38. Collar #2
He looked at each of them, and they nodded simultaneously.
Caelum bit his tongue, but only nodded back.
“Right,” he said. “Well, what if we chuck the shielding, then, and create a kind of ring of magic, with all of us? Alec, you said you don’t think your magic is enough on its own to break through the collar and the blood spell.
What if you used all of theirs? And mine, too? ” He swallowed. “…And maybe Leda’s?”
He looked around at all of them, but they only stared back.
He exhaled in frustration at their silence.
“I can’t actually feel her right now,” he admitted. “But in theory, we’re always connected. Maybe if all of us focus on her, it’ll be enough to strengthen that connection, and even activate one or both of our primals. Might that be enough to boost the spell?”
“Ritual,” Alaric corrected distractedly. “And maybe. Yes. I would think so. Even one of you being connected should be enough. And your marriage connection likely trumps even the blood spell with your father.”
Joran scoffed quietly, but Bones ignored him.
“Try it,” Bones urged.
Alaric looked doubtfully at Bones’s neck.
“That thing will hurt you… a lot… if you do what you’re suggesting,” he said, even more doubtfully. “Won’t it?”
Caelum shook his head, but not in disagreement.
“Doesn’t matter. We need to get there, Alec. Now.”
Alaric looked even more wary, but he nodded reluctantly.
“Right,” he said. “Okay.”
Caelum ignored Alaric’s worried expression, and held out his free hand, the one that wasn’t already holding Jolie. Arcturus clasped it in his, then took Nyx’s on his other side. Nyx took Alaric’s, Alaric took Miranda’s, who took Joran’s, who took Darragh’s, who took Jolie’s.
Caelum looked at Alaric, and nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll channel as much to the circle as I can. I likely can’t aim it, though, so the rest of you will have to feed it to Alaric when he starts the spell.”
“Ritual.” Alaric looked around at everyone else, as if waiting for someone else to argue. When no one did, reluctantly, he nodded. “Do what he says,” he added.
Caelum didn’t wait, but immediately tried to open his magic.
He tried to remain on that edge he’d been surfing for months now, but the anxiety made it almost impossible to be cautious.
When he widened that gap the most infinitesimal amount, the collar began to heat up around his neck almost immediately, then to grow uncomfortable… then to hurt.
“All right.” Caelum nodded to Alaric, his teeth gritted. “Try it now. You’ll need to work fast, in case I pass out.”
Alaric’s hazel eyes widened, but at Caelum’s hard stare, he only nodded.
His wide, hazel eyes focused on the collar as he began to murmur words in a guttural voice in Sanskrit.
Immediately, the pain around Caelum’s throat jumped exponentially.
Soon it was burning.
Not long after that, he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out.
He continued to watch his friend’s eyes, his face and jaw tightening as he fought to control his reactions to the metal searing his skin.
It got hotter.
And hotter.
He could smell his own flesh burning.
He started panting, his whole body tense and clenched as he gripped Jolie and Arcturus’s hands in each of his.
He could feel one of them, Arcturus, he was pretty sure, trying to free his fingers at one point.
Caelum wouldn’t let him go. He knew, somehow, the kid wasn’t doing it for himself, and Caelum knew this was their only chance.
They had to do it now. It was now, or it wouldn’t happen. If they failed this time, he wouldn’t be able to get there in time. He would be too late.
He grew dimly aware of Arcturus’s voice as he shouted from next to him.
“STOP!” he cried out. “STOP DOING IT! IT’S KILLING HIM!”
Caelum heard the words as if through a long, dark tunnel.
He heard them even as he began to fall.
He fell and fell… like the story Leda had told him once, of a girl and a white rabbit with a pocket watch, both of them falling and falling and falling down a hole and through the world.
He snapped awake.
Gasping. Sucking in lungfuls of damp, musky, and moldy smelling air. He recognized more spells this time, though, the comforting smells of straw, animal hides, sweet grain, and warm breaths.
A groan left his lips and throat before he could even see where he was.
Hands held him on four or five sides, different-sized hands, none of them hurting him. Voices echoed up a high ceiling and walls, but it didn’t sound like stone, or not entirely like stone. It was a few seconds more before he could make sense of what they were saying.
“…oh, thank God he’s alive…” a female voice said, her voice filled with worry and what might have been tears. “…look at his throat… God, look at it… is there any way to do more for him?”
“I don’t have my bag with me,” a different, sad-sounding voice replied. “I did all my magic can do… we’ll need to bring him to a healer, if he’ll let us.”
“No,” Bones said thickly.
“Are his eyes even open,” Joran scoffed. “Is he arguing with us while unconscious?”
“His eyes are open,” a male voice with an Irish accent said. “Can he see us, I wonder?”
Fingers gripped Caelum’s, squeezed gently. “Cal.” The kid’s voice. “Cal? Can you hear us? Wake up. You were the one griping about how we needed to go.”
Caelum struggled to move his throat, to speak. It felt like his windpipe had been crushed. Yet his neck and throat, strangely, also felt light.
His mind circled around that, hope and disbelief warring in his chest.
“Is it off?” he managed to gasp out.
His voice sounded so hoarse, he barely recognized it.
From their silence, he doubted they’d understood him.
He tried to clear his throat, but it burned so badly, he grimaced. He fought to swallow, but couldn’t really manage that, either.
“Is it off?” he tried again, hoarse.
A different set of fingers squeezed tightly.
“It’s off,” Jolie said, her voice a little blurry, but also sounding relieved.
There was a bare pause, then her words grew scolding.
“You nearly killed yourself to do it,” she said accusingly.
“You nearly bloody burned yourself to death, you idiot. You’ve carved a line in your own throat halfway down to the bone––”
“It was reckless, son,” the Irish voice said, matter of fact. “Greythorne went outside to puke. He was sure he’d killed you. He told us you were still channeling magic for a few seconds even after you passed out.”
Caelum barely heard any of that.
He’d closed his eyes at Jolie’s first two words, and now he just sprawled on his back on the cold stone, breathing hard as he felt his magic coil and pool around him.
He couldn’t remember when he’d ever felt so relieved to feel his own magic. It was strange how that fiery, hot, mostly-uncontrollable force, which had been the bane of his existence since he’d been born, could be something he’d miss so much he was nearly in tears.
He could already feel it working on the pain on his throat in some way.
“It’ll heal,” he croaked, mostly to reassure the others. “Can already feel it working.”
“It was still idiotic,” Jolie snapped.
He couldn’t help it, he smiled.
He opened his eyes, barely, and saw her scowl falter as she looked at him in astonishment. Had she never seen him smile before?
Fuck. Maybe she hadn’t.
She shoved at his shoulder a minute later, and scowled again.
“Asshole,” she said.
He chuckled; he couldn’t help it.
That hurt badly enough he winced and grimaced more, and then he was trying to sit up.
Arcturus grabbed his arm and shoulder, then Darragh grabbed his back.
Caelum was stunned when he looked to his other side and saw Joran gripping his other shoulder, holding him upright.
They all helped him pull his upper body off the stone, then adjust himself to a sitting position.
Then he was hanging over his knees and thighs, gasping as he fought dizziness.
He could still feel his magic, though.
He felt it writhe around him like a living, breathing fire. Now that he could feel all of himself again, Caelum really only had one question.
His voice came out a touch harder that time, but also clearer.
“Who’s coming to Malcroix with me to get my wife?”