as he leaned back against the bed with a rueful smile. “Definitely.”

  Jason grinned and started backing out of the room. “That’s the spirit. I’m going to go get Masters and Robbins; they’re going to want to know you’re awake. I’ll call your mother, too, put her off for a couple more days until you’re feeling up to talking to her yourself.”

  Stein followed him out, gripping his clipboard like he was going to use it as the grounds to write a new thesis, leaving Tristan and Simon alone in the tiny room.

  The second the door was closed Tristan shook his head. “Don’t know why he’s even going to bother calling my mom. I’m sure she’s summering somewhere, not a care in the world.”

  He said it causally, but Simon could still detect a note of hurt beneath it all. He wondered if Tristan had been expecting to see his parents when he woke up. Most kids would.

  “Actually, when your mom found out what had happened she came straight away.”

  Seven days late, but who was counting?

  Tristan’s face lit up with a weak smile. “Really? She did?”

  Simon nodded. “Your dad did, too,” he lied. “They were a mess about it.”

  This time Tristan looked down at the sheets, taking a second to compose himself. Simon stared at his thumbs, and hoped the falsehood wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass.

  At this point, there was literally nothing he wouldn’t do if it brought his friend even a modicum of happiness. Even if that meant he had to drag old Mason Wardell down here himself.

  “But seriously,” he lowered his voice as his eyes flickered anxiously to Tristan’s face, “are you alright? I know you probably don’t...do you want me to go?”

  Tristan’s eyes clouded with confusion. “Do I want you to go?” When Simon said nothing, he shook his head as the confusion grew more pronounced. “Why would I want you to go?”

  There was a painful tightening in Simon’s chest, and he dropped his eyes to the floor. “You know...after the diner the other night. When I...” He caught his breath with a silent sigh. Was Tristan really going to make him say it? “When we got back to Guilder, and—”

  “Simon,” Tristan interrupted. Simon looked up to see those blue eyes staring incredulously back at him. “What are you talking about?”

  For the first time in almost ten days, a faint stab of hope stirred in the pit of Simon’s stomach. He carefully looked Tristan up and down, before cautiously venturing forward.

  “What...what do you remember? About what happened that night?”

  Tristan’s eyes unfocused as he thought back. A delayed shudder rippled through his body. “Not much,” he finally admitted. “I remember turning in my economics paper. Isaac shifted to scare the cafeteria lady at lunch. We watched that awful spy thriller with Zane after biology...”

  Simon’s breath caught in his throat. All of those things had happened the day before the fateful storm. Was it possible...? Could it possibly be true that Tristan didn’t remember anything from the day of the accident?

  That tiny hope fanned into a fervent flame
as he poked carefully around the edges, testing the limits of his friend’s lapse in memory.

  “You don’t remember talking to me about the recruiter? Going to the diner later that afternoon? Jacob’s brother?”

  He studied Tristan’s face carefully, trying to detect any sign of a lie. But Tristan’s eyes were as clear and honest as ever, widening slightly as he tried to keep pace.

  “No...nothing. What happened with Jacob’s brother?”

  Simon paused. He didn’t want to trigger anything accidentally, but there wasn’t really any way to keep something like that a secret.

  “He killed himself.”

  It was the greatest test of all. And it didn’t disappoint.

  Tristan’s face paled with genuine horror as his mouth fell open in dismay. “Holy hell—that’s terrible! I can’t even...” He trailed off, shaking his head slowly back and forth. “Is Jacob okay?”

  Simon felt nothing but relief. Sweet, exquisite relief. One little memory-wipe and all his problems were solved. He had a best friend again. One with absolutely no recollection of their terrible, almost life-ending fight. The anger that had divided them had simply disappeared.

  If only the rest of his troubles could be solved so easily.

  “Yeah, Jake’s fine.” He leaned forward with a smile. “He actually came around after you, and I talked to him for a while. Wanted to join our little study group.”

  “Really?” Tristan forced a sleepy smile. “He finally forgave you stalking him?”

  “Oh, I haven’t stopped. But now it’s just part of my daily routine.”

  Tristan laughed softly, but his eyes seemed to be in constant danger of closing. He tried to stretch his arms out in front of him, but gave up with a weary sigh. Simon thought he was about to doze off again right then and there, when his eyes snapped open with sudden curiosity. “Hey. What were you saying earlier? About how I wouldn’t want you to be here?”

  Simon took one look at his vulnerable, trusting face... and decided to lie. “Oh, I just thought you’d want some time to yourself. You looked a little overwhelmed when everyone was first in here. I figured you’d want to rest.”

  On a better day, Tristan would have been able to see through this at once. Poke a million holes in it until he found the truth. But as it stood, he wasn’t exactly at his best. He simply nodded once before his head fell back against the pillows in overwhelming fatigue.

  “I’ve been sleeping for ten days,” he murmured. “How is it possible that I’m still so tired?”

  “It’s a good thing,” Simon said quietly, unable to stop himself from smiling. “The sooner you rest up, the sooner you can get back on your feet again.”

  Tristan nodded, his eyes closing in spite of themselves. “The sooner I can kick your ass in the Oratory. Don’t think this changes anything with our sparring. I’m still...still going to...” He fell silent as sleep took him once more.

  This time Simon welcomed it. He leaned back in his old chair, for once not caring about its stiff aluminum bars. Then, for good measure, he leaned forward again and took Tristan’s hand.

  Confident that they had him back. Confident that his eyes would open again in the morning.

  IF ANYONE THOUGHT THAT Simon’s tyrannical protective streak would end when Tristan woke up in the hospital, they were sadly mistaken. With the departure of Argyle, he found himself down one best friend. With his rather anti-social nature, that meant he had just one left. And given that the other had recently defied statistics and been struck by lightning, he wasn’t taking any chances.

  “I said...get the hell out of the way!”

  A group of terrified first-years went scrambling to do as Simon asked as he and Tristan slowly but steadily made their way up the stairs. The rest of the journey from the infirmary back to the dorms had proceeded in a similar fashion. With Simon screaming at everyone in sight, and Tristan casting amused, apologetic glances back at his victims. Even now, Simon found himself completely oblivious as Tristan twisted around and mouthed I’m sorry, he’s nuts, over his shoulder.

  “...still can’t believe the admissions office wouldn’t let you relocate to a room on the first floor,” Simon muttered, glowering darkly up the stairs. “Who the hell is Professor Lathrop anyway to be making those kinds of calls? He’s not a doctor. What does he even teach—gym?”

  “Calculus, actually. I had him last year.” Tristan grimaced again as a pair of second-year cousins went completely invisible the second Simon’s eyes landed on them. “And Dr. Stein didn’t say that I couldn’t walk up the stairs. He said I had to walk up the stairs slowly.”

  “Same difference,” Simon hissed, eyes darting around to challenge anyone who would dare think otherwise. “Sure. Guy just got hit by lightning. Let’s send him up to the third floor.”

  “You’re overreacting,” Tristan panted. But he came to a sudden stop, bending over to put his hands on his knees. “Let’s rest for a second, okay? Just a second.”

  Simon froze immediately, throwing out his arms in a wide circle to ward off any students who might come too close. “Of course!” he gushed sympathetically, keeping his arms firmly in the air. “Take all the time you need.”

  Tristan glanced up and groaned. “Stop that. You look like a drunken traffic cop.”

  “It’s for your own good,” Simon said stiffly, ignoring the request. Then he eyed the remaining flight of stairs and looked down at Tristan speculatively. “You know...I could always just carry you.”

  “Oh, for shit’s sake—”

  “I’m just saying. It’s there if you want it. Open invitation.”

  Tristan’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not a cripple, alright? I’m fine.”

  Simon smiled indulgently. “Of course you are.” In an act of extreme nurturing, he actually patted him on the head before whirling around to yell at a panic-stricken telepath.

  About ten minutes later, they were settling back in Tristan’s dorm. Simon and Isaac had already had a shouting match about the merits of installing a lightning rod outside the window and the shifter had eventually stormed off, leaving the two of them in an abruptly quiet room.

  “You know,” Tristan gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed, “Guilder was thinking about holding one of those Miss Congeniality contests at the end of the year, and I think you should seriously consider submitting your name.”

  Simon ignored this, as he had everything else since they’d left the infirmary, and watched his friend’s slow progression towards the bed with a nervous look on his face. He bit his lip to stop himself from speaking as a worry line creased the center of his forehead.

  Tristan was too tired to notice.

  “I’m serious. Me and a bunch of the other guys would vote for you. If you won, they’d probably give you one of those little crowns.” He flashed Simon a look of mock solemnity. “We all know how much you like those little crowns, and...” He trailed off, as for the first time he realized something might be wrong. “Dude. What’s the matter?”

  Simon snapped out of his momentary trance. “The matter? Nothing—nothing’s the matter. Why would you think that something would be the matter?”

  Tristan smiled fondly at his friend’s frantic speed-talking, and lifted his legs up onto the bed. “Just spit it out. Whatever it is—it can’t be that bad.” Simon stared at him for a moment, then bowed his head. “...it is that bad.”

  Coming from anyone else, that might have been written off as an obvious exaggeration. But coming from Simon, it was enough to make Tristan seriously pause.

  “Did you turn into a wolf again?”

  “No,” Simon shifted anxiously from foot to foot, watching as his friend tried to pay attention—but slipped closer and closer towards the reaches of sleep. “It’s not that. It’s just...”

  Tristan was waiting, but Simon found himself unable to finish the sentence.

  It was too big, wasn’t it? Too much for Tristan to handle right now? You couldn’t lean on a guy after he had just been struck by l
ightning...

  “Well?”

  The air around them tightened with anticipation as Tristan blinked valiantly to keep him in focus. Finally, when it became clear that he was going to have to either speak then or hold his peace until morning, Simon took a step forward with an apologetic wince.

  “How mad would you be if I asked you to walk back down those stairs?”

  Chapter 3

  “OKAY, THIS IS DEFINITELY not what the doctor had in mind when he told me to take it easy...”

  Simon and Tristan battled their way through the busy London foot-traffic, knocked to the side every now and then as they were rammed into by hordes of tunnel-vision tourists. It had been hard enough simply coaxing Tristan out of the dorm room, back down the stairs, and across campus to the parking lot, especially considering that Simon refused to tell him where they were going. Tristan regrouped some, dozing off in the car on the way over, but now that they were in the thick of the London pedestrian scene he looked like he was regretting ever leaving Guilder. He looked exhausted.

  “We’re almost there,” Simon promised, placing a supportive hand on his back. “It’s just over on the next street. You doing okay?”

  Tristan pushed his hair out of his eyes, pulling in quick, shallow breaths. “Oh, yeah. Fantastic.”

  Simon stifled a smile as he guided them across the road and through a narrow alley.

  Like flipping a switch, the sounds of the city shopping center suddenly dimmed and they were standing in the middle of an upper-class residential neighborhood. A picturesque park stretched across the middle of a cobblestoned square, and gilded apartments stretched up to the sky.

  Several times, Tristan shot Simon a questioning look. Each time, Simon said nothing.

  Finally, after they wandered for a minute or two more, Simon pulled them to a sudden stop in front of a set of intimidating-looking bronze doors.

  “Well...this is it.”

  Tristan blinked at the doors, then squinted up towards the top of the building. It seemed to go on forever, stretching high into the clouds. When he finally looked at Simon, his face was blank. “You got an apartment?”