Chapter 30
Quinn, Aamon, and I watch with bated breath as Laurel handles the Angel’s Trumpet, delicately working the herb over an open flame.
Aamon called for her as soon as Zeke stormed out, leaving me to pace as I looked nervously from the plant on the dresser to Evangeline, hoping this would be enough to save her.
Laurel adds the petals of the golden flower, one by one, to a black cast iron pot poised directly above a candle on some sort of wire rack.
Then she grabs a handful of bottles from the small collection she brought with her, popping the tops off and sprinkling a myriad of contents into the pot.
I don’t recognize any of them, but the smell they emit is a powerful one, something about it setting my teeth on edge.
“Will this work?” I ask, antsy to do anything to reassure myself this is the right decision.
“It should,” Laurel answers after a beat. “I cannot guarantee anything, though. We don’t know how this plant will affect her kind nor do we know what concoction of drugs they were likely giving her before to achieve what we are attempting now.”
“I don’t like those odds,” Aamon bites out. And while I agree with the sentiment, my lips can’t help but tip up as I recognize the concern etched into his features from where he leans over the bedpost.
“As far as I have ever heard," Laurel explains, "Angel’s Trumpet has only been used on our kind. To suppress the Arcane. Never on the Watchers, since there was no need. But much of their anatomy and healing methods mimic our own, so, in theory, it shouldn’t matter.”
Laurel leans in, whispering an incantation into the pot as she stirs the liquid.
Aamon watches her with fierce concentration and I have to tear my gaze away before I puke from the nerves twining in my gut.
“I need some air,” I mutter, standing from my chair beside Evangeline’s bed and pushing my way through the room.
I let out a breath of relief when I’m safely on the other side of the door. The hallway is dark, quiet, and putting some distance between me and that plant seems to do wonders for my nausea. I give myself a moment, closing my eyes as I lean back against the door.
I whisper an apology to Evangeline. My hands are shaking, my body ravaged with nerves I can no longer suppress.
I need to remove myself for the time being, to get a grip on these emotions.
I wish I was stronger, wish I could be there for her while she undergoes this journey.
But Quinn and Aamon are with her, and for now, I need that to be enough.
I push off the door, heading towards the common area in search of Zeke. Sure enough, he’s standing in the corner of the room, staring out the window when I enter. I silence my steps as I approach him, not wanting to disrupt his peace.
I join him at the window, watching as a soft rain dampens the glass and snuffs out the sun rising behind the clouds. We stay like that for several moments, watching the water droplets slide down the glass, converging together and forging path after path before they disappear entirely.
“Thank you,” I whisper at last.
He doesn’t respond, but I can tell by the way his jaw tightens that he hears me.
“I mean it. You very well may have just saved her life, Zeke.”
“I didn’t do it for her.” His voice is low, angry.
I dip my head, swallowing hard. “I know.”
“Whatever you see in her, I don’t get it.
” He sighs, shaking his head and running a hand over his jaw.
“But I made myself a promise a long time ago that you would always be free to love how and when you wanted. So if this is what you need, if she’s what you need.
Then I’m going to make sure you have it. ”
“She’s what we both need, Zeke.” I lift a hand to his forearm, stepping into his space.
“No.” Zeke pulls back, refusing to let me touch him. “Don’t misconstrue this as me accepting her. I want nothing to do with the girl. I just—” His words cut off as emotion leaks into his voice. “I want you to be happy, Sterling.”
I furrow my brow, trying to step into him again. “I am happy, Zeke. You make me happy.”
He lets out a breathy laugh, one laced with sadness. “I haven’t made you happy in a long ass time. We both know that.”
I wrap my arms around him, resting my forehead against his. “Hey,” I whisper in the small space left between us. “Check in.”
Zeke wrestles with the command, and for a moment I’m sure he’s going to ignore it. “I don’t have a place here, Sterling,” he says at last. “You fit well with Aamon and Quinn. With the Blood Order. But this doesn’t feel like home to me. Nowhere does.”
I take Zeke’s face in my hands, making his icy blue eyes meet mine.
“Zeke. This is your home. This clubhouse, the Blood Order.” I let one hand drop to find his own, lifting it to my chest and resting it against where my heart would be beating if the Arcane hadn’t claimed it all those years ago.
“Me. You have to stop punishing yourself for shit that wasn’t even your fault to begin with. ”
Zeke pulls his hand away, “I’m not getting into this argument again.”
“Why?” I push back. “Because you know you’ll lose? You did everything possible to protect us back then. Why won’t you let yourself move past this?”
“Because." He turns on me, fast. He’s in my face, so close the minty, pine scent of him fills my nostrils, and it’s all I can do to not lean in and kiss him.
There’s a fire in his eyes I haven’t seen in ages, and as much as it pains me to not touch him, I know he needs this.
“You were too strung out to remember any of it clearly. You don’t have to live with those memories.
I do. So you don’t get to stand here and tell me whose fault it was.
You don’t get to stand there and tell me to get over it or to move on, or that it’s time for me to find happiness with whatever fucked up version of family you’ve found here.
Not when I’m the one incapable of sleep, plagued with visions of you under their control. ”
“Zeke—”
“No." He retreats a step when I move in, shattering my heart. “I fixed the girl. I did my part. Now it’s time for you to do yours.” He turns away from me, looking out the window and raising a hand to point me back towards her bedroom. I want to argue, want to push him to keep talking. But he’s shut down once again, retreated into whatever distant place he locks his true self away.
I sigh, turning to take my leave. I pause at the far end of the common space, looking back at him over my shoulder. “Where did you get it?” I ask. He's still looking out the window, his back to me with arms crossed stiffly over his chest.
“You know where,” he says at last.
I do. Because there’s only one place he could have gotten pure, wild Angel’s Trumpet like that.
The WildLands.
Any within the city’s borders is locked down by Raziel. Our kind isn’t even capable of crossing over to the city center without permission. And after Andras ordered us to take out the ungoverned district’s one connection to such a substance, there would have been no other options.
Afterall, we came across it often enough during our time there.
But the thought of him out there on his own racks me with guilt.
A chill slithers up my spine and over my skin, the nausea returning.
He was foolish to try and face the WildLands on his own.
It could've hurt him—killed him, even. But I can’t even be mad at him, because this may be exactly what ends up saving Evangeline.
And it’s more than I was able to do for her.
“Thank you,” I say again. But the words feel hollow this time.
I cannot pick one of them over the other.
I want Evangeline safe, whole. But I need Zeke to be the same.
And for quite possibly the first time ever, I worry for Zeke’s well-being.
Truly worry. I’m so used to being the problematic one between the two of us.
He’s always been the one to take care of me.
The one to make sure I’m okay. And as I make my way back to Evangeline’s room, I can’t help but feel useless.
Because even now, as I’m watching Zeke waver in his strength—as I’m watching Evangeline slip from this world. I’m incapable of controlling the torment of emotion pulling me under.