Chapter 19 #2
Fifty-seven seconds had passed since Seri had shadow-walked Zane out of our bedroom to rescue Foster. Fifty-seven seconds, and my mind had already mapped sixteen different scenarios for what might be happening to them right now, fifteen of which ended with someone bleeding.
“Think the leather will hold?” I asked.
“Yep.” Koa didn’t look up, just tightened another buckle with a hard yank. “If Foster’s in a feral spiral, we’re ready.”
I nodded and returned to the supply cabinet, pulling out rolls of gauze, antiseptic, and six different balms for six different magical emergencies. My fingers worked independently of my brain, which was still replaying the moment Seri had vanished with Zane like smoke through a keyhole.
It had been quick. Too quick. Zane standing there in our bedroom, Seri’s fingers on his arm. Then the shadows had simply eaten them. One moment, they were solid; the next, they were vapor, slipping through the seams.
My heart hadn’t quite settled back into its cage since then.
“You’re going to break the cabinet door,” Koa said.
I glanced down at my white-knuckled grip on the handle. The metal had bent slightly. I relaxed my fingers one at a time and switched to organizing the medical equipment. Scalpels. Suture kits. Bone saw, just in case. Cruor, I hated using that thing.
“She’s got this, Cas. Seri’s strong.”
“I know that.” I aligned another row of instruments. “But the strong ones are the ones who break your heart, trying to carry it all themselves.”
“She’s not alone this time.” Ko’s dark eyes met mine.
“No. This time, she’s got Zane.” The words came out sharper than intended. “Our brother who once set himself on fire trying to make flaming shots for your birthday.”
“He did put himself out. Eventually.” A flicker of a smile crossed Ko’s face. I didn’t smile back.
“Foster’s been undercover with the Harrows for months. If they found out he’s been spying for us, or if Arabesque got her claws into him, he’s not going to be in good shape.”
“Then we’ll fix him,” he said, as if it were that simple.
With a frown, I continued pulling out charcoal tablets for poison and blood replenishers for exsanguination. Every container placed exactly where my hand would need to find it.
Seri walking directly into Arabesque’s clutches, however, was a problem I couldn’t solve with antiseptic and sutures.
“Think we’ll need Holy water?” Ko asked.
“Better to have it ready.” I pointed to the cabinet behind him. “Top shelf, left side. Use the bottle with the silver wax seal.”
“The one from the Vatican.” He retrieved it and set it on the rolling tray beside me. “You expecting multiple casualties?”
The question hung between us like shrapnel suspended mid-air. My thumb worried the edge of a fresh gauze packet. Plastic crackled like distant gunfire.
“Contingency planning isn’t expectation,” I lied.
His silence pressed hard. He knew as well as I did how wrong this could go and how quickly.
I mapped a mental tree of worst-case scenarios, starting with mild injuries and branching out to the catastrophic. I was halfway through revising my treatment plan for demonic possession when the wards shivered.
Not broke. Just flexed.
“Hit the lights,” I breathed, pulling on a pair of protective gloves. “Give her plenty of shadows to find.”
The second he did, one of the med bay alarms let out a single, puzzled chirp, and my head snapped up. Koa froze, shoulders tensed, eyes locked on the center of the room. The air seemed to thicken, pressure dropping like the moment before a storm breaks.
Then, BAM!
An enormous black body crashed to the floor. Foster in wolf form, his fur burning with green flames that clung to him like sentient tar, and the bottom dropped out of my stomach.
Devil’s Breath. Soul-burning, Diabolically fueled and clung like glue. Some of the worst pain one could experience after dragonfire.
Zane stumbled into the room after him, face bloodless, and Seri followed. Her eyes were wide, her breath coming in short, sharp pants as she clutched her right hand to her chest, fingers curled inward like she was holding back a scream.
“Cas!” Zane’s voice cracked. “She’s hurt!”
I was already moving, smearing antipyretic gel across my gloved palms.
“Let me see,” I demanded, reaching for her hand.
She hesitated for half a second before extending her fingers. The Devil’s Breath licked at her skin where she’d been gripping Foster’s ruff. It wasn’t deep yet, but it was starting to burrow, smoke rising from the edges as it tried to eat its way to her soul.
I saw the strain in her jaw, the sweat on her upper lip, the way she was shaking. Her magic pulsed under her skin, silvery lunar power trying to combat the acidic green flames. She was trying to burn it out herself.
“Protocol Umbra!” Carrying her to the second cot, I swaddled her in a sheet not only to preserve her dignity in that nightie I was burning after this, but also to immobilize her other arm. “Ko, you’re in charge of Foster. Don’t bother getting him off the floor.”
Then, because he needed something to snap him back to the present, I called, “Zane, contain the wolf. Don’t let him flail around.”
“I don’t… I don’t know Protocol Umbra!” His voice cracked, his face still unnaturally pale.
“It’s the ‘When Shit from Hell Hits the Fan’ Protocol,” Ko translated.
“Why didn’t he just say so?” Z muttered.
I was too busy with Seri to care about their commentary. She was pouring more of her lunar magic onto the Devil’s Breath, and I caught her wrist before she could make it worse.
“Stop. Your magic feeds it.”
“But—”
“Devil’s Breath isn’t natural fire. The more power you throw at it, the stronger it gets.” I held her hand steady in my gloved one as I examined it. “Is it on you anywhere else?”
“No. Just my fingers.”
Behind us, Foster let out a pained whine as Ko began his own treatment protocol. I blocked it out. I couldn’t split my focus, not with Devil’s Breath.
Protocol Umbra. Layer by layer.
“This is going to hurt,” I warned, reaching for the salves I’d set out earlier.
She nodded once, jaw set.
Layer One: Isolation Barrier. Contain the magical spread.
Never let it crawl deeper. I reached for one of my custom balms of starroot and moonstone, ground to a fine salve and mixed with blessed ash.
The three worked together to bind the fire’s threads and pull them out of her.
I smoothed it over the burns, watching the green flames hiss and sputter as it worked.
Seri’s entire body went rigid, but she didn’t scream.
“Almost there.” I worked the salve into every crevice where the Devil’s Breath had touched. The flames began to retract, rising to the surface of her skin rather than burrowing deeper. “Good girl. Good girl.”
“Foster? He’s still—” she started, trying to look over at the wolf.
“Ko’s got him. Focus on keeping still.”
Layer Two: Purification Flush. Cleanse the wound. I reached for the Holy water, uncorking the bottle with my teeth.
“This will sting,” I warned, “but only for a moment.”
I tipped the bottle, letting just a trickle flow over her affected fingertips. It sizzled and sent up small wisps of black smoke, and Seri shivered, but again stayed silent. The Holy water ensured no diabolical influence lingered, not even a trace.
“Foster’s stabilizing,” Koa called. “But his temp’s still climbing. I need the Holy water.”
“Ice packs at his armpits and groin,” I instructed without looking up. “Zane, take the bottle over to Ko. I’m done with it.”
Layer Three: Surface Burn Treatment. Repair the physical damage.
For this, I used one of the ointments from Angelo del Vecchio’s family magic shop, a rare concoction that cost me three of my own recipes in trade. Well worth it. I used a cotton swab to gently coat her fingers with the pearlescent cream.
“This feels cool. Nice,” Seri murmured, some of the tension leaving her face as the ointment began to work.
“It should. It’s drawing the heat out, repairing the physical burns.” I watched with satisfaction as the angry red blisters began to fade before my eyes. “Angelo said his family has been making this for seven generations.”
Layer Four: Containment Wraps. Seal the spirit-body connection.
For Seri, I chose a Spiritbind gauze. Faerie-made, light as air, and expensive as hell, but it reinforced the body-mind-soul connection that the Devil’s Breath tried to sever.
As I finished the last wrap, Seri’s eyes began to droop. The adrenaline crash combined with the healing magic in the bandages was pulling her under.
And we’d worn her out in bed before she ever rode to Foster’s rescue.
“Rest.” I brushed a curl away from her forehead. “The salve will continue working while you sleep.”
She nodded, already half-gone, curling onto her side in a little huddle. Her wrapped hand rested near her face, the bandages glowing with a faint, ethereal light as they calmed her soul.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead, then, without thinking, to her bandaged fingers. The gesture was automatic, instinctive, and it sent me flying back to her first days with us, when I’d treated the infected cut on her arm.
“There.” My lips had brushed the white gauze quickly as I felt like a fool. “Now it will heal faster.”
“Because of the kiss?” Seri had stared at the bandage.
“Because I cleaned it out and applied antiseptic,” I’d replied, confused by her question, and a breathy laugh had escaped her.
“I’d rather believe it’s your kiss.”
Behind me, Foster let out another whine, drawing me back to the present. I turned to find my brothers had the wolf immobilized, wrapped in moonstone-infused bandages that glowed with pale light.
“He’s not showing any signs of waking,” Ko reported as he stood. “His wolf’s still unresponsive.”
“Not surprising.” I moved to their side to inspect their work. “His wolf’s been comatose for as long as we’ve known him. Trauma response, best I can tell.”
“Move him to the cot now?” Ko asked.
“If he shifts back to human, but he’s comfortable enough and stable, so just leave him.”
I did another check on Seri. Her breathing had evened out, her face relaxed in sleep.
Good. The best medicine for the Devil’s Breath was rest while the countermeasures worked.