Everlost (The Night Watchmen Series Book 3) (15 page)

IT’S BEEN FIFTEEN MINUTES SINCE Weldon, Jaxen, Gavin, and Cassie walked through a shadow. Fifteen minutes since I’ve taken a proper breath.

Jezi’s working her magic on the stove, putting eye of newt, essence of a ghost, and many other ingredients into a concoction that Katie says once spelled, will have to be poured around the perimeter of the entire house.

“We’re out of everything,” Jezi says as she drops the last frog into the last pot. A strand of damp hair is stuck across her forehead. “We’re going to have to stock up for future spells.” She drags her hand across her forehead, wiping away the sweat.

But I’m so far away from caring about that.

“One thing at a time,” I say, bracing the edges of my chair.

Katie looks up at me. “Whoa, are you okay, Faye?”

I quickly nod, moving my gaze to the table. One eye is focused on the table, and the other watching every one of Jaxen’s moves through his eyes.

“They’re on the rooftop now with minimal injuries,” I recount, feeling like my heart might finally break through my ribcage.

I hear a wooden spoon slam against the counter and look up. “You don’t have to do the play-by-play thing, you know,” Jezi says, pointing to her head.

Right. She can see too.

“In fact,” Jezi continues, propping her hand up on her hip, “it might be a better idea if you close yourself off from it for now, because we need to finish this spell, and we can’t do that if your head isn’t in the game. They’ll handle their end of the job. We have to handle ours. So shut down your emotions.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe. She’s right. Annoyingly so. I find my internal switch and, with one inhale, shut it all off.

“I need your blood, Katie,” Jezi says, turning away from me.

Katie stands, walks over to her, and takes the dagger from Jezi’s hands. She doesn’t even blink as she drags it along the palm of her hand. With her gaze locked on Jezi’s, she moves her hand over each of the pots, letting just enough blood stream into them before pulling it away.

Jezi takes Katie’s hand and looks back at me.

Right. My power.

I open myself up to Jezi and let her take what she needs from me. She pulls just enough to heal Katie’s hand, and then turns back to the four pots which are boiling furiously now.

“Now for the spell,” Katie says. She steps into the circle of salt poured onto the floor. Lets another drop of her blood drip onto the black candle in the center of it. “We all must stand inside.”

Jezi and I move into the circle.

“I know the circumstances are messed up, but I’m glad we’re doing this together,” Katie says, smiling at me. “I’m glad I can finally help.”

I return the smile, feeling my heart expand a little. “Me too.”

“Take our hands, Faye,” Jezi says. “Let us use some of your power. The more magic behind it, the stronger the spell.”

I take each of their hands, and then Katie murmurs the spell.

We chant with her and, all at once, I feel the drain of power as I push every ounce of my intent into the words. The more we chant, the louder we grow. The liquid lifts from the pots, forming into a ball above us. With every word, the liquid forms into symbolic wards that belong to the Underground. Wards that only dark magic use, and it makes me wonder just who in her family wrote this spell.

Katie breaks from the chant and begins calling out the names of only those who can cross the barrier we will set. She names all of us, and then looks to me, waiting for any names that should be added. I recite the names from Mack’s letter and look to Jezi. Jezi doesn’t say a word.

With one last chant, the liquid lowers back into the pots, and then a blast of dark light shoots from our conjoined hands, lifting them in the air, pointed toward the pots.

“We are connected to the spell now,” Katie says. “Once the brew is spread, only we will have the power to grant or deny passage into this house. “

Jezi peeks into one of the pots, stirring it. “It’s ready,” she says, clanking a wooden spoon against the rim. “We only have enough to maybe wrap around the house, but nothing further out than that. Stay as close to the edges as possible.”

“That doesn’t give us much leg room,” Katie says.

“What do you want me to do? Pull the ingredients out of my ass?” Jezi retorts. “I told you we’re out. This is all I can make, and we have to make it work. Later, if we can get more ingredients, we can extend the spell. Now, shut the hell up and let’s get this over with.”

We each grab a pot. Katie almost drops hers, which warrants an acidic look from Jezi.

“So help me, God,” Jezi says under her breath, her face strained from the weight she’s carrying. “Open,” she says, using more of my energy to fill her magical needs. The door opens under her command, and then we each waddle out the back door and down the stairs.

We make quick work of pouring under the moonlit night. Jezi goes back for the last pot, and then meets Katie and me by the front door. When the line connects, the earth drinks up the darkly colored brew and disappears as if it never was.

Katie looks up at me with a small smile. Jezi looks around, pinching her bottom lip with a pensive expression. And then Katie lets out a scream as one by one, people I’ve never seen before begin to appear right in front of us, bloodied and bruised.

MAYHEM, I THINK, HAS BECOME MY SHADOW.

I can’t escape it. Can’t hide from its jealous nature, because every time calm sets in and I get a firm grip on the ledge of reality, it steps on one of my hands again and the fear of slipping past the point of no return reappears.

“Help!” a girl with hair the color of wheat screams out just a few feet away from me. Blood is dried up within her messy braids and caked on her face, masking her features. Terror has taken shape within her wild eyes. “Someone help him, please!”

She’s on her knees with a young man’s head resting on her lap as she leans over him with her trembling hands pressed against his abdomen. He’s coughing and choking on blood as it leaks from his mouth and his nose. Grabbing and clutching onto strands of grass.

Time slows to a jarring stop.

Screams and shouts for help assault us from all sides as the number of people multiply with every second that passes, filling the late-night air. Another, smaller, brown-haired girl appears not too far from them, clutched against the chest of a dark-haired boy covered in blotches of blood. His eyes are wide, shock taking over his ghastly features as he stumbles forward. Drops to his knees, laying the girl carefully against the ground.

I turn and catch a glimpse of Weldon lowering a different dark-haired girl’s stilled body onto the ground, and then he darts back to the porch and disappears into another shadow. I don’t have time to think or dissect what could have gone wrong. And in this moment, I’m glad that Jezi talked me into shutting down my emotions.

“Kat, get her. Jezi, check the other girl,” I command, dropping in front of the boy choking on his own life force. Blood is everywhere. All over his body, making it near impossible to determine what type of injuries he’s suffering from, and I’m doing everything I can to keep my stomach from doing somersaults.

“Please,” the girl in front of me says desperately. “He needs help.”

“What happened?” I ask, swallowing my nerves. Straining for control. “How was he hurt?”

She’s near hyperventilating. Every gurgle… every cough the young man makes, she cries a little harder. Goes a little more hysteric, and seeing this desperation—this helplessness—causes something in me to click in place. A strength I didn’t know I had. Control over my own fears of blood and death that have hidden themselves from me for far too long.

I place my hand on her arm and squeeze lightly, forcing her to look up at me. “What’s your name?”

She stares at me for a moment, eyes fluttering like she’s trying to make sense of what I just said.

“Your name?” I repeat slowly, calmly, offering her some strength with a small, encouraging nod.

“Joanna,” she finally says, her whole body wracked with tremors.

I maintain eye contact with her, trying to keep her focus on my words and not on the choking sounds coming from who I assume is her partner. “Okay, Joanna, I need you to concentrate for me.” She nods. “I need you to tell me what happened to him so I can help.”

She’s still nodding as she forces through chattering teeth, “We were ambushed on the rooftop. Garrett was blocking the spells flying at us, and then he—he was shot by an Elite. Twice.” She looks down at him, biting her lip, and uses her shaking hand to point to the small hole on the left side of his chest, and the other just below his right ribcage.

“Okay,” I say calmly, trying to keep my thoughts and worries about the others from bubbling up. Moving her hand from the wounds, I notice there’s barely any blood pumping out anymore. What skin I can see has lost color, and his lips are taking on a pale shade of blue.

I can’t let him die. Can’t let Clara claim another life because of me.

Urgency roars its engine inside of me, pumping out adrenaline to every one of my limbs. I press my hands against his chest, tapping into my magic, and begin the task of removing the cursed bullets. After a few seconds of digging and trying not to think about how violently his body shakes every time I move, I feel the bullet lodged firmly in his breastbone. It’s been in here too long.

And my confidence sputters.

I try to get a good grasp, but my fingers keep slipping from all the blood. Joanna, I don’t think, has taken a single breath since I started.

Breathe. You can do this,
I tell myself, drawing on air for composure, but the smell of metal and iron rattle my senses. I close my eyes, wrap my fingers firmly around the bullet, and wiggle it back and forth a little, trying not to hear his cries of pain. It takes all of my strength to pull it out, but once it gives, I drop it and move onto the next wound. It takes little-to-no effort to find and remove the tiny bullet, and it practically slips from my hand as it falls to the earth.

“I need you to help me heal him, Joanna” I say as calmly as I can, locking eyes with her as I grab her hands and hold them over the wound below his ribcage.

She’s shaking her head, trying to pull her hands away. “But I’m not a Witch. I’m his Hunter.” Her watery eyes are so gray, they almost seem silver.

I reinforce the placement of her hands. “It’s okay. I’m going to lend you some of my power. Focus on the wound on his chest, and I’ll heal the other.”

She nods, sucking in a huge breath, and then together, we begin the task of repairing all the internal damage. I feel tendrils of the curse leaving his bloodstream, and all I can think about is the person who invented these bullets and how deeply I want to strangle them right now. How swiftly, and without remorse, I would end their life with the very same bullet they invented.

When the holes seal shut, I ask him if he’s okay, but he’s lost so much blood by now that he’s passed out. I flip his hand over and press my fingers against his wrist. Barely any pulse.

Please don’t let me be too late. Please don’t let him be another victim of Clara’s.

“Garret?” the girl says manically, shaking him a little. “Garret, please wake up. Please!”

“He’ll be okay,” I say, trying to sound confident. “He’s just lost a lot of blood, which we can fix with the right potion.”