Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DARBY
Despite her previous assurances, Darby’s head still pounded the next morning.
She trudged down the stairs, wincing with every step, and pushed open the door to the front room of Clerval’s.
Henry, Fitz, and even Robertson had beaten her there, and whatever quiet, tense conversation they had been engaging in as she entered the room immediately stopped.
Fitz was on his feet in a heartbeat, pulling out a stool and helping her slide on. His hand hovered just behind her back, close enough that she could feel its heat.
Henry looked down at her under reprimanding brows. “What are you doing out of bed?”
She gently dropped her head on the smooth, cool surface of the counter and closed her eyes. “I have to leave for work soon, but I need some of your magic to make my magic work.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m always serious about coffee.”
“Darby, you were just attacked in your own workshop, and we still don’t know who did it or why.”
She turned her head enough to afford a clearer view of him.
His arms were crossed in front of his chest, and he stood with his legs wide, as if bracing for a fight.
“Nobody is going to try to hurt me in a hospital. There are too many witnesses. Besides, what better place to be injured than a building full of doctors?”
“You can’t even sit up right now.”
“Yes, because I need an energy boost. Once I get some coffee into my system, I’ll be able to give myself some healing magic.”
He grunt, obviously not pleased, but turned to his coffee machine. “Mocha?”
“Always.”
While Henry busied himself making her drink, Fitz slid onto the stool beside her. “Robertson and I took a look at your workshop this morning. From what I can tell, nothing is missing, though you would know for sure.”
“It sure seems like they were looking for something, though,” Robertson added, sipping a mug of his own coffee. “Any idea what that might have been?”
“No.” She pushed up onto her elbows. “There isn’t really anything of value down there, unless you count some of the tools and scrap metal. No one even knows that I use the space, other than maybe the three of you. But what if it wasn’t on purpose?”
Henry set a large, steaming mug down in front of her. “That hit to the head wasn’t an accident.”
“No, no, no. I just mean it could have just been someone who broke in looking for money, and when I came in they panicked. It makes more sense than it being specifically about me.” She lifted the mug to her face and inhaled. “This smells good, Henry. Is this what you were working on last night?”
He looked at her in confusion. “Last night?”
“I woke up at one point and thought I heard you down here. I assumed you were getting the kitchen ready.”
“It wasn’t me.” He looked to Fitz. “Did you hear anything?”
Fitz shook his head. “Not until this morning when you came in.”
Darby shrugged. “It was probably just my head.” A flash of pain lanced between her temples, reminding her of why she sought out the coffee in the first place. She blew on the steaming liquid, then took a sip. “It tastes different. Is it a different kind of chocolate?”
“It’s the same as always.”
“Huh.” She sniffed at the liquid before raising it to her lips again. “It smells kind of nutty. Almost like almonds.”
Before she could take another drink, Robertson suddenly wrenched the mug from her hands, eliciting a startled protest. “Hey! I need that.” The jarring movement had the hammers in her head working overtime.
The grizzled soldier held the drink under his nose. He looked to Henry, his expression grim. “What did you use to make this?”
Henry retrieved a tin of cocoa powder from under the counter. He handed it to Robertson. “I add this to the coffee grounds. Chocolate is hard to come by these days, so Darby is the only one who gets it.”
“Aww. I didn’t know that.” Touched by the affirmation of Henry’s affection, Darby smiled at him just as a wave of dizziness hit her. She dropped her head back to the table. “Can I have it back, Robertson? I need the caffeine.”
He popped the lid off and sniffed the contents. “I’m sure you do. What you don’t need is the cyanide.”
Henry roared, “The what?”
Fitz jumped to his feet, sending the stool clattering to the floor, and stood over her, a protective hand on her back. “What do we need to do?”
Darby pressed her fingers to her temples as she fought the urge to vomit.
If it’s cyanide, then I need to get it out of my system—and quickly.
“Pray to Deus that the poison wasn’t concentrated enough to be lethal after a single sip.” Robertson’s voice was grave. “We’ll know soon enough.”
“No!” Fitz and Henry both yelled at the same time.
Fitz added, “There has to be something.”
There is, and I could take care of it if they would all just quiet down.
Darby closed her eyes, doing her best to block them out. She reached for the magic that normally came so easily and winced at the fresh wave of hurt it brought. She pushed past it, gritting her teeth, and a tiny whimper of pain escaped.
I’m too tired. I’ve reached my limit. This is it. This is—
A warm arm wrapped around her shoulders pulling her back into a broad chest and supporting her from behind. Darby recognized the thum-tick of Fitz’s clockwork heart in her ears as her head leaned against him.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered.
She recognized Henry’s calloused fingers on her wrist. “We’re here, Darbs.”
Robertson gave her arm an encouraging pat.
A tear escaped one corner of her eye as her chest swelled with warmth and affection at their show of support. She leaned into Fitz, allowing him to take on the burden of keeping her from falling as she poured all her energy into reaching out for her magic.
It was there, but just barely out of reach.
Henry squeezed her arm.
If I die from drinking poisoned coffee, Henry will never forgive himself. I can’t let that happen.
She tried again and succeeded in snagging a tiny thread.
She drew it into herself, like pulling a string through the eye of a needle, and directed it through her system, searching for the dark, ugly streams of poison that were already beginning to make their way through her blood.
Beads of sweat formed on her brow as she wrapped the magic around the poison and tried to neutralize it. Her stomach heaved, and she shuddered.
It’s not going to be enough.
“You can do this, Darby.” Fitz’s voice was low and hoarse beside her ear. “You’re too clever and too strong to let a little poison do you in.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, one corner of his mouth touching the tips of her fingers.
Butterflies erupted in her stomach, sending an excited, nervous energy all the way up her spine and into her arms. It was just enough.
She pulled more magic in, shoving it through like the steam that ran through Henry’s pipes.
As the seconds went by and the magic slowly did its work, she began to feel more and more like herself.
She finally dropped her hands and opened her eyes. “I’m fine.”
Henry, still holding onto her wrist, sagged in relief until his elbows hit the counter. “Praise Deus.”
Rather than releasing her, Fitz’s arm around her tightened. “I knew you could do it. But we need to limit your number of near-death experiences—the heart you built me can’t take it.”
She huffed out a laugh as she shifted, settling into a more comfortable position and ignoring the knowing look Henry was giving her as his eyes flitted meaningfully from her to the captain behind her.
He let go and picked up the container of cocoa powder. “How did you know?” He directed his question to Robertson.
Robertson tapped his nose. “Almonds. It’s a dead giveaway, if you’ll pardon the expression.
The Lavenzian soldiers use cyanide—or they did, anyway—to torture their prisoners.
Four men would be seated blindfolded at a table and four cups placed in the center.
Three would be poisoned and one would be safe, but the prisoners were never told which.
They would be held at gunpoint and forced to drink.
” His jaw clenched. “After a few rounds, I got pretty good at identifying the smell of almonds.”
Darby shuddered in revulsion. “That’s horrible.”
“It is. It also means that this wasn’t an accident. Someone wants you dead, Miss Shelton, and whoever it is knows you well enough to know that Henry makes you special coffee every morning.”
The thought made her sick. “But…who? And why? I don’t think I’ve done anything to make anyone hate me that much. I go to work, I do my job, and I go home.”
“What about that blonde doctor?” Fitz suggested. “The one that we met yesterday.”
“Lacey?”
“Yes. She certainly seems to be holding some kind of grudge against you.”
Darby shook her head slowly, unwilling to believe it. “I mean, she’s upset that I got the internship that she wanted, but why would that make her resort to murder?”
“Maybe she thinks that with you out of the way, she’ll be able to take your spot,” Henry offered.
“This all still seems very drastic.”
Fitz let out a long exhale. “Maybe, but it’s the best we have to go on right now.”
The clock chimed, calling Darby’s attention to the time.
She reluctantly pulled away from Fitz’s hold.
“I need to get ready.” She held up a hand.
“And, as I told you before, I’m probably safer at the hospital than I am here.
If it is Lacey, she’s not going to try anything with so many witnesses around.
Probably. Besides, we work in different departments; I can go days without ever seeing her. ”
Fitz, Henry, and Robertson looked at one another, holding a wordless exchange.
“Fine,” Fitz capitulated. “But one of us is going to be close by the entire time.”
Rather than fighting, she accepted their terms with a feeling of relief. “Wonderful. Oh, and Henry?” She turned to him with a wide, pleading gaze.
“Yes?”
“Could I please have a cup of coffee?”