7. Chapter 7 #2
“The rest is a fictional work about a Coheart and a Fallen who prevail against evil.”
“What is a Coheart?”
“A kind of butler figure that keeps the Fallen’s affairs together until they reach puberty and remember their memories. But there’s nothing of value in the rest of the manga unless you enjoy reading.”
“Stories stemming from truth are always interesting.” If he were to spread the information about the Fallen to his fellow kind, it might be easier to use the manga as a teaching tool. “Would you sell me a few copies?”
Simon’s gaze widened over his gaping mouth. “I can’t give this to you. Izzy doesn’t want an Archfiend to trace her through this.”
“Which is understandable, but we’d treat it with the same secrecy we afford ourselves. What if I talked to her about it? Surely, you’ve considered how much you would sell it for?”
“I’d triple your number, Simon.” Izzy’s voice came from behind him. “I’m sure he could afford it.”
Daxton, out of gentlemanly habit when a woman walked into a room, stood and nodded.
In his periphery, Simon mirrored the movement.
He had the feeling Simon wasn’t mimicking him.
The old-fashioned courtesy was a rarity for men of the current generation.
Daxton had grown accustomed to the manners in the 1800s.
The feeling that Simon was older than he appeared increased.
Daxton lifted his head, and the air whooshed out of him as if someone had slugged him in the stomach. With her arms crossed over the book on her chest, Izzy leaned against the doorframe, confident and in her element. Her appearance wasn’t showy, but she struck him like she were Helen of Troy.
“You’d let me sell it? To this guy?” Simon asked, pitch high.
“It will come with lengthy stipulations if I do. Now…” She sighed before she waved the journal at Daxton. “Where are the rest of the Centurion journals?”
He gave her a boyish grin. The Centurion autobiographies were educational pieces dragon children read growing up, though most, like him, didn’t remember the stories.
Only a few Centurions left an imprint. Each territory had its own full set of journals, but he’d keep that to himself.
The sooner he got her back to Dyamur Territory, the better.
Percy wouldn’t tolerate Daxton’s presence in his territory for much longer.
Daxton said, “If you want more, you’ll have to come with me to New Hampshire and help me find that Tattered One.”
She took a step back, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll have to return to the hospital to retrieve my body first.”
The detached way she spoke of her body left a smoky taste in his mouth. This being might try to act inhuman, but from the emotions he’d felt from her earlier, she was anything but. From her body language, she wasn’t too fond of the idea of going with him, and that nagged at his mind.
“Simon, you’ll stay here to pack,” Izzy said and turned to Daxton. “If Sarah permits it, I’ll travel with her so that I can continue healing.”
“Sounds good to me.” His dragon sent heat along his spine in rebellion. Spending time with her was going to continue getting harder unless she dropped the shield between them.
Hours later, Daxton followed Sarah into the busy Nashville hospital while Johnathan, Percy’s spy, stayed close behind. Percy seemed to have talked confidence into the kid, for he asked to come along with them.
“Are you going to lose our tail?” Sarah whispered back when a group of nurses walked into their path.
“Working on it,” Daxton mumbled as they arrived at a hallway with elevators on either side.
Sarah nodded. When Johnathan lifted his finger to press the elevator button, doors dinged, signaling their opening behind them.
Daxton steered Sarah into a crowded elevator heading up to lose Johnathan.
The door closed as Johnathan spun around, his face narrowed with confusion.
Though the fishy activity would reach Percy, the thrumming in his veins to see Izzy clouded his judgment.
With Daxton’s back to the other occupants, he faced Sarah. She grumbled as she slanted her body to fit into the small section.
“Of course, you’d pick the difficult way,” Sarah hissed through tight lips.
Daxton’s grin turned into a grimace when a stranger’s elbow jammed into his side. He strained to find the gold-eyed Izzy within Sarah’s gaze. Awareness flickered as the doors slid open and his chest tightened.
As Daxton and Sarah walked down a busy hallway, a nurse passed, pushing a crying baby in a bassinet cart. Sarah stopped, staring after the pair.
“What is it?” he asked.
“That’s a Fallen.”
“What?” He opened his Insight, and the spirit energies that flexed through him were sweet and human. Nothing like the purity, guilt, and metal of Izzy’s presence.
“She can sense it.” Her eyes pinched together. “They won’t remember that they’re a Fallen until puberty.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” he whispered as they continued down the hallway.
“She said their Coheart will be close by, keeping watch until the Fallen remembers.”
So, Simon was more than just a butler for Izzy—he was her protector when she was reborn. They rounded another corner, and an energetic nurse with curly brown hair greeted them with a smile at the ICU desk. “Can I help you?”
“Camilla Andrews, please.” Sarah’s silver hair and strong voice contradicted the way she stood, ankles crossed nervously like she had to pee. Daxton understood that the identity was Izzy’s current family name.
“Are you relatives?”
“I’m her aunt, Penelope Andrews, and this is her uncle Thomas.”
The nurse examined Daxton before her fingers clicked on the keyboard.
“She’s in room 512. It’s down that hall on your left.”
“Thank you.” Sarah headed in that direction.
He strode close on her heels. Outside the room, she hesitated. Glancing back at him, she bit her lip again.
If Izzy thought she could stop him from entering the room, she had another thing coming. Sarah was probably telling her how stubborn he was. He had once demanded she take all the energy from him so she could heal a comrade after a Tattered One attack. She won the argument only when he passed out.
She sighed, as if knowing she couldn’t keep him away, and opened the door.
The afternoon sun’s rays filtered through the open curtains, casting a warm glow over the sterile room. It swept across a bed half-hidden behind a drape that showed a blue blanket tucked under a pair of feet and shins. Sarah drew back the screen.
Daxton’s throat dried.
She’s radiant.
The air flowing from an overhead vent danced with the curtain.
The sun streamed like a blooming flower over her face.
A replica of Izzy lay in the hospital bed.
Her short caramel-blond hair accented her thin, narrow face and pointed jawline.
Her eyelashes rested like graceful feathers against her cheeks.
Sarah walked to the head of the bed, while Daxton stayed at the foot. The unconscious woman’s forehead creased as if she was having a nightmare. She looked to be in her early thirties, but her eyes in her winged form had weighed with wisdom.
The lack of any visible gauze or external injuries comforted him.
According to the heart monitor, her pulse thudded, strong and steady.
His shoulders loosened. She was safe. A soft scent tickled his nose.
She smelled like hospital soap, but hidden underneath, a citrusy tang wafted to him, reminding him of the time he lived in Florida.
The woman before him was human. No detectable abnormalities.
It explained how her kind stayed hidden.
If a Fallen passed by him, he never would have known.
Izzy’s spirit form was merely a projection with no aroma, while the actual woman lay within reach.
He hungered for her and wanted to rub her scent all over himself.
Sarah took the woman’s hand.
The hair on his arms rose as if static electricity crackled through the air. Sarah removed her hand from the unconscious woman. The heart monitor sounded erratic for a moment but calmed. Was the transfer complete?
Would her human eyes be the same sun-bright gold as the spirit being? He waited, willing those eyelashes to lift.
But she didn’t wake up.