Chapter 26 Dorian
Dorian
Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.
—Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
There’s a light glowing faintly in the distance.
Warm, inviting, safe…I wonder if I’m dead.
My body feels heavy. My limbs are like stone.
There’s a comforting finality to dying, a relief in knowing that it’s over, that it’s done.
There’s nothing left for me to do. No more effort needed.
No more scraping by. No more trying. And failing.
The last thing I remember is trying to save Atticus.
I hope it wasn’t all for nothing.
I have no answers.
I wonder if this is how death feels: trapped in a body forever, unable to move, sensing them burying you, thinking, feeling, knowing…?
I wonder, what will my mom do? What will happen to her now? I want the coroner to tell her it was quick for me, that it was over before I realized what was happening. Then something hits me.
I can still smell things, the scent of iron and copper—blood. I remember what happened.
There’s sunlight. Faint through my closed eyelids. I slide them open, aching from head to toe. I’m lying on the stone floor, and my back feels as if it’s been cut to pieces.
Sunlight shines through cracks in the stone ceiling, fissures that illuminate the narrow cell where I lie. The lantern light is gone, replaced by the dim and hazy rays of the early morning sun. Am I dreaming?
I try to sit up, but when I shift, pain shoots through me, and the world snaps into focus. Faces hover over me. Atticus. Raven.
They’re pale, and worried. They’re covered in filth and blood, but they’re alive, and still frightened. I recall everything that happened: The malum. Atticus. His bleeding wounds.
I don’t care about the pain. I grab Atticus by the shoulders and pull him into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” I tell him.
“Me? Never better.” He’s pale and weak, but he wraps his arms around me. He’s warm and in my arms, safe. I close my eyes and breathe in his scent, burying my nose into the slope of his neck.
“How long was I—” I start to ask, but I cough, which makes the ache in my back feel like a solid punch to the ribs.
“You’ve been unconscious for a while,” says Raven. She wipes her nose on the back of her bloody wrist. Atticus’s clothes are stiff with dried blood.
“What happened?” Atticus asks, pulling away. “You healed me, but injured yourself…”
“I know,” I say.
“How did you do it?” Raven asks. She holds out my gloves to me, gifting them a second time. I slide them back on. My skin still tingles, as if I’ve been shocked by static electricity.
“I told you the story. When I touched that man on the subway, the one who was in cardiac arrest, I felt like I was in cardiac arrest. I almost died. Maybe I did die for a moment, but I lived, and the man survived. I survived. Somehow my power allows me to absorb more than just memories.”
“You never told me that,” she says, sounding hurt.
“Oh, right—I told Atticus.”
Atticus blushes, and Raven looks at us keenly. Then she sighs. “Whatever. Go on.”
“Anyway, I had no choice. I just acted…and it worked. We’re alive.”
“You saved me,” says Atticus, “and you risked your own life to do it.”
“We’re not out of this yet,” I say, noticing the malum.
It’s still here. The creature paces, slinking like a silent cat. Its faceless head turns toward us as it walks on all fours in a grotesque prowl. My blood turns to ice when it looks at us.
“I had hoped that sunlight might banish it,” says Raven. “It hasn’t.”
I try to stand, but I’m too weak. I can’t run, not yet. And even if I could, what would be the point? The malum has us trapped. If we leave this cell, it will tear us to pieces.
Then there’s a low rumble from above.
The whole chamber shakes. Dust rains down from the ceiling, and I cough, choking on the debris. Through the gaps in the ceiling, there’s the unmistakable shape of a bulldozer.
The demolition. I almost forgot.
“Help!” Atticus calls. Raven and I join in, screaming, but the roar of the heavy equipment drowns out even our loudest cries.
We’re alone with the malum, and soon this whole chamber will be demolished.
“We have only one choice,” Raven says.
“Choice?” I ask.
“Yes, we can’t run, can’t stay here, so we fight.”
“The malum?” I ask. “How?”
Raven’s eyes glitter, cold and hard like diamonds, when she says, “With magic.”