Book One: The Girl (The Sanctum) (12 page)

Wyatt laughed then winced with pain.

"I feel like I'm dying."

"That's because you are."

Hearing that statement, spoken with such blunt and brutal honesty, Wyatt stared at Dev, his eyes full of fear. He did not want to die. Not like this. Dev sat next to him on the bed and wiped his face with a cool cloth, then leaned close and ran her fingers across his hair and caressed his cheek. He closed his eyes, momentarily forgetting himself and his fear, losing himself in Dev's touch and the nearness of her.

"But don't be scared because I'm not going to let you die. I'm going to put you through ten stages of hell, but I will not allow you to die, okay?" she asked as she smiled down at him.

He closed his eyes and imprinted her smile on his memory, figuring he would lose consciousness while Dev did whatever she was about to do to him, knowing she would be gone forever when he awoke.

"Okay."

She squeezed his hand and then turned back to Ryker.

“Hey, go wake up your girlfriend so she doesn’t kill me when her brother starts screaming bloody murder.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Ryker scoffed.

“Whatever,” Dev sighed in irritation, “just wake her up and prep her for what’s coming. I don’t want to have to deal with her again.”

Turning back to Wyatt, Dev smiled again, trying to appear confident, her heart racing faster than ever before.

“I’m going to start on your neck because that’s going to be the worst then finish up your arms and chest.”

Wyatt simply closed his eyes in response.

And with that she began.

Wyatt’s neck was cut severely in five places and the mjestec had seeped deeply into the wounds. The first step was to flush out the paste with liquid lilaup, an antiseptic made from the wings of fairies, and then clean the wound with cudera, a powerful purgative containing the Himalayan wildflower, thulo tharshing. Dev wasn’t sure Wyatt could handle the flush and was certain he would pass out during the deep cleaning. As she had seen her mother do several times for those fatally injured, Dev began pouring the lilaup into the wounds, preparing herself for Wyatt’s inevitable screams. First the liquid dislodged the paste and Dev began removing as many globs of the gunk as possible, as quickly as she was able. But there was too much and whatever was still left in the wounds began bubbling as the lilaup disintegrated the mjestec. Dev shuddered, unable to touch the bubbling globs for fear of being burned, knowing Wyatt’s torture was about to begin.

Amazingly, he withstood the initial pain, gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles turned white, gritting his teeth, not making a sound.

Then the screams began.

And they were gut-checking.

Jools and Ryker ran to the bedside to help Dev hold Wyatt still, their faces reflecting the horror they were witnessing. Wyatt fought them desperately, wanting to pull the flesh off his neck and put an end to his misery, but they held him in place, ignoring his cries for help. Tears ran down Jools’ face as she lay witness to her brother’s agony, but she never let him go.

As the lilaup finished destroying the mjestec, Wyatt’s shrieks diminished in kind and they were able to release him. Jools left the room right away with Ryker close behind, both needing some air. Dev sat next to Wyatt, being careful not to jostle him or cause him more discomfort, but wanting him to know she was nearby.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

“No.”

“I have to keep going.”

“I hate you,” Wyatt smiled slightly.

“You probably will when this is finished.”

“Never.”

Wyatt then closed his eyes, feeling so tired. Dev quietly stood up and began the process again, this time on his arms and chest. Ryker and Jools rejoined her and the threesome did their best to hold Wyatt in place as he thrashed and fought and cursed and begged. Sometime during the ordeal, Darby returned home and upon hearing Wyatt’s screams, flew into the room in a fury to find them furiously working on him. She stared in horror until Dev yelled at her to help them, snapping her out of her shock and into action.

Wyatt remained conscious until the end when he finally gave in and passed out. Dev checked his pulse and then breathed a sigh of relief; it was better if he was unconscious for what came next. Without missing a beat, she set about to cleaning each of Wyatt’s wounds with the cudera, taking great care to cover the full extent of his injuries. Darby watched her from the other side of the bed, captivated.

“Honey, you are good.”

Dev continued working, never taking her eyes off Wyatt.

“I had a most amazing teacher.”

“You remind me of a healer I knew.”

“Before or after you drained her?” Dev asked sardonically.

Darby chuckled.

“How long is he gonna be like that?”

Dev stepped back and looked down on Wyatt and her handiwork. His upper body was raw and exposed but she could tell he was already improving. She could smell his body releasing the lupine toxins and see his cells begin their process of repair. At the rate things were moving, thanks to the vampire blood flowing through his system, Dev guessed Wyatt would be significantly improved in a few hours.

“Unconscious?”

Darby nodded as she pushed some of Wyatt’s hair away from his forehead. Dev watched the tenderness Darby used with Wyatt, witnessing the depth of the vampire’s affection for the warrior.

“I honestly don’t know. He could wake up in ten minutes or he could be out for ten days. It’s really on him now.”

“Is it, sweetheart?” Darby snapped, looking up from Wyatt’s side and shooting Dev a nasty look, “because from where I’m standing, this is all on you. Everything that’s happened to this boy the last couple of days is on you. So don’t you sit there and tell me this is on him.”

“Understood,” Dev agreed, lowering her eyes.

“Understood? Hell yeah, it better be understood,” Darby snapped then quickly caught herself and softened her tone a bit, remembering she was speaking to the girl who just went through hell to save Wyatt’s life. “You know what else is understood? You look horrible.”

Dev closed her eyes and rubbed her neck, feeling the first fingers of exhaustion creeping up her spine but knowing she could never sleep with Darby in the house.

“I feel like hell.”

“You should go downstairs and get some sleep.”

Dev laughed at the suggestion.

“I swear on my endless life, I will not touch you. Or smell you.”

Darby smiled mischievously and despite herself, Dev cracked a smile in kind.

“No thanks, vamp,” Dev waved away Darby’s offer, figuring she would be better off sleeping elsewhere. She touched the weapons around her hip and knew she would be all right wandering the city for a bit. It was time.

Darby already knew Dev was leaving, she could see it as the girl touched her weapons.

“Where are you gonna go, sweetheart?”

Dev shook her head.

“I’m not sure,” Dev said with a smile, “but don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about you, baby girl.”

Dev knew who the vampire was worried about: Wyatt. She didn’t have the heart to look back at him, she just needed to leave. Dev headed for the balcony door.

“You can use my front door, you know.”

Dev ignored the offer and opened the door, stepping onto the balcony, free at last. She didn’t look back at Darby. She didn’t think twice. She simply took a running start into the morning sun and leapt towards her future.

Manhattan smelled of
sweat and life, fever and death; different scents, layered upon one another, fighting for acknowledgment, eager to overtake and overcome. Sunlight played off the buildings, creating prisms of color in places one would never expect and where most never looked. But Dev saw it all, from the smallest cracks in the sidewalk to the largest trees in the park. She did not want to miss a thing so rather than finding somewhere to sleep, Dev wandered the streets, aimless and free.

Well-glamoured to most human passersby, Dev enjoyed her days of freedom, sampling the varied tastes and differing energies of each neighborhood, from Little India to Harlem. Once she had satisfied her appetite, she moved on to inspecting the buildings, smelling the air, climbing the trees. For days on end, she felt like a kid let loose in the world’s greatest candy store, told she could eat whatever she wanted.

But every evening, standing atop the Chrysler building, looking down at the city below, Dev continuously found her gaze wandering downtown, wondering about Wyatt. Was he okay? Had he awoken? Would he forgive her for leaving? An endless loop of questions she asked herself as she fell asleep at night.

Two weeks after Dev’s departure, Wyatt opened his eyes with a start. The room was perfectly still, the setting sun casting shadows across the walls, reflecting off the mirrors. He was breathing rapidly and made a conscious effort to inhale deeply and calm himself, understanding without really knowing for certain that he was okay. He cautiously brought his fingertips up to his neck and began examining himself, expecting to feel raw, exposed flesh, shocked to find the opposite. He rubbed his hand along his neck and felt nothing but smooth skin, crisscrossed with light scars, but whole, intact. She had done just as she promised, Wyatt thought as he examined his arms and chest, and then she had disappeared, just as he knew she would.

And he didn’t even know her name.

That same evening, as Wyatt regained consciousness and got his bearings about himself, Dev headed uptown, drawn back to Central Park. She stood in Columbus Circle, watching the sad, horse-drawn carriages, pitying the animals forced to pound the pavement day in and day out. Grabbing some apples from a fruit vendor, Dev dropped them into a couple of feed pails as she passed. Meandering along pathways, dawdling outside playgrounds, roaming the reservoir and finally finding a perfect patch of grass in Strawberry Field, Dev laid down on her back, looked up at the stars and began plotting her revenge.

Sitting up in bed, Wyatt stretched his arms, studying the scars running through his ink. He had always hated his markings of the warrior, never quite understanding why one wanted to walk around with their kills written on their body, but seeing them now, ripped apart, gave them new meaning.

“Oh my god,” Jools rushed at her brother, hugging him fiercely, “you’re you.”

“I am me,” Wyatt laughed, sharing in his sister’s relief, “but you’ll probably be cursing that fact in a day or two.”

“Never,” Jools stood away from him, studying him intently, “oh my god, I love you.”

Wyatt tousled her hair, embarrassed by Jools’ display of affection, but loving her even more for being so open with her emotions.

“Your scars are wicked,” Jools commented, checking out Wyatt’s chest and arms.

“That they are,” Ryker agreed, coming up behind Jools, so relieved to see his friend sitting up and alert, “I’m jealous.”

“Shut up,” Wyatt grinned as he pulled Ryker into a bear hug, so happy to see his best friend.

Ryker pulled away and shot Wyatt an amused look.

“Is this the part where we kiss?”

“I think it is,” Wyatt laughed, pulling Ryker in for another hug, amazed he was even able to do so.

Ryker could not wipe the grin off his face as he stepped back and studied his friend.

“Those markings take on a whole new meaning now,” Ryker commented admiringly.

“Just give me a shirt,” Wyatt laughed, “I feel naked.”

Ryker dug through his bag and pulled out a T-shirt, tossing it to Wyatt who happily pulled it down over his chest.

“How long have I been out of it?” Wyatt asked.

“Almost two weeks,” Jools replied, “we were starting to get worried.”

“You were gettin’ worried,” Darby entered the room from the balcony doors, “I knew that girl of his fixed him up nice and pretty. She wasn’t lettin’ him die. I saw it in those gorgeous eyes of hers.”

At the mention of Dev, everyone fell silent. She was the elephant in the room Jools and Ryker didn’t want to acknowledge and Wyatt wanted to ignore.

“Oh for god’s sake, let’s not all look like we’re at a funeral now,” Darby admonished them, “I understand she’s gone and flown the coop like the little chicken I knew her to be, but without that tall, dark, drink of water we wouldn’t have our Wyatt. So I really don’t give a freakin’ flip where she is, I’m just happy to have my favorite Clayworth back. I shudder to think I coulda been left here with the likes of Jools.”

Wyatt laughed and pulled Darby into his arms, fitting her easily against his body, glad he was alive and able to do so.

“I would never leave you with Jools,” Wyatt kissed the top of Darby’s head while winking at his sister.

Darby looked up at Wyatt, cupping his face in her tiny, cold hands, studying him closely. Despite his smile, she knew. She could tell.

“Sweetheart, I am so sorry she left but some things just aren’t meant to be tied down. And that’s her. But know this,” Darby explained, “that girl hesitated. I swear. I saw it. She was torn when she walked out that door. And trust me when I say this: I am confident there will not be a night of her life that she does not think of you.”

Wyatt grasped Darby’s hands and brought them back down to her sides, holding them all the while, taking comfort in the familiar chill.

“You’re lying and I know it. But I love you for it,” Wyatt paused for a second before continuing. “I know she didn’t hesitate, didn’t think twice about leaving. I know she’s not thinking about me now. And it’s okay. She promised to bring me back from certain death and she did, she even comforted me while doing it. So I’m good. Really.”

“Really?” Darby asked, surprised by Wyatt’s calm acceptance of Dev’s disappearance.

“Really. I promise,” Wyatt smiled tiredly, “honestly, the only thing really bothering me now is wondering where my mom thinks I’ve been the last couple of days and needing some more sleep.”

“Jools,” Ryker spoke up, “why don’t you and Darby grab us some food while I catch Wyatt up on the last couple of weeks?”

Jools scoffed at the suggestion.

“And why don’t I pull out my fingernails one by one?”

Ryker shot Jools a look which she understood immediately, if not happily.

“But my brother probably needs a bite to eat,” Jools smiled sweetly at Wyatt and batted her eyelashes at Ryker, “so I would love to go with Darby to grab some food.”

Ryker watched Jools turn on her heel and leave, knowing he would catch all hell later, but not really caring.

“You are insane,” Wyatt chuckled as he sat on the couch and start putting on his boots. “She is going to kill you.”

Ryker sat across from Wyatt, watching his friend methodically lace his boots, then tie them the same way he had done the last eight years of their lives. It was a comforting sight, Ryker realized as a wave of relief washed over him. Two weeks ago he wasn’t sure he would ever see Wyatt get out of that bed again, now he appeared ready to set off into the night.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve gotta get out of here.”

“She’s gone, man.”

Wyatt glanced up at his friend and smiled sadly.

“I know. Trust me. I knew it that night. It was written all over her face,” Wyatt rested his hands on his knees and ran his hands through his hair, “once her body finished regenerating, it was time to go. Simple as that.

“And I know when she saw me in that bed, she was conflicted. Helping me slowed her escape, and escape has been her main objective since I found her. I don’t know what she’s running from or running to, but she needed to go. And there’s no way I would expect her to stay. Like I told Darby, she did enough just making sure I lived. I can’t really ask for more.

“Like you said, I don’t even know her name.”

Wyatt shrugged his shoulders and leaned back on the couch. Ryker cringed hearing his words from the other night repeated back to him.

“I don’t think that’s really the point anymore,” Ryker offered.

“Since when?” Wyatt scoffed.

"With you two," Ryker replied, "probably since forever."

"Nah," Wyatt waved off Ryker's suggestion, "no way. That guy bearing his soul to you a couple of weeks ago was an idiot. Getting attacked by that she-wolf was probably the best thing to happen to me in a while. Brought me back to my senses.  Cleared the fog.

"I am a Clayworth. A founding family of The Sanctum. Not some love-sick puppy."

Ryker listened to Wyatt try to convince himself he was all right. He looked all right and what he was saying sounded right in line with The Sanctum party line, right in line with the old Wyatt, but Ryker knew better. He knew Wyatt was anything but okay. He also knew his friend needed some time to grieve and heal on his own, so if denial was the way Wyatt wanted to handle it, Ryker was along for the ride.

"Whatever you say," Ryker stood and grabbed his bag.

“Right now, though,” Wyatt headed for the stairs, ready to escape Darby’s house, “I’ve got to touch base with my folks. Where do they even think I’ve been? And what the hell am I going to tell them about my marks?”

“For the time being, I would cover them. Some of that scarring is serious,” Ryker commented admiringly, studying Wyatt’s arms with a bit of envy as the boys headed down the stairs and exited Darby’s house. “Your folks think you’re leading the training mission for the twelve year-olds who passed finals. Jools told them we’re in the Berkshires. They didn’t raise an eyebrow.”

Wyatt laughed, remembering the time Ryker spent a week with a beautiful fairy they crossed paths with in a bar and sending Jools out to the Morrison brownstone in Fort Greene to tell Ryker’s parents he was training kids in the Berkshires.

“One day we seriously need to head up to the Berkshires.”

The boys laughed as they headed towards The Academy, Wyatt pleased to be outdoors, walking the city streets he so loved and Ryker, pleased to once again be in his best friend’s company. They didn’t bother glamouring themselves and for the first time in a long time, Wyatt loved the attention they garnered as they headed towards Fifth Avenue.

“Was I really out for two weeks?” Wyatt asked as they walked, still trying to get his head around that fact.

"Yeah, you really were. And back there, that was all bluster," Ryker replied, referring to Darby's house, "Darby was just as freaked out as Jools and me."

"It's so crazy. I still don't really know what happened. Were the werewolf injuries that bad?"

Ryker shot Wyatt a look that spoke volumes.

"Okay," Wyatt immediately understood, "they were bad. And I probably just made things worse, needing to see her. Damn! I practically killed myself. I should have just gone straight to Doc."

"Trust me, I tried getting you to do just that," Ryker explained as he touched The Academy doors and watched them swing open, flooding the boys with cool air, "but you were having none of it."

Wyatt stopped walking and looked at Ryker, a deadly serious expression on his face.

"Don't ever listen to me again."

Ryker waved him off with a laugh.

"You'll regret those words in a couple of weeks, when I throw them back in your face."

"I'm serious," Wyatt called after him.

Ryker turned and shot Wyatt a grin before continuing down the hall.

"So am I."

"Where are you going?" Wyatt called after him.

Ryker stopped walking and turned back to Wyatt.

“Well, I’ve got to call your sister and tell her to bring the food back to The Academy, then I’ve got to listen to her ream me out for the next couple of hours and then I’ve got to endure whatever further punishment she’s got in store for me.

“So I am going to the bar, for as a very wise man once said, 'I need a drink. I need a scotch-flavored drink.'"
¹

And with no further explanation, Ryker turned on his heel and headed back down the hallway.

Wyatt watched Ryker disappear and then headed for his parents' residence in the East Wing. He walked slowly and took in every detail of his surroundings, thrilled to be in the ancient building again, absorbing everything as if he had never seen it a million times over. He marveled at the height of the ceilings, easily fifty feet, if not more, and the carvings etched into the wood of the walls. All sorts of magical creatures, intermixed with the Gods and the Founding Families, depicting the blessing of the Code of Ten and the creation of The Sanctum. Enormous tapestries, centuries-old, littered the walls, a product of his mother's obsession. And books. Books were everywhere.

The Academy had an enormous library but Wyatt's parents never believed one could have too many books and as such, they could be found in every nook and cranny of the building, from the laboratory to the kitchen to the bathrooms. Wandering the halls, one could never be at a loss for something to read because there, resting against a ledge, would be the complete collection of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales or behind the living room couch, on the ledge next to the mirror, sat every book written by Zora Neale Hurston. The books were a comforting sight to Wyatt, a sure sign he was home.

As he neared his parents' wing, he slowed and pulled the hoodie Ryker had given him over his head, making sure to cover his new scars. He stopped in front of their door and knocked, forgetting the last place he left their keys.

The door opened and before him stood Jools, twenty-five years older. Sam Clayworth let out a squeal of surprise and then pulled her son into a tight hug.

"It's about time," Sam stated as she pulled away to properly inspect Wyatt, "I was beginning to think you were avoiding us."