Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-four
The house before me is small—more of a cabin, really.
A tiny porch leads to a front door that hasn’t been painted in maybe ever.
The house itself is a weathered rust color, like it’s becoming one with its dusty surroundings.
The window to the right of the door is aglow despite the curtains blocking my view. A light is on. Someone’s home.
The drive here was harrowing at best. Krystal, Poppi, and the third woman, whose name I discovered is Yasmine, fell asleep in the back. They’re getting worse, skin feverish and sallow. Whatever Beliar poisoned them with is sticking in their system.
And then there’s Luke. Despite waking on and off throughout the first hour, he spent the last completely passed out.
At one point, I pressed my fingers to his wrist just to assure myself he wasn’t dead.
Once I got comfortable enough leaving only one white-knuckled grip on the wheel, I kept them there, letting his faint pulse be a constant reminder he was alive.
But I don’t know how much longer he can hold on.
I walk up the rickety porch steps and knock on the door. Long seconds pass. I knock again.
The floor creaks. It’s nearly imperceptible, but in the eerie desert stillness, my ears have no problem catching it. Someone’s on the other side of the door.
“I need help.” Desperation and draining adrenaline from spending the past two hours tensed behind the wheel make my voice raw. “Please. I was told to come to you.”
“Who told you?”
The voice is grating, as if the person on the other side of the door has spent the entirety of their existence chain-smoking. “Luke D’Angelo. He’s with me. He’s hurt, but he said—”
The door flies open and I nearly stumble off the porch at the looming presence behind it.
“Where is he?”
The single light bulb hanging above my head fully illuminates the woman who steps out.
Her face is a motley mess of scars, as if someone doused her in acid.
The pink skin travels down the length of her neck, disappearing under her floor-length nightgown.
She lacks lashes and brows, and her eyes are so dark that the pupils blend in with the irises.
Only a thin ring of white circles them. She looks both inhuman and achingly mortal as a clawed hand clutches at her chest, right over her heart.
“Are you Moira?” I ask, finally finding words.
She blinks at me, the motion insect-like. “I am.”
Luke told me we can trust her, and though he’s already lied to me plenty, I have no other options.
I lead her to the van and open his door, revealing his unconscious, bloody form.
In the back seat, Krystal, Poppi, and Yasmine cower, still in the same semi-lucid state they’ve been slipping in and out of.
“Please help us,” I plead.
Moira surveys them, then me. Finally, she nods. “Bring them in.”
· · ·
It takes twenty minutes of panting and groaning to finally get everyone inside.
Krystal, Yasmine, and Poppi huddle on the couch, a moth-eaten blanket draped over their shoulders.
In quivering hands, they cup steaming mugs of what Moira assured me is nettle tea, which sounds as disgusting as any other tea, but at least has them drinking.
It took both of us to lug Luke’s dead weight into the only bedroom. He lies on his back in his shredded black shirt, getting blood on the covers.
Moira sits on the edge of the bed beside him. She runs a curved claw-like fingernail lightly down the side of his pallid face. “What happened?”
I tell her the most abridged version I can, starting with Demon Debra in the overworld and ending with cutting Beliar with Fatality. Shortly after we left his grounds, The Reckoning happened. I pulled over, waiting for the storm to pass. If the archers came back to life, they didn’t follow us.
“They wouldn’t follow you without their master to order them,” Moira tells me. “You’re safe.”
The words open the floodgates. All the tension that’s been simmering since we entered Beliar’s fortress and everything went to shit boils over.
I step into the hallway, tears slipping down my cheeks faster than I can wipe them away.
I fall onto my butt when my legs give out.
Back against the wall, I draw my knees to my chest and open my hand to reveal the yellow vial filled with one dose of Vitality. The lifesaving potion.
Lifesaving, singular. But I have four lives to save.
Closing my fist around the vial, I drop my head to my knees and sob.
The floor creaks, footsteps nearing. “You’re scared,” Moira observes. “Why?”
“Because I don’t know what to do,” I blubber.
I open my fist, revealing the vial. “Luke’s lost so much blood, I can’t believe he’s still breathing.
This will save his life. But the entire reason we’re here is for Krystal.
Beliar poisoned her and the others to keep them weak until the eclipse.
But they’re so sick, I’m afraid they won’t make it back to the overworld.
How can I use it on only Krystal and not the others?
How am I supposed to choose who to save? ”
Moira’s bare brows pinch together. The top of her head is wrapped with a black silk scarf, hiding her hair, if she has any. She slowly gets to her knees in front of me so we’re eye level.
“I have known Luke for many years,” she says. Her voice is less grating than it was thirty minutes ago. It must have been rusty from disuse. Now, it’s soft, an edge of a rasp to it. “He has suffered worse than this. He survived then, so we have to believe he will survive now.”
I search her dark gaze, finding tenderness and nostalgia in her eyes. Slowly, the puzzle pieces slot together. Upon first knocking on the door, I thought maybe Moira was another ex of Luke’s, but I was wrong. “You’re his mother, aren’t you?”
She closes her eyes, as if the title is too much to hear. When she opens them, they’re glossy with unshed tears. “I wasn’t always able to protect him and his brother throughout their childhood, though I tried. If he can hold on through the night, morning will bring brighter times.”
“I can stitch him up,” I realize, something I should have thought of hours ago.
It’s been nearly eleven months since I wore scrubs and stood in the ER, but life as a receptionist hasn’t wiped my brain of what I spent years studying.
I get to my feet. “He has a balm in his bag he used on my knee that helped. If I can find a needle and thread…”
My excitement dies as I rush into the living room where Luke’s backpack rests on the chair. Trying to save Luke myself still only gives me one less candidate for the potion. Before me are three.
“Do you know what they were poisoned with?” Moira asks, coming up behind me.
I flip through my hazy memory of the mission, as if my brain is purposefully trying to erase it from my mind to protect me. “All I remember is stone and the statues and the garden—”
I break off with a sharp intake of breath, spinning to face Moira. “Beliar had a garden. I thought it was strange, but what if it was to grow poisons?”
Moira nods. “Do you remember any of the plants?”
“Moonflowers, I think. And something yellow. Both vines on the trellis.”
“Both poisonous. The yellow is likely cat’s-claw, which is toxic in high doses. Anything else?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to picture the bush full of plump dark berries and purple buds.
I’ve seen them before. When I worked in the pediatric unit. A little boy was wheeled in sporting a fever and hallucinations. He had eaten the same berries from a bush in his grandma’s backyard.
My eyes fly open. “Belladonna. They were poisoned with belladonna.”
“Perhaps a mix of all three,” Moira suggests. “The bad news is that their time is limited. Even if they weren’t given a killing dose, they could never be the same if its effects aren’t reversed soon.”
“And the good news?” I ask hopefully.
“A deadly dose of poison is different from, say, a deadly bleeding wound. Poison works slowly, and if you can stall its effects even longer, it may not work at all. If you can’t bring yourself to choose, we can divide the potion into three separate small doses.
It won’t save them like a full dose would, but it might at least buy them enough time to get back to the overworld, where there is medicine that can. ”
“And you can do that?” I ask. “Get them back home?”
She hesitates. “I can try. There’s an entrance not far from here.
Only a few hours’ drive. I believe in your world, it’s Santa Monica Pier.
I can’t cross with them. But since they were brought here without a deal, they should be able to.
I can get them to the pier and make sure they pass to the overworld. But I can’t help them beyond that.”
“That could work,” I murmur, a plan already taking shape in my mind. “They’d appear at that pier in the overworld?”
Moira nods.
“That’s one of the most crowded places in the state.
Someone would see and help them.” My thoughts rush together, blurring into one.
I fumble for my phone, tugging it from the pocket of my jacket.
“I could leave this with Krystal with a note saying what they were poisoned with. It also has her wife’s phone number in it.
They could use it to call for help. They could go home. ”
The relief that overtakes me is so bright, a fresh batch of tears well. I uncork the vial, carefully dividing it between the three mugs of tea they still hold in their hands.
“You have to drink this,” I tell Krystal, helping her raise the mug to her lips. “All of it.”
She obeys. Moira helps Yasmine, and I move to Poppi next. The effect of the potion is instantaneous. All three slump on the couch, expressions peaceful.
I cover them with the blanket, then shift to Luke’s backpack to pull out his first aid kit and the balm. Inside the kit I find needle and thread, though I’ll need to sterilize it.
“I need matches,” I tell Moira. She disappears into the kitchen and comes back with them.