I turn to face the small window on his door. For some reason, I’m suddenly scared to open the door. I want to see him back to normal—back to the way he should be.
All of this is my fault. Had I kept my distance, none of this would have happened. The Moirai wouldn’t be after him. His father wouldn’t have expelled him.
He wouldn’t be fighting for his life.
I swallow hard and push open the door. My heart thuds awkwardly as I move closer, practically tiptoeing to Wade’s bed. He doesn’t look well. Instead of the usual soft wave in his dark hair that brushes over his left eye, his hair is matted against his forehead. The rosy color of his cheeks is practically gone, replaced by an eerie pale white, like all of his blood has somehow hidden itself deep under the surface.
An IV is hooked up to his wrist and a small tube vanishes into one of his nostrils.
When I reach him, tears cloud my vision, and I can’t stop my chin from trembling. For the longest time, I stand there, watching him through the tears and listening to the metronome of his heart monitor as I try to regain some composure.
A small v forms between his eyebrows and I wish like hell I could take the pain away for him.
“Wade, I’m so sorry. I wish there was something—” My words get stuck in my throat and I clamp my mouth shut. Instead, I reach out, taking his hand in mine. His skin is cold and clammy, but there’s no way I’d ever want to let it go.
With my foot, I tug the small hospital chair closer, and I take a seat at his bedside.
It’s almost as if hospitals are portals to a realm where all time slows down. For what seems like days, I sit there, vaguely aware of the ticking of the clock and the beeping of the machines monitoring Wade’s condition.
Every once in a while, someone wanders in, checking on Wade’s vitals. They smile apologetically at me and leave as quickly as they come.
The only saving grace is the fact that Wade seems more relaxed than before. The crease in his forehead has diminished a bit and luckily, he hasn’t had any of his episodes.
I lean forward, resting my head on the edge of the bed. But I no sooner set my forehead against the blanket than I hear the door to the room open.
I glance up and find Mom walking into the room.
“Here’s your backpack, sweetie. It has some essentials in it. Clothes, toothbrush, that sort of thing. I even dropped a few snacks in there in case you get hungry,” she says, shooting me her worried-mom face. She passes the backpack to me and I set it on the floor by my feet.
“Thanks, Mom. I appreciate it,” I say, trying to smile.
Her lips curve upward slightly, and she walks to the other side of Wade’s bed. Placing a hand over his, she looks up at me. “How is he doing?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. It’s been relatively quiet since I got in here. They keep checking his vitals, but he hasn’t really moved or anything.”
“That’s the hardest part, for sure. The waiting,” Mom says.
I nod.
“Are you hungry? Do you want to get a bite to eat in the cafeteria before they close up for the night?” she asks, eyeing me. “We never got to eat our turkey, and I’d be surprised if you ate anything after you left.”
I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Autumn, you need to keep up your strength. Besides, you’re not just eating for you.” She tips her chin toward me and raises her eyebrows.
She’s right, I know she is. But I don’t want to leave his side.
As if sensing my apprehension, Mom says, “How about this… I’ll run down and get us something to eat. You stay here and keep an eye on things. Deal?”
Relief spreads through me and I nod. “Yeah, that would be better.”
She winks at me and without another word, she walks out. Time spreads out again while she’s gone, and I find myself unable to keep my eyes open while I wait.
I drop my head again to the side of the bed, resting my forehead beside our hands.
Focusing on the hospital noises, my body is suddenly drifting…
Once again, I’m sitting on the edge of the dock.
My bare feet splash in the cool water, and I can’t help but feel somewhat happy in the way the water droplets cascade across the surface. They ripple outward, interacting with each other the way we ripple across the lives of those we meet.
Suddenly, the Angel of Death is by my side and I’m once again seven years old.
“Big things are coming your way. You know that, right?” he says to me. His words are soft, spoken the way a kindergarten teacher speaks to her students.
“I suppose,” I say, unsure what response he’s looking for. In my hands is the wooden box he’d given me. For some reason, I can’t stop staring at its unique carvings. “What does this do?”
“There is plenty of time to puzzle on that,” he says, smiling softly.
“That doesn’t help, you know,” I say, frowning.
He chuckles. “Understanding its purpose isn’t all that hard, Autumn,” he says, his voice still soft and deliberate. “You just need to read its inscription and it will tell you everything you need to know.”
I wake up with a jolt.
Beside me, Wade’s forehead is beaded with sweat and his lips have taken on a bluish tinge. I feel absolutely useless. There’s nothing I can do to help him—but I can’t just sit here and wait, either.
Inhaling sharply, I glance down at my open backpack. The box is tilted on its side, half-buried by my sweatshirt. Reaching it, I pull it out, turning it over in my hand.
Maybe Mom was right about the sigils. I wish I’d had more time to look into it. Along the edges, there are markings that look like words from some sort of long-lost language. I continue to turn it over, eyeing it from every angle.
If the inscription is the key…
How in the hell do I figure out how to read the damn thing?
Chapter 19
Merry Christmas
The etchings on the outside of the box make absolutely no sense in my brain. But in a strange way, the longer I stare at them, the more they remind me of a combination of hieroglyphics and modern-day Chinese. Beyond that, it’s like no kind of writing I’ve ever seen. Yet, my mom seems to think that’s what it is. Assuming she’s right, and assuming the dream was real, I need to learn what this means. Fast.
If I could just understand why the Angel of Death gave me the box, or hell, wiped my memory, maybe things would start to make sense. I wish Wade was better so he could make his dad come to us, since the Angel of Death clearly doesn’t answer to me at all. Of course, that’s only one of the many reasons I wish Wade was better.
Setting the box aside, I lean forward and pick up Wade’s hand. His palm is cool and almost clammy, but as soon as our skin touches, he sighs. It’s as if he’s somehow aware of my touch and it comforts him. At the very least, it lightens my heart to know that even in this state, even in whatever pain he must be in, I bring him a little bit of peace. I only wish this wasn’t all my fault.
“You should have stayed away from me,” I whisper, stroking the edge of his thumb with my pointer finger. As much as I knew it—as much as he knew it—we just couldn’t seem to do the safe thing.
Wade groans, arching his back slightly.
I run my hand across his forearm, but his face crumples and his head tips backward. He practically buries the top of his head in the pillow as his torso lifts off the bed. Suddenly, the monitor with his heart rate shows a sharp spike and the rest of the machines all around us spring to life.
Still holding his hand, I kick my chair back, letting it skid across the tile floor. Before I can make any other moves, two nurses rush in from the hallway.
“Take a step back, please,” one of them says, sliding between me and the bed. Her arm is forceful as she practically knocks me back.
I clutch at the edge of the deep window well, staring in horror as the two of them hover over Wade. The second nurse rotates away from him, turning to the readouts
from the heart machine and checking them over.
The next thing I know, Doctor Lockstad hurries in. She marches straight to Wade, but there’s no hint of panic in her face at all. It’s as if, at this point, she’s used to whatever this is. In some small way, it takes a bit of the edge off my own panic. Her eyes narrow as she pulls out a small pen light and lifts his eyelids, shining the light in his eyes with a quick flick of her wrist.
“He needs his next round of steroids and some sedation. Make sure his fluid intake is increased as well,” she says to the nurse who took my place at the bedside.
“On it,” she says, nodding to the doctor and pivoting to one of the plastic bin units beside the bed. She pulls out a number of medical supplies, then exits the room quickly. When she comes back, she has a couple of small vials in her hand.
Dr. Lockstad slowly checks over Wade’s vitals as he flails hard against her. “Hang tight here, Wade. It’ll be all over soon,” she says, her voice calm and steady.
It doesn’t seem like he hears her at all. He continues to arch his back, rocking from side to side as if fighting an imaginary beast. Then, one of his arms flies up to the mark on his chest. He claws at his hospital gown, tugging at it until the gown releases slightly, revealing angry red lines surrounding the mark. The black webbing is etched deeper into his skin, like a poison trying to infect the rest of his body.
The nurse who had been checking the machine readouts grabs his arms, trying to keep them down.
“Where are we at with the restraints?” Dr. Lockstad asks, her forehead now a cluster of concern.
“I’m sorry. The ward has been so crazy today. You know how it is on Christmas. I’ll go get them now,” the nurse responds.
As she disappears down the hall, I step up, grabbing onto Wade’s wrists and holding them so he can’t hurt himself. My thoughts are a tangled mess, but I can’t help but be surprised by the single word. “Restraints? Are you sure that’s necessary? He’s been so quiet up until now,” I say, struggling to keep his arms down.
The nurse hands the doctor a needle.
“Just until we can get these episodes under control,” Dr. Lockstad says, injecting the medication into Wade’s IV. The nurse hands her a second injection and she goes through the motion all over again.
It takes a few minutes for whatever they gave him to work, but I can tell the instant it does. The rigidity of his muscles relaxes and the fight left in his arms dwindles.
“It’s okay, Wade. We’re here,” I whisper, removing my right hand to run it across his cheek. “I’m here.”
He sighs, his forehead relaxing slightly.
“He knows you’re here,” Dr. Lockstad says, her lips turning up slightly.
“I wish I could do more,” I say, refusing to divert my gaze from his face.
How could we have come this far? This morning he was fine. More than fine, he was perfect. And I was just about to tell him about the pregnancy…
I’d give anything to be back at that point. I wish I had told him.
The nurse who left to find restraints returns, holding them up for all to see. “Found some down on the third floor.”
“See, he’s calmed down now. Does he really need those?” I ask, wishing I could throw them in the trash.
“It’s for his own safety. If he strains himself too much or claws at his skin before we can make it in here…” Dr. Lockstad begins, her voice trailing off.
“I’m not going anywhere. If that’s all it is, I’ll be here to keep him from harming himself,” I say, pleading with her with my eyes. “It’s the least I can do.”
Dr. Lockstad shifts her gaze from me, to Wade, then back again. She sighs. “All right. If you think you can handle this task, we’ll give it a try.”
I tip my head and exhale in relief. “Thank you.”
“But if it gets to be too much…” Dr. Lockstad warns.
I nod. “Then I know what comes next.”
She smiles warily at me but dips her chin.
The nurse’s arms drop to her side, and she walks over to one of the cupboards on her right. “I’ll place them in here, just in case.”
The doctor nods at her but turns back to Wade. She checks him over once more, running through what looks like a well-worn sequence of checkpoints. As he relaxes back into a quiet state, I pull my hands from his arms and stand up straighter. My fingertips trace his arm, floating back to his hand.
“You will not believe how long the lines were down there. I had to fight off an old lady for the last bit of turkey….” Mom says, entering the room with a tray stacked high with an assortment of food and drinks. As soon as she takes in the scene, her eyes widen and she says, “What’s happened?”
I shake my head, holding back tears. Now that the danger has passed, the emotions swelling from the day’s events are ready to sweep me away. I don’t know how much more I can take.
“Just a little episode. We should be good for a while now,” Dr. Lockstad says, catching the eye of the nurses. With a quick head tilt toward the door, they excuse themselves and walk out. “Looks like you have some dinner plans. I’ll let the two of you relax a bit.” She pats my mom on the shoulder as she walks by.
“Thank you, Dr. Lockstad,” Mom says, but her eyes never leave me. When the door closes behind them, Mom asks, “Are you okay?”
I exhale a jagged breath, my eyes straying over to Wade. “Yeah, it was just…intense. He’s really fighting against whatever this is. I don’t know what to do. Or how to help him.”
“Was the situation with Dominic a bust?” Mom says, making her way to me.
“I don’t know, to be honest,” I say, shaking my head. I don’t know how much to tell her without freaking her out. “It was weird.”
Mom pulls a small fold-out table from a cubby in the wall and tips her chin. “Wanna help with this? Then tell me all about it.”
Doing as she asks, I walk over to the small table, lifting the tabletop up and snapping it into place. She sets the tray down and starts divvying up the items. “Well, it’s not quite the Christmas Eve dinner I had in mind, that’s for sure,” she says, placing the tray on the floor.
“That makes two of us.” I smile absently, shooting another glance at Wade.
Whatever fight was left in him has gone and he’s sunk back into the bed. I walk up to him, running the back of my hand across his jawline. I pull up the fabric from his hospital gown, then walk to my chair and tug it closer to the table. Mom grabs a second chair from across the room and does the same.
“Try the turkey. Hopefully it was worth the effort,” Mom says, clearly trying to keep things light.
Despite her best efforts, I just can’t seem to muster much enthusiasm for food. I push my plastic fork around the plate as I stare at the gelatinous potatoes and gravy.
“So, tell me, what happened with Dominic?” Mom asks, taking a bite of her turkey and making a face. She sets her fork down and opens a small plastic bag with cornbread inside.
I lean back in my chair, still a little apprehensive to be talking openly about any of this. After all these years, it’s hard to get past her previous aversion to anything in this supernatural world.
As if sensing my trepidation, she says, “I won’t bite. I promise.” She makes an x across her heart with her index finger.
I smile feebly, but after a brief pause, I say, “Dominic believes I’m a sin-eater.”
Her eyes widen and it’s clear instantly—the word means something to her.
Rather than having her interject just yet, I continue, “The only problem is, if I act on this idea, Abigail thinks I would be putting the baby in danger.” I poke at the green beans on the divided plate.
Mom’s eyebrows pucker in the middle and she leans forward. “And this is meant to help Wade somehow?”
I shake my head and shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know. It was all mixed up in messages about the Moirai’s curse. He seemed to think it was the key to ending it all. But the curse isn’t even what I’
m worried most about right now. Obviously.”
“Hmmm,” she says, tapping at the table with her fingertips.
“What is it?” I ask, narrowing my gaze.
Her hazel eyes flash with intensity. “Maybe nothing.”
“No, you can’t do that. Spill it,” I say, lowering my eyebrows.
She stands up, walking over to Wade’s bedside. With her right hand, she pulls back the fabric of his hospital gown. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this. You said it was a mark of expulsion, right?”
I nod. “That’s what the Angel of Death said.”
Her lips press into a thin line and she shakes her head. “It’s just not sitting right with me.”
“Why?” I ask, setting my fork down.
She inhales slowly. “I don’t know of any parent who would actively put their child in harm’s way. Not any decent one, anyhow.”
“I don’t think he had a choice,” I mutter. “He was pretty clear that necromancers and Angels of Death were unmixy things.”
“Hmmm,” she repeats, her eyes distant.
Her questions and thought process spark a new hope inside of me. What if the Angel of Death saw this coming? Whatever this is. And if she’s right…maybe that means his father put in a safeguard. Something that might help me save Wade after all.
“So, what are you thinking then?” I ask.
She walks back to me, sitting down in her chair. “I’m not sure yet. But I’ll do some digging.”
Exhaling slowly, I nod. As much as I hope his father wouldn’t do this to hurt Wade, I also know what it looks like. If appearances tell the whole story, it would look like his father’s mark is the cause of all of this. But if it is, something doesn’t add up… Why would he give me that box?
“Mom, before all this happened…you mentioned the box looked like it had writing on it. Do you know how I could find out what it says?” I ask.
“I know a few people who can still read the old languages. I could ask around,” she says, eyeing me carefully. “Do you know where it is?”
The Windhaven Witches Omnibus Edition : Complete Paranormal Suspense Series, Books 1-4 Page 78