Chapter Thirty #2
Did he think of us at all before he died?
“Do it,” Rook says, and the steadiness of his voice shocks me out of my reverie. He holds out his hand and Florian leans over to hand him the bowl. “You need blood from both of us?”
Florian shrugs. “Up to you. Figured you might both want to be involved, what with the soulbond and all.”
Rook’s gaze flicks to him again, but Florian is no longer paying attention to either of us. Sora is, though. He watches us with the flat, dark eyes of a fae, despite the fact that I am certain he is human.
“Give me the bowl when you are done,” he says, “and then stay where you are. If you come too close to the table, your magic could interfere.”
It is clear he would rather we were not in the house at all. Florian drags a stool over to the table and drops onto it, sitting level with Jamal’s head. For a moment, he studies Jamal again, then he rests his elbows on the table and closes his eyes.
Rook tears into his own wrist and holds the wound over the bowl. I am about to bite into my own when I feel the sharp reach of Florian’s magic.
It is far deeper than I am expecting, and a gasp tears itself from my throat. Rook growls. Sora does not move, but his shoulders tense and his magic pushes, too, as though in warning. These necromancers are powerful, and for a moment I am optimistic.
We can save him. We can.
The moment passes. Rook holds out the bowl, the wound on his wrist now healed. I dig into my own and when my blood drips into the bowl, it mingles with his. He shakes his head when he believes I have given enough and I heal my wrist with a flicker of magic as he hands it over to Sora.
Sora takes it and swirls the deep red liquid around. A mixture of the two of us… He can be angry with us both then. At least if he is angry, he is alive, and if he no longer wishes to be—
I shake all over and finally give in, turning my head to press it against Rook’s shoulder.
He takes my hand and squeezes tight but does not look away from Jamal.
Always the strong one, though I believe he would argue if I were to say so.
That means little. Even after being turned, we cannot lie, but he would still tell people I hung the moon if they asked because in his heart of hearts, he believes it.
We cannot see what Florian is doing, what battles his consciousness is fighting, but over the course of the next few minutes, he pales.
Sweat beads on his brow. His fingers twitch, palms upright and, once, Sora jolts toward him, hand raised as though to shake him out of it, but Florian shifts on his seat and mutters, and Sora holds in place.
Around five minutes later, Florian’s eyes fly open. They are entirely white, unseeing. My heart leaps into my throat. Is something wrong? Can he not find Jamal at all?
“Sora,” he says, and the word saws out of his throat, creaking as though he is the one dead. “Knife.”
Sora presses a silver knife into Florian’s hand. Rook twitches forward when Florian touches it to Jamal’s wrist, but I hold him in place. This is how we turn. He should remember, just as I do. I drained all the blood from his veins and then I poured mine down his throat.
Jamal will not need to lose much more, not after how much was already lost when Tamesis attacked. Florian moves the blade quickly over one delicate wrist, and only a drop or two spills before he nods and Sora moves with the bowl.
Perhaps it is more ceremonial than anything else.
An invitation for Jamal to return, to be a part of this ritual.
I do not know. More importantly, I do not care.
Sora opens Jamal’s mouth and tips the contents of the bowl down his throat.
He massages the column of it, and some spills from the torn wound, but that matters little.
It does not need to make it to his stomach.
The magic needs to sink into him if it is to work.
And it does not seem to work at all. A faint tremor goes through Rook, and I steel myself. If he falls apart… I do not know how to bring him back from this. I do not know how to bring either of us back. He thought me lost once, but at least I was there to stop him from doing anything drastic.
“Wait,” Florian says. His eyes are still white, voice still that bone-rattling creak. I hiss this time, the sound instinctual. No human should sound like that.
We wait. Rook’s grip on my hand hurts. I cling to him in turn, unblinkingly watching Jamal, and my magic wants to reach for him, but I rein that in, too, because I will do nothing to jeopardise this moment.
All at once, Florian gasps. He sucks in a loud, desperate breath and careens backwards, almost falling off his stool. Sora is by his side in an instant, but although he grabs Florian by the shoulders, holding him upright, his gaze barely strays from Jamal’s face.
Mine does not. The ritual is ended, clearly, the spell broken. So why… Why has it not worked? Despair sweeps over me. All of this, everything that we did, that I did, and it ends here? In this cellar, in the dark, with a part of our soulbond irrevocably shattered because a vampire destroyed it?
Rook is stiff in my arms. He wants to pull away, and in a second or so he will.
A vampire has destroyed us. I would have never thought it possible, and yet—
A loud, gasping sound breaks through the thundering of my pulse in my ears. Jamal’s back arches, hands scrabbling at the table, and Sora draws back, looking faintly horrified, but Florian grabs Jamal’s shoulders, holding him in place.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, “you’re okay. You’re alive, okay? It’ll come back. Just breathe. Breathe.”
Jamal’s eyes are panicked. Frightened. He tries to speak, but his tongue seems too heavy, and the sounds come out slurred and muffled.
Florian strokes a hand over his forehead, and where in other circumstances either me or Rook would step in and stop the touch, we are both too stunned to move.
“It’ll take a few minutes to settle,” Florian says, and I’m not sure if he’s speaking to Jamal or to us. “Just relax. You’re safe.”
The wound on Jamal’s neck is already healing, and I cannot see the one on his side, but I fancy that is healing, too. He raises a hand and clings to Florian’s forearm. Sora sets the bowl down and remains a few steps back, watching.
It is a few minutes before I dare to step forward. Rook’s fear is palpable, and he has done so much tonight—I rest my fingers on the edge of the table, scant inches from Jamal’s own.
“How do you feel?” I murmur, and when his dark eyes lock on me, I realise that may have been the wrong question. The power swirling inside him feels different to the other vampires I sensed in the clan. Is it because we turned him?
Jamal narrows his eyes. He tries to sit up, but Florian’s hands flutter over him, his voice soothing as he urges him to stay still. The wound on his neck has healed over, though I am certain there is still internal damage.
Still, he opens his mouth. Still, he forces out words that make me flinch and hang my head in shame.
“You,” he breathes, the word catching as it rises from his throat. “What did you do?”