37. Devlin
37
DEVLIN
“ T hey’ve given up on Blair,” I tell Hands when I get home.
He signs, What?
I slump into a kitchen chair and fold over, resting my elbows on my knees. “The doctors want to stop feeding her. No way in hell am I going to let that happen. I’ll bring her here if I have to—set up a bed, have nurses around the clock—whatever it takes.”
Hands’s finger deflate over the hill of his body. I’m so sorry.
Tears fall from my eyes and drip down my chin. “They’re trying to convince us that she’s already gone, that she won’t ever come back because there’s no brain activity. But Hands, I will not?—”
My voice breaks and so do I. I sob like I haven’t done since my parents died. My entire body shakes and convulses.
How dare they. Wanting to let her die. Blair’s inside her mind. I know it. She has to be. I just can’t reach her.
When the tears stop, I sit up and press the heels of my hands into my eyes for a moment. I exhale hard, pushing out all the oxygen in my lungs. “The bookshop.”
What about it?
Hands plucks several tissues from a box and offers them. I take the fingerful and blot my face. I wad up the tissues, gulp down several breaths and fall back on the chair.
Thinking about something besides Blair helps, and if I talk fast, maybe I won’t break down again. “The magic is broken, and the place is a mess. I told Clara that I’d try to help. I think there may be a way to stabilize it. It won’t work long term, but it could last a few days. It’s the least that I can do.”
And then sadness overwhelms me again. It comes in waves, ebbing and flowing. At the hospital it’s easier to keep it in check, to be strong for Blair’s family. But when it’s just me and Hands, I can’t hold up pretenses any longer.
“Hands, this is my fau?—”
He grabs my fingers and shakes them. When I look up, he signs, Stop. This is not your fault. You can’t blame yourself. Blair knew this would happen, and she wanted to be with you. You wanted to be with her. You’ve got to stop guilting yourself.
That’s easier said than done. But Hands is right. Blaming myself isn’t going to help anything. I have to stop. Got to focus on something else, at least for a few hours, give myself a task. If I can’t save Blair, then maybe I can save her family.
“You’re absolutely right. Now, the bookshop.”
Hands waits a moment before replying, studying to make sure that I’m okay.
I roll my eyes. “I’m fine. Not fine, heartbroken. Destroyed. But the bookshop needs stable magic, something to bring it together and focus it.”
There’s a long pause because Hands knows what I’m suggesting and he doesn’t like it. But right now I don’t care. I want to be reckless. I want Blair back.
Yes, it’s an absolute miracle that she lived at all. The truck hit her, but it didn’t run over her. That’s the only thing that saved her life. She broke so many bones—pelvis, leg, arms, cracked ribs.
And then there’s the brain damage.
Devlin, Hands warns.
“Don’t Devlin me. It’s the only way that I know to lock down the magic enough so that maybe it can repair itself. Magic is alive, you know that, and if it’s fed what it needs, maybe it can mend itself—at least for a little while, until one of the daughters can…”
The thought of marriage hits me hard and I’m overtaken again. It’s a few minutes before I can speak.
I exhale. “This might not even work. But it’s worth a try.” I rise from the chair, entwine my fingers and rest my hands on the back of my neck. “And you can’t stop me. Even if you attempt it, I’m still going to do this, so you either help me or you stay out of my way.”
He scratches the fingers of the opposite hand. I don’t like it.
“I’m doing it for Blair.”
You’ll have to be careful.
Not interested in that, but sure. “I will be.”
How much power do you want to draw out?
“As much as I can lose without dying.”
No surprise there , he signs. I’ll monitor you.
Downstairs in the basement, I find the holding vessels that I’ve tucked away, locked in a cabinet. They’re ancient oil lamps, the kind that genies are supposed to be locked inside. They’re empty now, all genies having vacated the property, and they’re perfect for what I need.
How many are you going to use? Hands signs.
“Three.” He flexes his fingers frantically. “Yes, three,” I growl. “If you don’t like it, you can leave.”
He jumps onto the table and drags himself over to the first lamp. Point taken.
I place both hands on the cold metal and close my eyes. I feel magic inside me, trapped, waiting to be released, so I let it go, allowing it to flow out of me and inside the vessel.
I open my eyes to make sure this is working. Power drips from me, falling in a stream. It’s a beautiful thing to witness, golden energy filling the lamp, the lamp drinking up as much as I want to give—and more than that, even. So much more.
Each second that I give of myself, the effect is instantaneous. I was already tired, but fatigue hits me like a wall. I stagger forward and catch myself before I collapse on the table.
Hands flicks his fingers up at me frantically.
“I’m fine.”
I’m not fine, but I’m going to keep on.
When magic begins to spill out from the top of the first lamp, I stop. Hands caps it and reluctantly grabs the second lamp, opening the lid.
His disdain for what I’m doing is obvious. I don’t care. If Hands was in the same situation, he would do this. He would help the family of the woman he loves.
By the time we fill the third lamp, I’m so drained that I can barely stand. “Thank you,” I say weakly before heading upstairs and falling onto the couch.
My eyes close and I sleep. It’s the first sleep I’ve had in days. Every time I’ve shut my eyes before then has been plagued with worry, fear for Blair, guilt. But today, I sleep.
It doesn’t last long, maybe an hour. When I wake up, I’m still exhausted, but at least I can walk.
I shrug on a jacket, call the lamps to me. They don’t come. Apparently I used too much of my magic. I walk down the stairs on shaky legs and retrieve them.
Upstairs I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Haven’t shaved in days, and a patchy beard’s beginning to grow in. My eyes are sunken; so are what I can see of my cheeks. Can’t remember the last time I ate.
I wipe a hand down my face and head out without saying goodbye to Hands.
The bookshop looks closed. The lights are dim as if they’re trying to keep people away. When I enter, I understand why.
Soon as I step over the threshold, a book flies at me. I duck in time. It just misses me and hits the wall behind me with a splat.
If I had energy, I would react to that. But I’m just barely hanging in there. I stagger in and see Chelsea.
“Devlin!” Her eyes widen in concern. “Are you okay? No, obviously you’re not okay. None of us are okay. What are you doing here? Wait. Let me get you a chair.”
She finds a chair, and my legs nearly give out before I sit on it. The store is a wreck. Books lie everywhere. Some are trying to lift from the floor, limply flapping in an attempt to get airborne. Another flies in circles.
“I just talked to Mama. I can’t believe what they want to do.”
Tears swell in her eyes, and she plucks a tissue from her pocket, blows into it and shakes out her hair, pulling herself together.
“As you can see, the place isn’t suitable for customers. I’m trying to clean up, but the books are fighting me more than they are helping.”
I hand her the box that I’m holding. My words come out shaky. It’s hard to talk. If Hands saw this, he would strangle me. I went too far, he would say.
Hands would be right.
My hands tremble as I point inside. “These lamps hold my power. This isn’t permanent, but the theory is that when magic is broken, sometimes it needs a battery, if you will, and the extra charge will help it right itself.”
Her eyes light up with understanding. “You’re trying to fix this.”
I nod.
“With your own magic?
I nod again.
“Devlin, you shouldn’t have done this.”
“Just try it,” I whisper. “Open one and see.”
Her brow wrinkles and I can tell she’s trying to figure out a way to not take the gift. She even starts to push the box back into my hands, but I push it back. “No. Do it. Try.”
She sighs. “Okay. Tell me how.”
“Just open one up and the power will release. It’ll mingle with the magic here.” I point weakly to the ceiling. “If it works, the bookshop will suck up the magic”—my breathing is labored—“and it will right itself. At least temporarily.”
Her fingers tighten on the box, and I can tell she wants to—no, needs to try this.
“Do it, Chelsea.”
With a slow nod she steps behind the front counter and opens the box, dipping her hand inside.
“Ouch! It shocked me!” She yanks her hand out and sucks on her fingers.
“Secondary effect,” I tell her. “They’re charged.”
“Wish I’d been warned,” she mutters. She grabs a cleaning rag and pulls one of the lamps out, setting it atop the counter. “Do I open it? Is that all?”
“That’s all. And get out of the way.”
Using the rag like an oven mitt, she slowly pulls off the lid and steps back.
Magic explodes from the lamp, hitting Chelsea with a wave of air that makes her hair lift and her shirt flutter. Power shoots straight up to the ceiling, where the golden flame fans out above us. The magic is quickly sucked up by the building, soaking into the walls and ceiling before there’s a brief pause.
Her gaze darts to me. “What next?”
“Give it a second.”
One, two, three.
The building rumbles and Chelsea ducks down. “Is it going to collapse?”
“The magicks are talking to one another.”
“It sounds like they’re fighting.” She glances up fearfully. “Like one of them just punched the other. Oops, sorry, Devlin.”
I wave off her apology. “It’s okay.”
A moment later the rumbling stops. “Let’s see if it worked,” I whisper.
It takes another second or two, but the books begin to right themselves. The tome flying in circles stops and dives back onto a shelf. The ones trying lamely to get their covers to flap lift and, by magic, sweep up off the floor and find their way back to where they belong.
The whole place brightens as if it’s taken on new energy.
Which I suppose it has—my energy.
Chelsea slowly looks around, watching in astonishment as the entire shop regains its composure, if you will.
She exhales a low breath. “Holy cow. I think you did it.”
“It’s but a small token of appreciation for your family.”
She shakes her head. “You’ve done so much already. Blair loves you.” Her eyes well with tears. “You’ve given her so much happiness.”
She breaks off into tears. I rise and cross to the counter to give her a hug. She breaks down in my arms, and it takes all I’ve got not to crack, too.
I don’t know what to say. Tell her that everything will be okay, and it’s a lie. It doesn’t feel like anything’s going to be all right ever again. There’s a hole in my heart that will never, ever be filled.
The giving of myself is the absolute very least that I can do for this family.
But instead of saying any of that, the only thing I can reassure her with is, “When the lamp’s light is gone, use one of the others, and let me know when you’re on the last. I’ll refill them. I’ll do whatever I can to keep the magic strong until…”
Until what?
I can’t even think about it. Until I marry Blair? Until she wakes up?
I don’t have answers. I don’t have anything that I can give except my magic, and I’ll give all of it, even if it kills me.
Which it just might.