CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
MOIRA
David spent much of the next few days at the McGowan-Delacroix residence, leaving only to drop off papers at the office and gather some clothes and toiletries from his condo. Moira set him up on a futon in her meditation room, then warded and blessed the room with Florida water and frankincense. David slept in a cocoon of her magic, which managed to take the edge off his suffering. But it didn’t stop him from getting paler and more lethargic with each passing day.
The effort to break his curse was a round-the-clock affair, and none of them left the house much. They spent long hours in the study, Rhys stalking around flipping through ancient texts, David curled up in the armchair scrolling through exorcism case studies on his tablet, Moira sitting on the rug trying to divine a solution with tarot cards. No answers presented themselves, no matter what incantation or ritual they tried. Moira chalked out so many different ceremonial circles on the hardwood floor that her knees developed twin bruises, and David subjected himself to Rhys’s ministrations over and over again. None of the rituals had any effect. If anything, they only seemed to make David sicker as the demon inside him rebelled. During various rituals, he was thrown to the ground, assaulted with a pounding headache, or made violently ill.
David slept in increasingly erratic, drawn-out bursts, and Rhys barely slept at all, living off coffee and whatever little bits of takeout Moira encouraged him to eat. To her knowledge, he only ever paused to call Leda a handful of times and give her a sugarcoated update on her brother’s condition, and to make an appointment with that therapist he promised her he would get. Leda, for her part, mobilized the network of chaos magicians she held sway over to try and uncover any answers they could about the curse, and she offered to come sit vigil with David, but David wouldn’t hear of it. She tried to push, but in the end, her time-worn distance from her brother won out.
Rhys was relentless in his pursuit of an answer, forging ahead even when Moira and David succumbed to exhaustion. Moira had never seen her husband so possessed by any single-minded pursuit, and she knew, without him having to say anything, that he was absolutely terrified of losing David.
The two men circled each other in tighter and tighter orbits. Rhys always chose the chair nearest to David, sitting close enough that their knees touched, and they would discuss possible rituals in quiet voices in the kitchen, their shoulders pressed together. Once, Moira walked in to find David sitting on the kitchen island with his feet dangling, Rhys’s hand spread across his knee.
“Try one more time for me,” Rhys was saying. “Just one more ritual. Please. I think I’ve got it this time.”
“Rhys, we’ve tried everything,” David sighed. “Lorena said herself this curse could only be broken by an Aristarkhov. My father’s dead and Leda is illegitimate. You’re a great sorcerer, but you aren’t blood.”
“Let me try,” Rhys said through gritted teeth. “You can’t just expect me to stand by and watch you die. Not after everything we’ve been through.”
Moira thought about announcing her presence, but she got the impression that she was interrupting something, so she stood still in the doorway. Allowing romance to blossom between her husband and his ex had seemed reasonable under the circumstances, especially in light of the special connection she had with David, but seeing it in practice was something different. Conflicting emotions warred in her chest: anxiety jousting with jealousy while love watched from the sidelines.
David moved to cover Rhys’s hand with his own, then thought better of it and braced his hands behind him on the counter, safely out of sight and mind. “Just because we have a past, that doesn’t mean you’re beholden to me. We’re even.”
“This isn’t about getting even, David. It’s not about repaying a debt. I’m doing this because I care about you. You have to know by now that I–”
“Don’t,” David said quietly. “Please don’t.”
Rhys scowled and withdrew his hand, flexing his fingers as though they ached. “Fine. We’ll go on not talking about it – forever, if that’s what you want. But at least let me try another exorcism.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Moira said, finally breaking the spell.
Rhys spun around with a little start. “Why not?” he demanded, putting an extra foot between himself and David.
Moira padded into the kitchen, pulling her knit shawl closer around her shoulders. “He’s worse off after every ritual. I don’t think his body can take much more, baby. At this point, we’re doing more harm than good.”
“We can’t just give up,” Rhys said, agonized.
“I’m not suggesting that. I’m just saying that attacking the problem head on isn’t working. David, you’re going to need every ounce of strength to fight this thing on your birthday. I don’t want to weaken you any more than we already have.”
“I appreciate that,” David said, and he sounded so tired.
Moira stood between David’s legs, wrapping her arms around his middle. David hugged her back, his strong arms secure around her shoulders. Rhys watched them both with jealousy simmering in his eyes, but Moira refused to be made to feel bad. If Rhys wanted to torture himself by not allowing himself to be close to David in the way he truly wanted, that wasn’t her fault. She would take her comfort where she could find it. And if Rhys felt the sting of what it was like to watch the person they loved most wrapped up in the love of someone else, maybe that would teach him a thing or two about what it felt like being in her position.
“Well, I’m not giving up,” Rhys said, and stormed off to his study.
Moira sighed. “He’s impossible.”
“He’s scared,” David replied, squeezing her a little tighter.
“So am I,” Moira whispered.
The next forty-eight hours slipped past in a haze of research, sleeplessness, and failed spells. Rhys continued to come apart at the seams, and David spent most of his days in bed. Moira felt frayed, like a rope pulled too tight. July 25th loomed over them, oppressive and inevitable, until all of a sudden, it was the 24th.
On the eve of his thirtieth birthday, David collapsed in the upstairs hallway. Moira emerged from her room to find him face down on the floor, pale and entirely unresponsive.
“Jesus,” she breathed, and darted to his side. He was limp as a corpse, but when she turned him over onto his back, she saw that he was still breathing.
“David,” she pled, cradling his face in his hands. “Come on, David, wake up. Wake up.”
For a long moment, there was no response. Moira debated running to fetch Rhys, who was deep into his research in the study, but she didn’t want to leave David’s side.
Then, David’s eyelids twitched. They were latticed with tiny blue veins, so much more visible than usual.
Moira raked her fingernails through David’s hair, leaning in close. “David?”
David muttered something incomprehensible, then attempted to push himself up onto his elbows. It didn’t go very well.
Moira looped her arm through his and hauled him to his feet, supporting nearly all his weight as he sagged against her.
“You need to lie down,” she said, and found that her voice was thick with tears. For a moment, she had thought he was really gone. “Come here.”
She guided him into the nearest room and sat him down on the edge of her and Rhys’s bed. David kicked off his shoes and curled up on his side, shivering like it was the middle of winter.
“I’m alright,” he said hoarsely. His brows were drawn together tightly.
“Like hell you are,” she said, voice breaking. “I’m getting Rhys. Don’t move.”
David’s hand darted out and grabbed her wrist, surprisingly quick despite his sapped strength. His weariness went through her in a heavy wave, followed by a thin, cold thread of fear. He was scared of being left alone.
“Stay,” he said. “Please?”
“Rhys–”
“I just want to be with you right now, if that’s alright.”
Moira sat gingerly down on the edge of the bed. She latticed her fingers through David’s. They were cold to the touch. “You don’t mind me seeing you like this?”
David cracked a weak smile. There was still a dull gleam of Aristarkhov charm in it, despite the circumstances. “I’ve never been able to pull one over on you. You know exactly how fucked up I am. You can feel it. I can’t hide anything from you, Moira.”
Moira rubbed her thumb in a soothing circle over David’s wrist. He was right, of course. She could feel the sickness radiating off him, and it made her skin prickle. But she could also feel something else, under the exhaustion and dread. It felt like a warm pulse, and she had sensed it before, in hugs from her mother or kisses from Rhys.
“Is this the part where you tell me you love me?” she teased, despite the lump building in her throat.
David kissed the back of her hand, his smile taking on a sarcastic edge. For an instant, the David she knew peeked through the haze of illness, like sun on a stormy day. “We’ll have a spring wedding and then honeymoon in Saint Tropez.”
Moira rolled her eyes and gave a little snort. “I’m a married woman, Mr Aristarkhov.”
David’s disposition sobered a little bit, and when he spoke again, it was quiet and honest, stripped bare of any bravado. “I didn’t know it was possible to fall for someone without wanting to take them to bed. But you proved me wrong. I’m sorry I underestimated you. And I’m sorry it took me so long to realize how important you are to me. I wasted so much time.”
“You’ve got plenty of time left,” Moira urged.
“No, I don’t,” David said with a bitter twist to his mouth. “You don’t have to pretend for me.”
The tears finally broke through to the surface, and Moira threw her arms around David. To her surprise, he didn’t stiffen or push her away. He actually pulled her onto the bed next to him. Dying men had no use for pride, it seemed.
“It helps,” he explained with a huff. “Touching you takes the edge off.”
“I know,” Moira said, snuggling up and tucking her legs against his. Her bare feet brushed against his socked ones, and his breath stirred the baby hairs at the nape of her neck. “It feels good to me, too.”
She had never been this close to him before, and she was enveloped in the sea of his emotions. The fear was quieter now, and the warm pulse of affection was stronger, lulling her into drowsiness. She tried to quiet her mind and offer him as much peace as she could through their strange psychic bond.
David draped an arm over her waist. “Is this too much?” he asked, voice muffled by her shoulder.
Moira shook her head. “No. You’re cozy.”
“Thank you for this,” David said, eyes sliding shut. “Just… give me a minute or two.”
He was asleep moments later. Moira considered slipping out of bed and going to update Rhys on David’s condition, but she hadn’t been sleeping well lately, and David’s rhythmic breathing was so soothing. She could spare a few minutes to rest her eyes.
Moira woke up hours later, when the room was dark and the house was silent. It took her a moment to realize that it was David, not Rhys beside her, and to remember how she had come to fall asleep in another man’s arms. David was still fast asleep, his breath shallow. She was just about to drift off again when a movement in a corner of the room caught her eye.
It was Rhys, sitting in the reading chair and unlacing his shoes. The sleeves of his rumpled shirt were pushed up past the elbows, and his hair was disheveled, like he had been wrestling a demon for the last hour. Knowing Rhys, it was entirely possible.
“Baby,” Moira murmured, lifting her head off the pillow. She wondered if the scene she was caught in needed some sort of explanation.
“You’re fine, love,” Rhys said, with a bone-deep weariness in his voice. Exhaustion sat heavy on his shoulders, and he all but staggered over to the empty side of the bed.
“I can move him into the meditation room,” Moira said, so quiet it was almost a whisper.
“Let him sleep,” Rhys said. “God knows we can all use some rest.”
“Were you able to make any more progress?”
“No. Just more dead ends.”
Rhys propped himself up on his elbow and surveyed David’s face, then dropped a small kiss to his shoulder. Under other circumstances, Moira would have felt like Rhys had walked in on something too private to share, or that she was witnessing something she shouldn’t be, but she found that all she felt in bed with both of them was relief, and an overwhelming sense of protective affection. Together, all their sharp edges slotted together perfectly.
It was so unfair that it had taken them all this long to realize that.
“We’re losing him,” Rhys muttered.
“He isn’t gone yet. We’ll figure something out. I promise.”
“We can try the new ritual I found tomorrow. If he’ll let me.”
Rhys settled down next to David, close but not quite touching. His eyes slid shut in the dark, and for a moment Moira thought he had fallen asleep.
“Moira,” he murmured after a moment.
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
Moira swallowed down the lump in her throat. “I know. I love you too. Get some sleep, baby.”
She didn’t have to tell Rhys twice. Within minutes, he was fast asleep.
Moira slept through almost the entire night, only waking as the peachy dawn light was creeping in through the windows. She rolled over to find Rhys out cold, his black curls in his eyes, but something was wrong.
David was nowhere to be found.
Moira pressed her palm to the sheets where he had lain. They were cool to the touch. When she peered out the window, she saw that his Audi was missing from the driveway.
“Rhys,” she gasped, nudging her husband awake.
Rhys murmured David’s name, either in some dream or because he thought the other man was still asleep next to him. Then, his eyes flickered open.
“He’s gone,” Moira said.
“Shit,” Rhys said. Then, looking at his watch and marking both the time and the date, he repeated even more resolutely. “Shit.”
“Why would he leave?” Moira said. The world suddenly seemed to be spinning very fast. “He can barely stay upright, much less drive.”
Rhys was out of bed in an instant, yanking on his shoes. “He slunk off like a cat to die alone, and I can’t, I won’t let that happen.”
“Where would he even go?”
“Back to where it all started,” Rhys said, snatching up his coat. “Beacon Hill.”
Moira hopped to her feet and reached for her cellphone. “I’ll drive.”
“He better be in one piece when we get there,” Rhys said darkly. “Or else I’m going to kill him myself.”