Chapter 15 Zane
ZANE
NOW
“Please, Kaye.” No matter how much I beg, she won’t listen. Her cold, dry fingers rest in my own, her body diverting its resources to keep the core organs functioning even at the expense of the rest of the body. “Why are you doing this?”
I remember what I said that night and many nights after. Every chance I had until she disappeared. Monster. And she was, in my mind. This all-powerful being who could take what she wanted from wherever—whomever—she wanted. Even if she never did.
Even when her life depends on it.
Her eyes, encased in dusky veined lids, dance from side to side. Is that normal for someone in this condition? A quick Google search yields no answers, but I wasn’t really expecting it to anyway. I can’t imagine there are all that many cases of poisoning via Monkshood after the early 1900s.
“I don’t know if I should give this to you. You need sleep.” Half-light shadows Angela from her spot in the doorway, but the steaming mug of coffee in her hand shines like a beacon.
“You are a goddess,” I tell her. “A benevolent goddess of caffeine and sanity. You wouldn’t hold out on me now, would you?”
Her eyes twinkle. She always treated me like one of her children, even before my parents passed away, and she never let me forget the love my parents carried for me.
That’s what best friends are for, she would tell me.
And they were. They might not have started that way, but life has a funny way of connecting people that need each other at just the right times.
Through childbirth—Mike and Frank first, me one year later, and George four years after that—through successes and failures. The deaths of their parents and loved ones.
“I lost a sister when we lost your mother,” she said.
Mom adored George. I think she secretly always wanted a daughter. Someone brave and intelligent, filled with the fiery passion to drive her through life.
It’s crazy how one rainy evening in September can change everything.
Dimples dot Angela’s cheeks as she sets the mug on the sturdy table beside my chair.
Her eyes look just as veined as mine, just as worried.
She leans past me to brush her fingers across Kaye’s forehead, careful not to dislodge the tube and mask secured to her face.
The machine beeping, breathing mechanically behind her.
I paid an ungodly sum to get it on such short notice and without a paper trail, but it was worth it.
And beating in the back of my mind, a drum cadence of my deepest fear: she’s not going to make it.
But she pushed through, stubborn and unyielding as Checkmate had always been.
Until the machine could take the work, even it out.
I knew she couldn’t fight the poison. Not with the dose she was given.
I would have paid the price a hundred times over for the relief of the ventilator when her lungs seized.
“She’s running a fever. Does that mean she’s getting better or worse?”
“I wish I knew.” The mug warms my palms with delightful heat, but nothing could soothe my irritation.
That’s the crux of all this. I’m a scientist, not a doctor. I can’t fix this. I’ve tried turning to Google, but fevers aren’t a typical symptom of Monkshood poisoning, unless the alkaloids have reached the brain. And I refuse to believe that because it would mean…
That prick must have used a personal blend, but without knowing, I couldn’t even begin to treat her. The antidote to one poison could accelerate the effects of another.
“I wish there was something I could do.” A price I could pay.
“You’re sure there isn’t?”
They’re words I never expected to come from her. She knows who I am. What I am. She’s lied for years to protect my secrets. But she’s never once alluded to my powers before. Never asked or prodded about what I could do. I think it’s easier for her to pretend that everything is normal.
“I’m not sure,” I answer. “It would be complicated.”
A shiver shakes through her bones, seeming to pull her back into herself. I take her hand, its warmth a reassurance I didn’t know I needed. “I don’t know why I asked that. I’m sorry, Zane.”
She pats my knuckles before leaving.
The questions stays with me, chasing me down in the silence and uncertainty.
If I do this, there is no uncrossing that line. But if it saved Kaye’s life, wouldn’t it be worth it?
She wouldn’t hesitate.
The irritated, swollen skin of her cheek radiates the warmth of the fight against infection. I can feel the heat of it where I rest one hand, close to the site but far enough away to prevent contamination. I place my other hand in hers and interlace our fingers.
I focus on my breathing and soon it matches the slow, steady pound of my heart. The tangles of my power push into her skin.
Nothing happens at first. I push more power along the tether between us.
And more again. An almost citrus burst of energy pulses through my fingertips, and at the end is an anchor that is purely me.
I follow its course as far as I can, and I know with a certainty like lead in my bones that it’s time.
Heal.
The command reverberates down the strands of my power, thrumming and alive. I don’t know where to look. In the chasm of Kaye’s power, what door do I need to unlock to set my ability free?
Her consciousness brushes against mine, passing hints of fire and night and a spice that is uniquely hers.
Power tendrils course through her cells, spreading like the tree of life.
Each root spidering to create new roots of its own until one finds the spot, the block standing between me and Kaye’s abilities.
My coils probe at it, the surface smooth and firm.
Zap!
The sting shoots straight into my brain, an electric current. My senses begin to dull, a cloudy haze taking residence inside my cerebrum. Everything moves in slow motion, moments pass—stretched—like taffy.
My power curls back in on itself, retreats. Through the haze, even the buzz slows. And I suddenly realize it’s not a buzz at all.
It’s a voice.
My voice.
That’s not possible.
I strain to hear it. Feed a little power through, just to get close enough. And then—
Monster.
Monster.
Monster.
The words reverberate down the roots of my abilities, infusing with all the strength and will I can muster. “I’m a monster too, Kaye, and I am not afraid.”
The tendrils grow to vines, thick and layered. I plunge them into the wall, cracking to the foundations.
Kaye’s power leaves impressions on my mind, like footprints on a sandy shore.
Varying shades of lavender and silver make up its core, but the heart of it is an ochre so rich and golden it puts starlight to shame.
My own is formless and green against her glow, but I reach for it.
The color combines, mixes until the glow is muted and luteous in hue. For one second, both are mine to hold.
Then it sucks on the threads of me with vampiric voraciousness. It claims the ownership I sought to reach, and I feed myself to it gladly.