Chapter 43 #3
A second projectile—what must be a bullet—whizzes by me, so close that I hear the hiss of it.
Someone is shooting at me! Not a spell, but an actual gun.
With my one good hand I jerk on the broom, causing it to right itself just above the tree line, but the action tugs at my wound, causing me to cry out again.
Tremors course through my body, and my grip falters.
BOOM!
I grunt as another bullet tears through my stomach, and unbearable agony flares across my abdomen.
The world tilts, then falls away as I fully lose my hold on the broom.
SELENE! Memnon bellows.
I try to focus on his voice as I plummet from the sky, but I can’t concentrate on anything over the endless, quaking waves of pain.
Suddenly, I collide with what must be a branch. For a moment, there is agony so vibrant it turns my vision white, then there’s nothing at all.
WAKE, SELENE!
I rouse to the bellow of Memnon’s voice in my head. A moment later, there’s the sensation of many hands on me. I can hear low voices, hissing, and the putrid taint of sulfur in the air.
I blink, the dark world slowly coming into focus.
I nearly scream.
All around me are demons. I see slitted pupils and razor-sharp canines, and when they turn their heads just so, their eyes glint red.
One of them roughly grasps my hair and tilts my head back.
The pain returns then, so loud and exquisite I lose focus for a minute. My shoulder throbs, but my gut…it feels like my insides are boiling away.
My eyes roll around, moving from one set of soulless eyes to the next, my mind pulling away from this moment.
HEAL YOURSELF! Memnon’s voice is insistent, and I can all but taste his fear.
My mind sharpens.
Heal—yes, yes, I need to heal, but…I can’t move my arms.
One of the demons leans forward then, his lips peeling back. I see the flash of his fangs an instant before he buries them in my neck.
I scream, jerking weakly against the arms holding me down as the demon drags in a gulp.
At my throat, skin sizzles, and now it’s the demon screaming. His teeth leave my neck. I can smell smoke and more sulfur.
Blood drips from the wound, just as it spills from my other injuries, my life rapidly slipping out of me.
…Emmmmpresssss…
The Hungering Ones hiss and whisper. My body shudders as I hear them.
…Missssstress of Old… We can help…
My fingers dig into the soil.
Yes, they can help, just as they helped once before.
You will not make deals with them, the sorcerer’s voice booms in my mind. I flinch at the sound of it.
Memnon, I sob down our bond. I know he must be near. I can’t get them off—
Another demon bites my wrist. I scream, weaker this time. But then the creature hisses, and I can smell their burning flesh as they pull away.
Selene, your magic! Memnon’s voice carries the same commanding tone he used to use on his warriors.
My magic—of course. I might not be able to heal myself yet, but I can still use it.
When I call on it, it’s weak and sluggish, as though it’s spilling out with my blood. I draw on it anyway, shoving it down my arms and out my palms. It throws the demons back into the tall grass.
“Coven sisters,” comes a shout from above, “now!”
Witches on brooms dive down between the trees, directing their brooms toward the demons. In their hands are the water bottles we gathered together earlier.
It comes together right then, as they empty the bottles onto the demons.
In our spell circle we called on the Goddess and blessed the water. That’s why the demons were burning themselves on my blood—because I drank the holy water.
And now they’re getting showered with it.
Screams start up, along with the sound of sizzling flesh.
My coven sisters corral them out of the woods, herding them away from me with the blessed water.
I see the silhouette of one of the witches as she loops back to where I am. Her presence distracts me from the retreating sounds and smells of roasting demons.
The moonlight glints across her eyes as she comes to a stop ten feet above me.
“Me and the rest of the witches will handle the demons.” It’s Cordelia’s voice, the one who foresaw this entire evening.
“They won’t be back, but this is the last you’ll see of us for the night,” she says.
She hesitates, then adds gently, “Heal yourself, sister. You’re going to need your strength for what’s to come. ”
With those final, ominous words, she takes off into the trees, heading toward the dying cries of demons.
I lie there several seconds longer, in abject agony, trying to be grateful my coven sisters ran off the demons rather than feeling sorry for myself that Cordelia didn’t actually heal me herself.
I also don’t want to dwell on the possibility that she didn’t linger because doing so would’ve put her in danger.
Eventually, I grit my teeth and gather together enough strength to do as Cordelia asked.
My limbs feel leaden, and my right arm is entirely incapable of movement from my bullet wound. Weakly I lift my left hand and lightly press it to the flesh right beneath my breasts.
“Vakahi.”
Heal.
That thick, honeyed magic seeps from my hand and into my flesh. My jaw clenches, and I scream through my teeth as my injuries begin to shift as they heal.
…Empress…
The Hungering Ones still whisper for my attention, but they go utterly ignored as my eyesight clouds, and I fight to stay conscious.
Their voices die away altogether as slowly, slowly, my body repairs itself, the skin heating and itching as it reforms. My limbs are shaking so badly I’m sure I’m going to break the connection my hand has on my skin.
The bulk of the spell works on my stomach wound, which must be the more dire injury. Blessedly, the pain begins to ease.
A wave of deep blue magic fills the forest then, and though my heart pounds a little harder as nerves knot up my stomach, I cannot help the relief I feel at the soft caress of Memnon’s power as it brushes against my skin.
The thick plumes of magic clear, and there he is.
Memnon’s eyes land on me, sprawled out on the ground. I don’t know what he sees in the darkness, but it cannot look good. My clothes are torn and soaked through with blood. I can feel the gaping wound at my shoulder. And even partially healed, I am too weak to get up.
For an instant, Memnon’s power seems to violently overtake him. His eyes illuminate, and his hair billows in that unseen breeze. Just as quickly, it dies away, leaving him quaking.
You found me, I say.
I see his form shudder at my words and a gasping, despondent sound rips from his lungs. His eyes linger on my wounds, and angels have never lamented the way his expression now seems to.
“You were supposed to run,” he whispers, holding himself back from me. “And to heal yourself. You will—” His voice cuts off before continuing.
I try to shrug, but the action enflames my right side. I gasp in pain, an action that has him taking a step forward before he halts himself.
I’m about to tell him that I was healing myself, that I simply hadn’t finished, but I’m distracted by his presence right now and the rising tension in the air.
I can sense that the sorcerer’s power is still a swirling maelstrom within him. If anything, it seems to grow the longer he takes me in.
“Memnon.”
Now his knees bend, almost as though they’re about to give out. Instead, he staggers toward me.
“Selene.” He says my name like a sob, his voice deep and guttural with his power and grief.
Then his legs do give out, and Memnon falls to his knees at my side. He reaches for me, then stops, his hands poised in midair. My breathing is shallow and ragged.
I stare at him like a deer sighted by a wolf. I have not missed his strange behavior, nor his strange, halted speech. Nor can I forget the pain in my chest that woke me earlier.
My own grief rises up to match his.
“Est xsaya, est xsaya,” My king, my king, “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. While I slept, something terrible happened to him, something undoubtably worse than being ambushed by demons.
He gives a fierce shake of his head, pinching his eyes shut. “You…will not…apologize.” He bites the words out like he’s testing out if he can say them.
His throat works, and his hands still hover when his power begins to pour out of him once more, roiling and twisting as it coats the forest around us. An orb forms high above our heads, then another and another, illuminating this section of the forest in the most vivid shades of blue.
But though his power envelops us, it doesn’t sink into me.
“Heal yourself,” he commands again, keeping his own hands away from me, like he cannot bear to help me.
Or he’s forbidden from doing so.
I swallow, then nod. Slowly, I bring my hand to my shoulder.
“Vakahi,” I incant.
The two of us stare at each other as my power pours from my palm. I bite my lower lip and muffle a cry as the bullet wound at my shoulder tugs on itself.