Chapter 11 #2
Then, when another appears, I spin and catch that one mid-flight. The heat of the flame is mixing with the icy cool of the frosty air, creating a bizarre fog.
"There are too many!" Orion’s voice is all growl as he swings, and his hand passes straight through his attacker. “We’re no help.”
Only Freya, Henrik, and I are having any effect.
“You three in the hallway unless we call for an evac.”
Orion and Rowan make a hasty exit, but Asher doesn’t budge. “I’m immortal, P. I’m not leaving you.”
No surprise there.
Another two go for Henrik, their claws raking across his shoulder before he can dodge. Blood blooms dark against his shirt.
Freya and I close in on his flanks.
“I think they’re targeting Henrik because he triggered the spell,” Freya shouts.
“Lucky me.” Henrik takes down his opponent, but he's breathing hard now. Blood runs from a cut on his temple, as well as his shoulder. Another spirit materializes behind him, and I torch it, but three more replace it instantly.
My back hits Henrik's. We're surrounded.
"Ideas would be great!" Henrik gasps.
"Working on it!" I pull harder on my spirit fire, push it out in a wave. It catches five spirits at once and burns them to nothing, but the effort leaves me dizzy.
“Too much, Poppy,” Asher shouts. “You’re burning out.”
Sure, I'm using too much too fast, but there are still a dozen coming at us.
“On your left!”
I turn, but not fast enough.
Its claws are inches from my face when Asher’s there. "No!"
His hands come up, and light erupts from his palms. It’s not offensive magic—it’s a shield.
A barrier of shimmering gold curves around me, and when the spirit's bony fingers hit, they snap and crumble to the floor.
Asher's eyes blow wide. "Holy shit. New power unlocked! Super shield!"
Another spirit lunges at me, hits the shield, and can't get through. I test the barrier from the inside, and my hand passes easily through. Then I pull it back inside, and the shield seals, leaving no sign.
Amazing. Blue flame ignites in my palms, and I begin torching the vengeful spirits once again.
“Poppy, help!”
I follow Freya’s call and curse. Henrik is down, and he’s being buried under a heap of spirits pouncing on him.
I rush over and pour spirit fire into the mass. There’s no precision. I just bonfire burn everything in front of me. Henrik is a spirit witch. The flames won’t hurt him, but the spirits shriek and dissolve to nothing.
But there are so many. Too many.
Freya and I fight through them together until the last spirit dissolves into nothing and the cave goes silent.
Henrik lies motionless on the stone floor. His eyes are closed. Blood pools beneath him, dark and spreading.
"No." Freya drops to her knees beside him. Her hands hover over his chest, shaking. "No, no, no—"
I fall down next to her. Press my fingers to his throat, searching for a pulse.
There isn’t one.
“Asher! Get him to the healers. Hurry.”
Asher looks at me, then to Henrik, and I know what he’s thinking, but I can’t give in to that truth. Not yet.
I swallow and meet Asher’s gaze. “Please. We have to try.”
The fact that he doesn’t argue hurts my heart. Henrik won’t get help in time. He can’t. He’s already gone.
The ride back to Order headquarters is a blur. I sit in the back row of the van with Orion pressed against my left side and Rowan turned sideways in the seat ahead of us. Her arms are wrapped around herself, her gaze fixed on something mid-distance that I can’t see.
Wylder. I need to find Wylder.
Even though we thought he was stable and he told me to stay and find our answers in the chamber, I hate that I didn’t go with him.
What if he isn’t stable?
What if…
Tears well and fall in warm streams down my cheeks. When we pull up to the headquarters, I’m out of the van and rushing through the front doors.
I saw the infirmary this morning when Cormac walked us through to the conference room. That’s where Wylder will be. He has to be.
I push through a set of double doors and look around the entrance to the infirmary. It's a wide, open space, with several rooms branching off from a central corridor.
Healers move through the space, soft lights, the smell of something herbal and antiseptic. My heart is going too fast. My hands won't stop shaking.
I scan each doorway in turn, moving before I've consciously decided to, looking for green eyes and dark hair and the particular stillness of someone trying not to show they're in pain.
I find him through the third doorway.
I'm beside his bed in seconds.
He looks terrible. Bandages wrap his entire torso, stark white against his tanned skin. And there's more across his left shoulder.
He's propped up against the pillows, awake, and the relief on his face when he sees me is so immediate that something in my chest finally loosens.
“I’m all right.” He lifts his arm, and I rush to him and climb onto the bed to curl in next to him.
I’m relieved and sad, and tired to the marrow of my bones. I hug him harder than I mean to and my tears fall in earnest.
Quick footsteps in the corridor bring the arrival of the others, but I don’t look up. My face is buried in Wylder’s neck, and I’m safe in his warmth and the smell of summer rain and growing things.