by Ana Mardoll
I look up, choking, to seek her face in the mist, my eyes widening with realization. As my gaze meets hers, I well up with burning tears that have nothing to do with my emotions and everything to do with the chemical storm assaulting my body. Her face. That expression. No wonder she looked so familiar to me. It's the expression worn by my fellow Nightshades, the calm broken acceptance of fatality that I wore as a hundred men were sent to me one by one. The little girl stands there quietly, watching with sadly resigned eyes as poisonous black smoke surges forward to wrap around me.
"Clarent! Stay back!" My intended warning is a garbled slur in my ears. I stumble backwards away from the girl, hands flailing behind me in search of the car. But already I've taken several deep breaths of the polluted air and my vision is blurring. My limbs feel heavy and unresponsive, and I can't seem to pick my feet up from the ground. The oily smoke snakes out toward me, like a predator sensing wounded prey, carrying the ugly stench of sulfur, soot, and decay. The smell is like a dying city.
My foot stumbles against pavement and I feel myself falling, though I can no longer see for the burning tears in my eyes. I hit the ground hard, the side of my face slapping into rough concrete. At the force of the impact, my vision clears and I can see her sorrowful dark eyes trained on me. A pang of sympathy shoots through my heart at the sight of her numb grief and I grit my teeth against the chemical burn, determined not to let the pain show on my face. Instead I make my best attempt at a reassuring smile, knowing that she'll remember this moment as I remember all of my own victims. I won't give her more nightmares if I can help it.
"Rose!" Clarent's worried shout pierces my murky consciousness, and I can hear his feet pounding against the pavement as he races around the side of the car.
No, I think. You need to run. But my lips can't form the words, and even my thoughts feel blurry now. I can sense him kneeling over me, checking my thready pulse with his cool fingers, pulling back my eyelids, moving on instinct. There's a brief surge of relief when I realize that he's not hurt by the deadly smoke that envelops us; he is immune to poison after all.
I want to tell him that I'm sorry, to say that I didn't mean to die on the day we met. This was my fault for being careless and stupid, when I should have driven us away at the first sign of fog. I don't want him to blame himself or to shoulder guilt for something that wasn't his fault. I wish I could tell him that I should have kissed him. I want him to take care of Lavender for me, and to say goodbye to Celia and Athena and Mina and Jing. That I can't say these things to him hurts more than the pain, which has started to ebb away into a sleepy numbness.
He straightens from his stooping position and strides towards the girl. She is motionless as a stone, her dark eyes still locked on my face. They aren't far from me, but when he speaks I hear the sounds as if from a great distance, an incomprehensible babble to my muddled brain. She looks up sharply at him, taking in with sudden shock his close proximity. I wonder how long it has been since anyone has been able to stand so near to her. She doesn't move her head or speak to him, doesn't acknowledge his words in any way, but her silence is helpless; the smoke that billows out of her does not diminish, and I know in my heart that she can't control her power any more than I can mine.
What will Clarent do to her? Icy fear trails down my spine. I know I'm about to die and that she's a danger to others, but I don't want her harmed. I can't imagine how Celia will be able to handle her, whether they can put Joel in some kind of containment suit long enough for him to reach her. I don't even know if he can do anything to help her, but surely there's something they can try. I've never heard of an altered emerging this strong, leaking lethal fumes that kill everyone who comes near; but Clarent can approach her safely and maybe they can use that. The burning in my throat and the stream of blood I feel running from my ear tell me that I'm as good as dead, but maybe they can save her.
He reaches out to her then, and I tense in expectation of a blow. But no, he simply places his broad hands on her frail shoulders. It doesn't seem to hurt her; she stares up at him in surprise but no fear. He concentrates on her face, his eyes burning with intense focus and his lips moving in a soft murmur; I can't make out his words for the ringing in my ears.
Then she cries out. I feel my heart twist in my chest. I want to open my mouth to cry out with her, but my muscles feel frozen solid. What is he doing to her? She's still standing, looking up at him, the expression on her face one of shock, not pain. And I think I must be hallucinating, because the dark smoke that fills the air around us seems to be drawing slowly back into her, like bathwater being sucked down a drain. What on earth is happening?
"Clarent." I manage to force open my mouth to croak out his name before pausing in puzzlement at the fact that I can speak at all. I pump my jaw experimentally twice, and though the movement is sheer agony the muscles are no longer locked in place. My throat feels like sandpaper, but the burning is lessening; though tears still well in my aching eyes and the raw air stings painfully, my vision is clearer. "Clarent?"
The air whirls angrily around us, faster and faster. Smoke continues to seep out of the air and into her body. The white fog thickens, crackling with magical electricity. I wonder if I should roll under the car in a bid for shelter; I'm shaky and weak and on the verge of unconsciousness, but I might be able to do this one small thing. Yet I can't tear my eyes away from the silver man and the little girl standing in the eye of this magical storm.
There is a sudden release in the air: an explosion without sound or light. Wild electricity sweeps over me, frizzing my hair and making my teeth ache with the power of the blast. In a bright flash of scalding yellow sunlight, the mist and the last of the black smoke disappears, the dome above us dissipating in the space of a heartbeat. The parking lot is back to normal, the sun above us and the noise of the street behind us. Only the addition of a frail dark-haired girl with puzzled eyes indicates that the mist was ever there.
I feel blood on my face and a lingering burn in my throat. I feel dead, but the pain is proof that I'm still alive.
A sandy-blond head appears in the air above mine. His professionally-colored and perfectly-gelled hair frames a face that manages to look both deliciously desirable and appallingly arrogant at the same time. His skin is tanned to a golden bronze, his jaw dusted with a smattering of overnight stubble. It's a face I want to caress and slap at the same time, the sort of face whose owner knows and revels in the passionate and contradictory impulses he provokes.
At least he isn't grinning his usual cocky swaggering smile at me; instead, Elric's beautiful face is twisted in furious irritation. "What the fuck, Rose?" His bright golden voice is pure scorn. "You'd better not die on my doorstep. I hate corpses and you know it. Who're these kids and why the fuck didn't you call first? Dammit, Rose, you're bleeding on my fucking parking lot. Where is your cellphone? Jeezus!"
He stoops over me and his hands pat perfunctorily at my pockets, looking for my phone. I want to croak out Celia's name, but my throat burns too much to make the effort. Now that Clarent and the little girl are safe, the adrenaline pounding through my system settles down and the pain catches up with me, dragging me into the comfort of darkness.
I slip into the embrace of unconsciousness as Clarent approaches us, concern in his gray eyes and a quiet little girl holding his strong hand.
Chapter 13
When I open my eyes, I'm lying somewhere cool and comfortable. The room around me is dimly lit by shafts of bright afternoon sunlight peeking in through closed blinds. The light stings my aching eyes, but otherwise my vision is blessedly clear again.
I'm lying on a small bed; a camping cot, by the feel of the frame beneath me. A shower curtain hangs loosely in the air nearby, affixed to the ceiling in a way that causes my muddled brain to supply the word 'hospital' even though the rest of the room feels like a small house instead of a public building. I attempt to sit up but a dark face appears over me, calm and stern, and I feel strong hands pressing me gently bac
k down. It's Worth, I realize, taking in the serious eyes beneath a wild mop of frizzy hair.
Worth is every inch of six feet tall, so gaunt and skinny that you'd think a stiff breeze would knock ner over. Yet ner hands are like iron holding me down, and ner expression brooks no refusal. "No, child," nee says firmly, "you're not nearly recovered enough to move around yet. Rest and be still. Yes, children, you can stroke her hair now."
Nee moves away from my cot and bustles out of the room, and ner last remark makes no sense for a moment. Then I feel cool metal tentatively smoothing the hair back from my brow, the touch like a balm to my throbbing head. Belatedly I smell subtle hints of lavender and honey, and then Lavender's hand joins Clarent's as she gently touches my face.
"Lavs? Clarent?" I tilt my head back to order to see them, fighting a fresh wash of vertigo. A relieved smile spreads across my face and my voice sounds far away, strangely dreamy to my ears.
"Rose?" Clarent's expression is pained and worried, though I can see he's trying not to show it. "Do you hurt?"
Lavender is more to the point. "Dammit, Ravs, you scared me!" Her hand cups my cheek, her fingers touching my throat as if she could heal the damage with just her touch.
"I don't feel hurt," I murmur. I feel warm and safe and sleepy, with a light floating sensation in my limbs. "I'm sorry I scared you. Your fingers feel so nice." My voice is a hoarse whisper but there's no pain.
I look down at myself and realize with numb detachment that there's a needle in my arm. Long tubing connects it to a nearby bag of liquid, hanging from what looks like a coat rack. The bag of medicine is presumably the source of the lovely warm sensation that stirs through my veins. I feel a surge of hazy gratitude that Worth would waste ner precious medical supplies on me, and that Clarent and Lavender would sit vigil while I was unconscious. I want to curl up in their arms and sleep for a day, to let someone else worry about mist portals and poisonous children.
Children! My eyes, which had closed, flutter open in fresh alarm. "The girl? Is she okay?"
"She's fine," Clarent soothes quickly, his cool fingers still stroking my brow.
"Celia took her to the kitchen for some food," Lavender adds with a sigh, her lips twisting. She doesn't say any more, but I know she's as upset as I was over the neglect of the little girl.
"Clarent—you saved her, didn't you?" I ask softly, my eyes drifting shut again. "You made her into a normal human, like Athena said?"
"He saved both of you," Lavender jumps in, the soft scent of her flaring in the air around us. "You were dying and he saved you, Rose."
I look up at them both, smiling at her agitation on my behalf and taking in his soft gaze. They look so lovely sitting there together, touching me.
"Rose—" he says softly, but another voice interrupts us.
"If you're going to thank someone while you're drugged into a state of gushy gratitude, it really ought to be yours truly."
The sulky tone comes from the foot of my cot, and I lift my head to see Elric sitting in a folding chair impatiently tapping his foot against the carpet. He's still shirtless, even though I suspect he could have found something to wear since my collapse this morning. His tanned stomach muscles are casually on display, and his stonewashed jeans are quite deliberately worn low enough to display the thick Calvin Klein elastic band on his underwear. He's draped in his chair in an obvious pose and, infuriatingly, is no less desirable for his artifice.
"I was the one who called Celia, bundled you all into my car, and got you to Worth before you kicked off to the choir invisible. Your boy here couldn't figure out a cellphone if your life depended on it." He waits a measured beat to make sure we've all caught his wit. "And it did."
"Most of us come out not knowing cellphones, Elric," Lavender snaps at him.
I turn my head back to Clarent, happy to have someone other than Elric to gaze at. "Don't worry. We'll teach you."
He smiles at me, but Elric isn't done snarking yet. "Add it to the list, Rose; I'm sure you two will be teaching him a lot of things." Lavs shoots him a withering look but he just grins at her. "Hey, I'm happy for you guys! I've been saying for months now that the whole Poison Ivy look works for you two. Almost enough to tempt me," he adds, grinning provocatively.
Clarent thins his lips slightly, and I get the strong impression that the two men haven't gotten along swimmingly while I've been unconscious. "Generous," he murmurs, his warm voice deepening.
I have to hide a smile at how perfectly Elric has managed to annoy them both. Our golden vampire is a brat, but he's not usually quite this bad; he must have been pretty anxious if he's so determined to make everyone miserable. "You were that worried about me, huh?" I ask weakly. "Elric, thank you for calling Celia. I'm sorry you had to wait for me to come around. Do you need to leave?"
Elric doesn't look fazed in the slightest by either the annoyance or the courtesy on offer. He stretches in his chair and leans his head back against his crossed arms, looking terribly smug. "There are at least a dozen places I need to be, Rose, least of all in Worth's house babysitting a bunch of invalids, but I was told to stay here and watch Kieran. Your boy and girl there only had eyes for you; Celia had the orphan to deal with; and Worth's been bouncing back and forth between the three of you, digging out ner supplies, cooking up a storm, and making sure the little moppet doesn't kill herself by eating anything too rich before she's ready."
I blink at him, working slowly through his litany of cheerful complaints. "Watch Kieran? Why, what's wrong with Kieran?"
A thick sound, more growl than voice, issues from the other side of the shower curtain. "What is currently wrong with me is that you four won't shut up."
I tilt my head at the noise, but I can't see anything through the opaque barrier that hangs between us. "Kieran?" I try sitting up again and actually manage a vertical position this time, although my vision spins sickeningly for a moment.
Clarent is instantly at my elbow, arms outstretched to catch me if I fall; thankfully, he doesn't try to restrain me. Lavender frowns, looking alarmed at my sudden movements. "Rose, are you sure you should be sitting up? Worth said the medicine would make you woozy."
"It does," I murmur, shaking my head slowly. "Clarent, give me your arm?" I hop up from my cot, pitching forward slightly as Clarent's arms catch and steady me. Shuffling towards the curtain, trusting him to keep me from falling, I reach out to push away the flimsy material. "Are you ill? Oh, Kieran!"
Kieran is a wild boar of a man. He's only a few inches taller than me, but he bristles with muscle from head to toe. Athena says he's a former gladiator and insists on calling him 'Ares', to his endless annoyance. I've seen him effortlessly subdue bigger men than himself without breaking a sweat. Now he looks like he's gone ten rounds with an enraged lion and lost. A mess of blood and bandages, he lacks even the energy to give more than a cursory glance at my intrusion.
I gasp and instantly feel Clarent's arms tighten reassuringly around me. "Worth says he'll be all right," he murmurs, looking understandably unsure. Out of the corner of my eye I see Lavender bite her lip, but she says nothing; any comfort we might offer Kieran would sound hollow right now.
"Kieran! What happened?" I breathe. There's another folding chair on this side of the curtain and I stumble to it, letting Clarent guide me. "What did this to you?" Dark blood is matted in his trim beard and on his shredded clothes. His visible skin is deathly pale from blood loss. Huge claw marks rake his arms and legs, the larger cuts sewn shut with widely-spaced stitches and covered with bandages that are thoroughly blood-soaked.
The wounded man growls at me, closing his eyes in annoyance. "Climbed into the lion habitat at the zoo," he mocks in a low grumble. "Wanted to teach them a lesson for their attitude. Would have had the king, but turns out they don't fight fair: all his girls jumped me. Now go back to bed and be quiet, Rosebud."
"It's Rose," Lavender reminds him, her voice even.
"Same difference," he returns in an equally chilly tone, his ey
es sweeping pointedly over my pink hair and shoulder brand. I feel an unexpected surge of sympathy for Athena, along with a strong suspicion that Kieran may have earned his unwelcome nickname by provoking her ire at some point.
"He's just embarrassed that another altered could beat him up so badly, the poor darling," Elric interjects in a sardonic drawl, earning a nasty scowl from Kieran. "Oh, they're going to find out eventually, princess," he smirks, utterly unfazed by the glare. "You know Celia will have to tell everyone."
"Tell us what?" I demand, my voice tight as a fresh wave of dizziness sweeps over me. Clarent reaches out his hands to steady me by the shoulders, his gesture faintly reminiscent of the way he touched the little girl earlier.
I realize with a sudden start that we now know he can remove fae magic from people. He's tried it and it worked; no one died from being drained as Athena had worried they might. He could alter me back at any time, drawing the poison out of me forever. I could kiss him. I could kiss Lavender. Hell, I could kiss Elric; it would eternally confirm my terrible taste and poor life choices if I did, but I could do it safely and enjoy myself.
A blush creeps into my cheeks at the thought of all this kissing, and Elric smirks at my reaction to Clarent's touch. "Celia would tell you, the lot of you, the three of you together," he teases mercilessly, "that dangerous shit is coming out of the portals and you should run the next time you see fog."
"That's not actually what I said, Elric." I turn to see Celia enter the room, my head swimming at the sudden movement. She stands in the doorway to our 'hospital room', one arm wrapped around the little girl, while Worth peers at me from over Celia's shoulder.
"Child, what are you doing out of bed?" Clicking ner tongue in exasperation, Worth bustles over to me. Strong wiry fingers check my pulse and examine the needle in my arm; after a moment, nee pinches the tubing closed and gently works the needle out of me. "If you're well enough to stumble around, you're well enough to do without painkillers," nee declares, shaking ner head at us.