Tris & Izzie (7 page)

S
omeone brought me a tray of food—mashed potatoes and gravy, I guess. It was kind of hard to tell, it was so colorless.

Then Mark came in, walking gingerly around the flowers. He looked good, like he'd shaved and splashed water on his face and hair. Just not as good as Tristan.

He put a hand on my arm and leaned over the bed. “I was afraid I'd dreamed you'd woken up.”

“No dream,” I said, and let him hold my hand for a few minutes. This love philtre was a real pain. It made me feel tense around anyone but Tristan, and I hated the way I was treating Mark.

When my arm felt like ants were crawling up and down it, I faked a coughing fit and pulled my hand away from Mark to cover my mouth.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Should I call a nurse?”

I wrapped my arms around my stomach. “No, I'm fine. Really.”

“But if you get a cold or something now, it could be bad. Your immune system is down. They should give you antibiotics and stuff,” said Mark. He batted a drooping daisy out of the way; then, when it flipped back on him, he turned around and snipped it off.

I watched sadly as Mark threw the happy-faced f lower into the waste basket by my bed. “Antibiotics aren't for colds,” I said absently. “A cold is a virus and an antibiotic only helps with a bacterial infection. Plus, they already gave me plenty of those.”

“Well, there must be something they can give you,” said Mark stubbornly. “I should go wash my hands. I washed them before I came in, but maybe I picked up some germs along the way.” He went into the bathroom, and I heard him scrubbing away. When he came back, his hands looked red and raw.

“Maybe I should wear a mask and some gloves,” he said. “To make sure you don't get sick from me. I don't know what I would do if I found out I was the one who made you stay in the hospital longer.” He looked so pathetically anxious. His dark blond hair had fallen into his eyes, and I remembered how much I used to love those brown eyes.

“I'll be fine,” I said. I wondered who felt guiltier right now, Mark or me.

It was really all my fault. I was the one who had decided to use magic to help Branna. I was the one who drank the love philtre. I was the one whose magic had called the slurg. But I couldn't tell him any of that.

I knew I was going to have to break up with him. It wasn't fair to feel the way I felt for another guy and keep Mark as my boyfriend. Mom said there was nothing I could do to reverse the love philtre, so I had to accept it. I wasn't going to be able to put my arms around Mark's neck while he bent over and put his arms around my waist. I wasn't going to see his eyes light up when he saw me across the room. I wasn't going to feel his big hands brush against my cheeks.

Unless … What if Tristan had an answer? He had survived the slurg attack against all odds. He had used that sword, and he obviously hadn't been surprised to see a two-headed, speaking dog. Maybe he knew things about magic that Mom didn't know. After all, it had been years since Mom had been around other people using magic. There could have been discoveries made, new inventions, new potions. I wasn't going to give up on me and Mark yet!

“So how is Tristan?” I asked. “You saw him, right?” As soon as I mentioned his name, I could feel the blood pulsing at the base of my throat. I had never felt like this about Mark. I didn't know if I ever wanted to feel like this about anyone. It wasn't comfortable. It was downright frightening.

“Yes. I went to see him, just like you asked. He's awake, and they were talking about letting him have some food, too. It looks like he's doing as well as you are now.” Mark smiled.

“Good. Thanks,” I said. That was all the attention I could spare for Mark. I could see Tristan in my mind, his blue eyes, his bulging biceps, his megawatt smile. “When can I see him?” I asked. My whole body was throbbing now. One thing that had been good about being unconscious—I hadn't felt this desperate about Tristan then.

“Maybe tomorrow, they said.”

“Why not today?”

“Well, I didn't ask. But Tristan isn't ready to get out of bed. And I don't think you are, either.”

“Get me a wheelchair,” I said. Simple, right? I waved him toward the door.

“Uh, I don't think that's a good idea.” Mark rubbed his chin. “Izzie, you almost died, and so did he. You're both still recovering. Exposure to the germs outside this room could be bad for you.”

“This is a hospital, Mark. How many germs can there be here? I'm sure I'll be fine.” I did not want to lie on this bed arguing with him—not when I could be with Tristan.

“Let me go talk to the nurse,” said Mark, heading for the door.

“No!” I lurched out of bed to stop him. It was like being on a ship at sea, except I was the sea. I couldn't find my footing.

Mark reached for me, but I sagged into the chair beside the bed.

“Go. Get. A. Wheel. Chair,” I panted.

“Izzie, you're not thinking straight,” said Mark. “I have to do what's best for you here.”

I looked him straight in the eyes, and I saw him flinch. “I want you to get me a wheelchair and take me to Tristan's room. I need to thank him for saving my life. It will take five minutes. It seems like the least you can do for me, after all I've been through.”

I felt horrible manipulating him like that. But what else could I do? I had to see Tristan. It was for both of us, not just for me.

“I could figure something else out, maybe,” said Mark. “A video feed with computers and webcams.” Mark had always been good with technology.

I gritted my teeth and tried to remember that I had once loved Mark with all my heart. I wanted to again. As soon as I fixed things with Tristan. “I need to see him in real life. He didn't save my life on a screen, after all.”

“Well—” said Mark.

“You're the one who will be doing the work, Mark. I just have to sit in the wheelchair while you push me around.”

“But Tristan—”

“He won't be getting out of bed, either. And it's not like I'm going to infect him with anything.” Still, I wasn't sure I could keep myself from kissing Tristan, even if Mark was there. I would definitely have to make this a private conversation.

Mark brushed a hand across my face, to push my hair out of my eyes.

I backed away.

“What?” he asked.

“Just get me to see Tristan.” I knew I sounded angry. I was angry. But not at Mark. Mostly I was angry at the love philtre.

Mark sighed. “If that's what you want me to do, I'll do it. I think it's crazy, but I guess that's what I love about you. You've always been a little crazy.” He smiled gently, which only reminded me of Tristan's bigger, better smile. It was not fair to Mark, but that was the way it was for now.

Mark left
the room to look for a wheelchair. While he was gone, I fidgeted. Then it occurred to me that I was going to see Tristan soon and I had no idea how I looked. I had been asleep for three days. Before that, I had been slobbered all over by a magical two-headed dog. It couldn't be good.

I lurched toward the bathroom and looked in the mirror. It wasn't too bad. I smoothed out my hair with my fingers and washed my face. I found a toothbrush and toothpaste in a bag below the sink. I had never brushed so hard in my life.

When I was done, I looked at myself again. Maybe if I had some makeup? I could ask Mark to go get it for me. Would that be too much of a giveaway, me wanting to look good for Tristan but not caring about what Mark thought?

Just then, Mark came back in with a wheelchair. He looked behind him. “Okay, let me help you get in here.”

I knew he would try to touch me again, so I acted like I was fine. I was woozy, but I pretended to be steady and was sitting in the wheelchair in no time.

“Are you sure about this?” Mark asked.

“I'm sure, I'm sure. Will you get on with it?” I said, irritated with the delay.

Mark opened the door and checked up and down the hallway. “There are two nurses talking. Let's just wait a few minutes.”

I tapped my fingers impatiently.

“Okay, they're gone. Are you ready?” asked Mark after a few minutes.

“Yes,” I hissed at him.

He pushed me to the door. “He's down this hall, and up the elevator,” whispered Mark. He didn't have to tell me! He just had to get me there!

We had made it halfway down the hall when Mark suddenly pushed me into an empty room. “Nurse!” he warned me. In a few minutes, he pushed me out again and into the elevator. “Whoo! That was fun. You always make me feel like I'm alive.”

That made me feel terrible. Maybe I should just let him down easy and give up trying to end the love philtre. But it was all so complicated. Anyone who thought magic made things easier had never used magic.

Luckily, we got to Tristan's room without further incident. Tristan was asleep, but as soon as I saw him, I wanted to touch him. Mark pushed the wheelchair close to the bed, but I inched it even closer with my feet.

“You can go now,” I said curtly.

“You sure you'll be okay?” said Mark.

“I think Tristan has already proved he can protect me,” I said.

There was a long silence.

I could have tried to take it back. On the other hand, maybe it was for the best.

“Yeah,” said Mark slowly. “Call me when you need me,” he added as he closed the door. “If you do.”

As soon as Mark was gone, I focused all my attention on Tristan. He looked sort of yellow, and there were bruises up and down his face, neck, and chest. Maybe below that, too, but I didn't peek beneath the hospital gown, however tempted I might have been.

“Tristan?” I whispered. I put a hand on his arm.

“Isolde,” he said in that beautiful baritone voice of his. Then he opened his eyes and started. “Are you real?” he asked.

“I'm real,” I said. “I'm right here.”

“You did not die.”

“No. You saved me. Don't you remember?” Hadn't anyone told him? Maybe he hadn't been awake enough.

“I remember, but I was afraid it was a dream, what I wished had happened. I also remember the slurg eating you, and me coming to you too late. They are very vivid memories, I assure you.” His crisp way of speaking made me melt.

I wondered about the strange language he had spoken on the day we'd met, not even a week ago. The sound of those words had been so sexy. Maybe I could get him to do that again later.

“We're both alive. We're in the hospital. They thought you were going to die.”

“You saved me,” he said. “I can taste your magic on my tongue.”

Don't go there
, I thought.
Don't make me think about your tongue
. Just being next to him was hard enough.

“It was my mom's magic,” I said. “She gave you a healing potion in the ambulance.” But I remembered she had also asked me to spit into it. At the time, I hadn't thought I had any magic of my own. “I need to talk to you, Tristan. About why you think you love me.”

“Yes?” His eyes were very wide.

This was my last chance. “I gave you a love philtre. Do you remember that drink? The Sprite bottle on the day we met?”

“Yes,” said Tristan. “I remember.”

“Well, it had magic in it.”

“Yes. I knew that. I could smell it.”

What? “Why did you drink it, then?” I remembered now that he had said it tasted off.

“It was from you. I trusted you,” said Tristan. “I knew any magic you used could not be bad, my love.”

“Don't call me that.”

“I am sorry,” he said, looking away.

He was so adorable when he did that! It was hard to have a normal conversation with him when I wanted to smother him with kisses. But we had to be sensible here. “I brought it to school for Branna.”

“Brangane?” said Tristan, pronouncing it differently, as three syllables instead of two. “The tall one who believes she can still be your friend?”

Whatever that meant.

“The tall one who could kick your butt,” I said. “And she needs a boyfriend. So I saw you and thought you were cute enough, and maybe you would be a good match.”

“Hmm,” said Tristan. Obviously, he did not think it was a good idea.

I didn't really think it was a good idea anymore, either. Branna needed someone more even-tempered. Someone like—well, I would worry about that later. Although maybe I should have learned my lesson about love philtres at this point. “Anyway, what I am trying to ask is if you know how to reverse a love philtre. Nothing against you,” I said. I licked my lips and couldn't stop myself from wishing I could lick his. “But I think people should fall in love out of their own free will.” Did I sound like my mother?

“Love philtre. But there was no love philtre,” he said. “That is not why—”

“It is why,” I interrupted. “Look, I thought maybe you knew something new about magic, about how to counteract a love philtre. Haven't you been around magic all your life?” Unlike me.