“Overprotective?” Laura teased, leaning back. Their tea mugs were empty, and she had an idea. “Do you want to go to my room for a moment?”
“Sorry?” Nathaniel said in shock. She couldn't possibly be as forward as she was coming off.
“Only that I have something a bit stronger than tea,” she said. “If you are game.”
He grinned. “I am game. Not for much, though. Technically on duty and all.”
“You're lucky,” Laura said as they rose. “I'm on duty with Devon twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. There is no off time, no break. The way the two of you do it, it makes it seem like having two Maestros is ideal.”
“It can be that,” Nathaniel answered. “Although, there are plenty of times where it's Desmond and I, and we still can't handle it.”
“It must be hard,” Laura said and touched his arm. “You're strong.”
“I…” He turned to meet her eyes and felt a shiver go down his spine. She had such beautiful eyes – so deep and soulful. They were locked in their gaze for a long moment, people swirling past them. “Thank you.”
“There's no sugarcoating here,” she said. “I tell it like it is, and I ask for what I want.”
It was the same kind of strength that attracted him to Eliza. A strong woman who knew where her heart and mind were was more attractive than any supermodel. It didn't help that Laura looked like a siren on top of her strength.
He was in trouble, and he knew it.
“Shall we uh…get the things? From your room?”
“Sure,” she said, with a little smile. “This way.”
***
Meanwhile, walking toward the city center, Sienna had Devon's arm in a similar style. It was her first time out in town without her Maestros, and she clung to Devon's arm as the people swirled around her.
“It's so busy,” she said as they walked.
“Well, you probably don't usually come out in the evenings,” he replied.
“No,” she said. “Never. Usually, just in the mornings for an item or a walk.”
“After sunset is the most fun,” he answered, slipping an arm around her waist for easier navigation through the crowds.
She copied his position, noticing that her hip bone fit perfectly into his side. She had never felt like this – so safe, so right.
“Oh…” Devon moved her hand gently, shifting it lower on his waist so that she was touching his hip bone. She looked up at him in confusion, having felt something bulge against his side – hard metal on the right side that jabbed at her fingers.
“What?”
“Just there,” he said, his face casual. But Sienna was smarter than that, even if she couldn't find the words. She put her hand back where it had been, tracing the hard, metal circle and then the light tubing that went from the bolt up to his chest. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes.
“You have a port,” she said in surprise.
He took a deep breath, trying to smile. “It's just temporary.”
“They don't put ports in temporarily,” she replied, trying to keep her voice low. “I know that.”
“There's no hiding anything from you, is there?” he asked, looking around. They were passing a park, dark and quiet as the citizens kept to the outside. The streets were noisy, but Devon could see a bench inside by the river that was secluded. “Come with me.”
She didn't question it, taking his hand as they walked through the grass. Once they were behind the trees, he sat. She followed suit, her eyes wide with questions.
“Why?” she asked.
He didn't meet her eyes. “Because I'm on a constant drip of Sarcodone.”
The name of the drug hit Sienna like a rock. She knew he was sick. She knew that he needed regular treatment, and she suspected she knew what it was.
But to feel the tube feeding constantly into his heart, keeping it beating – to know that he was IV'd constantly to battle the mutated cells in his body – was a whole other ball game.
A hundred years ago, Devon would be dead within three days. Today, she knew they could do much more for him. He'd have years, decades maybe, and they could manage it so he felt no ill effects; no pain as long as he lived. If he was without the drugs for too long, it would all come rushing back to him.
It was a fake life – a chemical life. He wouldn't feel his insides failing, his organs committing suicide, his heart faltering. He would feel none of it until the moment it was too late. They weren't curing him, just as they couldn't cure her.
Sienna had never felt so connected to anyone in her whole life. She lay her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed. She reached out for his hand, and he took it, using his other arm to stroke his head.
“It's okay,” he said. “You're the one with the short-end of the stick. I feel fine most of the time.”
“You shouldn't be going on quests like you do,” she said. “You could–”
“I know,” he answered, cutting her off. “But Laura and I made a pact. We would do as many as we possibly could and try to live a normal life.”
“That's why it's closed off to the Jurors,” she said. “They would pull you off quests for sure.”
“Probably,” he said with a shrug. “Which is silly because I'm just as capable as anyone else until the moment that I'm not.”
“Is that how it will be?” she tried to verify. Having spent her life in the medical system, she was strangely jaded by such talk.
“Likely,” he answered. “Hopefully, it's good timing.”
“I'm sorry,” she said, and he kissed the top of her head.
“Hey, we wouldn't have met otherwise,” he replied. She pulled her head away to meet his eyes, and she noticed their faces were inches apart.
She had never kissed anyone before; never even thought about it. She knew that her Maestros were not obedient of the rules, but she hadn't thought that life was going to be hers.
Most days, she didn’t even think beyond the next day, let alone how she was going to navigate the rest of the life she was given.
The kiss was everything she hoped it would be: short, sweet, and tingling. She pulled back after just a moment, terrified and yet excited.
Devon's eyes sparkled. “Is that all right?” he asked. She nodded wordlessly. “Have you done this before?”
She shook her head.
“Have you?”
“No, actually,” he said. “Believe it or not. There's just never been someone I felt connected to.”
“Connected,” she repeated, squeezing his hand. “Yes, that is the word.”
“The two of us against the galaxy,” he said. “They don't know what they are up against.”
“Mmm.” She closed her eyes, snuggling into him. The wind was cold, and she knew this was not appropriate. But just for one moment, she wanted to share her reality with someone who understood what it was like to fight on the most basic level. “Yes.”
“Come on,” Devon said, and pulled her up after a moment. “The pool table awaits.”
She giggled, willing to follow him anywhere. She had felt so alone, so out of step with her peers. But now that she found Devon, she felt like she could conquer anything, including a game she had no idea how to play.
Chapter 8
“All Juror members to the hangar. Repeat, all available Juror members to the hangar.”
Desmond and Mariah both dropped the books they were holding. The building announcement system rarely got used, if ever. And if it was used, it was usually for an all-building event that had been preplanned.
They had never, in all of Desmond's time, used it for an emergency broadcast. They were witches, able to predict and premeditate almost anything.
He grabbed her hand, feeling her panic as they came out of the rare books' section and tore down the hall. Desmond could see other Juror members taking up the call as well. The red warning lights flashed, indicating that they should follow them to the area of trouble.
“What's happening?” he asked Thomas, who was soon in step beside them. Mariah was keeping pace well, but he was worried that one misstep would send her flying. There were Tiros standing all around in shock as the Jurors ran, and Maestros not on the Jurors trying to figure out what they should be doing.
“I don't know,” Thomas said. Desmond usually resented his part-time position with the Jurors. He thought that he and Mariah received it simply by default because they were Maestros of a certain age, and it was expected.
Now, he was glad not to be left out of this chaos.
They had to put their hand prints into the scanner by the hangar – which was on lockdown – to gain access. The warning lights were flashing, and the alarm had begun to sound.
Desmond could only imagine what kind of threat was awaiting them inside. The school had never been attacked on a mass level; witches were always respected for their role in the galaxy. There had been a few rebels here and there, but nothing that couldn't be handled by one or two Maestros. In all his years, he had never seen the hangar locked down.
Inside, he couldn't believe his eyes. Sitting in the middle of the hangar, looking beat up but solid, was the Ronan.
Nearly twenty-two years ago, the Ronan had been involved in one of the biggest quests the Academy had ever taken on. Loaded with fourteen teams of Tiros and their Maestros, they had taken off for an entire solar system that was on the verge of destruction. A massive shift in atmosphere had meant the entire system was due to explode, and they were to gather as many survivors as they could.
The ship had made it only a few miles inside the perimeter when the solar system collapsed in on itself. The entire solar system had no survivors. Pieces of the Ronan had been found floating for years, verifying that those on board were gone. It had been the biggest tragedy to hit the Academy in centuries.
Desmond had felt the loss more than the others because his Maestro, Dorian, had been on board. Even fifteen years removed from him, he remembered the moment he knew his Maestro was dead.
He had been in the library with Mariah, just as he was today. It felt like a black hole had opened up in his heart that day, bringing him to his knees.
The feelings came rushing back as he stopped dead, staring at it.
“Desmond?” Mariah asked, confused. Without saying a word, he projected the image into her mind. Her jaw dropped. “How is that possible? Are you sure?”
“I doubt my own eyes,” he said as the witch in charge of the hangar approached. Taylor was barely a Maestro himself, and his Tiro beside him was a child. They looked shocked, indicating the sight in front of them.
“What happened?” Thomas demanded. “How is this here?”
“Maestro,” Taylor said, bowing his head, “I don't know. Vevo and I had our backs to the door, marking a parcel for delivery, and when we turned back, it was suddenly there.”
“It flew in without you hearing it?” Thomas asked in disbelief.
“No,” Taylor said. “The doors were closed. We only had our backs turned for one moment, nothing more. There is no way any ship, especially one that size, could suddenly appear. This is impossible.”
“Is it real?” Mariah asked. Desmond scanned the ship as thoroughly as he could. After Dorian had died, he had studied the Ronan extensively. He had learned every detail, every spec that he could, in the hope of finding some way that they could still be alive. Maybe there had been a small escape hatch, a transporter that could have been left intact – something. But the deeper he looked, the more dead-ends he found.
He had come to terms with the fact that his Maestro had been killed and he didn't get a chance to say goodbye.
“It's real,” he said, his voice shaking. “At least, from what I can see. No one could imitate that well.”
“Forget imitation,” Thomas said. “How is it possible that a ship could just appear like this? Doors closed, no one noticed?”
“Sir,” Taylor said, his voice suddenly shaking, “the doors are opening.”
There wasn't a Maestro in the room who didn't know what happened to the Ronan. They had all mourned the loss of so many souls on board who had left them in a blink of an eye. The tragedy had left everyone shaking, and it seemed that they all had a personal connection to the grief that was felt. So many had been promising leaders and pillars of the community. So many of the Tiros had been destined for greatness.
Of course, witches weren't immortal. They had lengthened lifespans, but they did pass away eventually. Becoming one with Nature, death was peaceful – a send-off into the magic that flooded their bodies. However, a life cut short and so unexpected was tragic – so much unrealized potential just gone.
“No one move!” Thomas cried out to the room, standing there in shock. “We don't know what we are dealing with! Arm up!”
The witches flicked their hands, gathering their magic as the door hit the ground. They stood in a defensive position, their knees bent and their shoulders flexed. They were ready for whatever was about to walk down the plank.
“Be on your guard! Be ready with the medical supplies! Just get them onto the ship!” came a voice from the Ronan.
Desmond heard the familiar voice, and his head nearly stopped. His knees went weak, and he dropped Mariah's arm as he took a step forward.
The footsteps coming down the platform took far too long. He stood, memorized, as first the white pants came into view, the black boots shining, and the black shirt, indicating a Maestro of high rank emerged.
And there, standing at the top of the platform, was Dorian.
“Maestro?” Desmond said, his voice quiet.
Dorian's brow furrowed. “Desmond?” he asked, looking around in confusion. “How are we…Aren't we…?”
The others rushed in behind him, ready to save lives. In uniforms that were years out of date, looking just as alive as the day they left, was the team that had left with such promise. The team that had died on the edge of the solar system with no chance at surviving.
“How is this possible?” Dorian asked, taking another step down. “Desmond?”
“I don't know,” Desmond answered, taking a step forward.
“You look…older…much older. Where am I?” Dorian's voice faltered, but Desmond didn't care.
He rushed forward, taking his old Maestro in a hug. “You're at the Academy. You're safe. You're alive. Although, you shouldn't be.” Desmond answered. Dorian looked incredibly confused.
“We were about to land, and then there was an explosion – a blackness. I thought we had made it. Are we…did we survive?”
“No,” Desmond answered, pulling back. “You did not survive the explosion. No one did.”
“Then…” Dorian would have thought they were playing a joke on him had it not been for the fact that Desmond looked many years older. “How am I here?”
“I don't know,” Desmond answered truthfully. “Please, come down, and we will find out together. Come down.”
Dorian said nothing, allowing Desmond to lead him by the arm down the platform to the hangar. They were surrounded by shocked faces, unable to comprehend what they were seeing.
“Mariah?” Dorian asked, reaching out. “Your eyes…”
“A long time ago, Maestro,” Mariah answered as she put out her hands. He took them, looking over her scars with a sad look on his face.
“I get the feeling that I've missed so much.”
“It's all right, Maestro,” Mariah answered. “We will figure it out. Come with us.”
Desmond moved forward only by sheer willpower. He heard the young, confused voices slowly coming down as they looked around.
They had died. There was no question about it. There was no conspiracy theory and no way around it. The ship's pieces had occasionally been accompanied by body parts and blood.
They were gone.
And now they were here.
“Get them to the med bay,” Thomas cried, trying to take control. �
��I want this hangar locked down and quarantined. No one comes in or out of here without proper authorization, is that clear? No one inspects this ship without the go ahead of the most senior Jurors. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Maestro,” came the chorus of confused voices. They started moving again, taking the hands of the recently returned, trying to explain.
Except no one could explain.
“I don't feel the med bay is necessary,” Dorian said, accompanied by Mariah and Desmond. “I feel fine; I really do. I'm just…oh my…”
The Academy had undergone significant changes over the year he had been away, and he recognized that it wasn't the same building that he left. Walls were different colors and whole wings had been built. None of this could be done in the three days he thought it had been.
“I don't know how this is possible,” Dorian turned to Desmond. “Have you discovered something to explain it?”
“No,” Desmond answered, “we have not. In case you haven't noticed, Maestro, we're all just as baffled as you are. This way.”
He guided him into the med bay ahead of the others. The doors swooshed open, and Tara turned around. When she saw Desmond, she rolled her eyes.
“Are you coming to explain why your Tiro missed an appointment?” she asked. “Because I don't have the time to make it up.”
“What?” Desmond asked in shock.
“She was supposed to come in this evening,” Tara said. “I told both you and Nathaniel that, so why…” Suddenly, her eyes fell on Dorian, and her mouth hung open. “Maestro Dorian.”
“Have we met?” Dorian asked, squinting at her. “You look familiar, .”
“We…” Tara swallowed. “We saw each other around. I was little more than a child when you…um…died.”
“Did I die?” he asked, confused.
“That's why we are here,” Desmond said softly. “Tara is the most advanced healer this facility has. If anyone can figure it out, it's her.”
“How is this possible?” Tara asked, shattering everyone's confidence in her. “I'm a healer, not a resurrecter. Don't look at me; I can't come up with an explanation. When did you get here?”
White Star (Wolves of West Valley Book 1) Page 29