Chapter 65 Incurable Disease
Sapphire
“And the Nightlung…does it feel like a place or a sensation that you feel when you’re moving to another time?”
Kane fiddles with the pages of century-old books he found in a dusty part of the library shelves. He doesn’t even need to read through them. Just running a finger along the spine happens to jog his memory.
“Both. But mostly a place. A living, breathing entity.”
“Hmm.”
I’m surprised Demechnef officials are allowing us to lounge in here. How could this be part of an experiment? I pictured torture devices and chains. We are sitting in a library, next to a warm fire, talking.
“Do you feel connected to it at all? Or are there no feelings attached?” he asks.
I sort through each memory. From the first time I was sucked into the Nightlung, it felt like a hook pierced my core and was reeling me out to an open sea.
“Yes. Sometimes it feels like the Nightlung is in sync with my heartbeat. Other times it feels like a person who has just always been there, eavesdropping on my conversations.”
Kane mumbles to himself, talking to another alter about a specific chapter in the book at the bottom of the stack. “And you said it always happens when your emotions are high?”
I nod. “I can never tell which emotions trigger it though. Sometimes it feels like fear. Other times it’s anger.”
“No, I don’t think it’s adrenaline,” he mutters to himself. “Oh, yes. Could be. I’ll ask.”
I wait for his question, smoothing out the ridiculous dress that they put on me.
“That first time you traveled, you were attacked?”
“Yes.”
“But it wasn’t just you. Your sweetheart and uncle were also there.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Your uncle used his hands to protect you from being slashed by the swords.”
Even someone else saying it out loud, analytically, strikes me straight to the bone. I lower my eyes to answer that.
“And the second time, you were attacked again but an animal that can also travel, Dellilian, protected you.”
“Right.” It sounds crazy. I’m surprised he’s still going along with this.
“The third time, it was another attack—but another animal, that you know from the future, protected you and your sweetheart.”
DaiSzek. I wish I could tell my father how brave he was.
“The fourth time, you were about to be—assaulted.” The muscle in Kane’s jaw tics. “But your sweetheart saved you.”
“Yes.”
“The fifth, what was it?”
I drop my face into my hands, rubbing my eyes. “I don’t know, I have a hard time remembering things now since the electroconvulsive therapy. I think it was—”
“It was probably when she met me.”
I jump at that voice. The one that sounds like a mangled nursery rhyme, strangely quiet, like he’s trying to slip between cracks of time and into nightmares.
But Kane doesn’t even flinch. He continues flipping through pages of a book, unfazed by the intrusion.
“It’s about time you decided to stop being a peeping tom and join us, Vrath,” my father says casually. “Waiting behind the back shelves for that long? I was beginning to wonder if you’re afraid of me.”
I told him every detail about my interaction with Vrath. From that information given, I suspect my father knew this strange man would be joining us soon.
Seeing Vrath again, slightly hunched, and moseying out from the shadows—it’s like having to sit still while spiders tiptoe across my bare skin. Is it the flaking paint on his face or the insect-like mannerisms that feel violating to look at?
My father stands, hands in his pockets, at first relaxed—but now dissociating.
“I have been privy to your existence too many times, though I do not think I am frightened of you. Perhaps of you as an older man,” Vrath speaks slowly, as if the more words he says in front of my father means the more danger he will be in.
I tremble at the fever invading my immune system. My bones are cold. Each muscle aches and throbs. Puking or coming down with a massive migraine are two realistic options right now. His presence is an infection that pulses like a dying heartbeat within these walls. He’s making me sick…
I look to Kane and am struck with terror.
No! What if he dies from being near Vrath?
My lungs rattle from sticky phlegm between each labored breath. Whatever sickness he drags behind him like a cloak hits the air around us hard and fast.
“You will behave, or he will die a very young man of pneumonia and—some other peculiar disease I do not recognize.” Vrath puts in a little too much effort to ignore my father and descend toward me.
“I need your blood. I have had enough of chasing you and will not tolerate your inconsolable desire to be away from me.”
My father is unresponsive. In the time it takes him to finally turn in our direction, Vrath is already too close. Each white blood cell in my body is under attack. My skin is molten. The instinct to put as much distance between us is feral and sending SOS signals to get me to listen.
“Does it usually work?” It’s my father’s voice, only different. The same young man. A raspier, sarcastic inflection. “I bet it feels pretty good, huh? Making people sick.”
Vrath doesn’t answer, he just peers back at my father, who is lounging in the nearest loveseat, legs crossed and left arm propping his chin up.
“And what would happen if you came across, ah I don’t know, a devilishly good-looking man with an immunity to that sort of nonsense? Eh?” Kane smirks at Vrath, then winks in my direction.
“You have split a new alter,” Vrath comments, though there is a splash of concern there.
I blink, long and slow, trying to see Kane more clearly.
“Don’t you wanna know my name, dickhead?” the alter asks.
“That is an irrelevant fact to me.”
“It’s Church. I’m immune to disease, plagues, illness…etcetera.” He flashes a big smile.
Vrath twists back to me mechanically, deciding to ignore Church and continue his pursuit of me, assuming my father’s new alter isn’t very threatening.
“Have I mentioned that I’m a savant of moving through time?
Yeah yeah, every piece of literature and textual evidence in this library and elsewhere, I have read.
It’s all I’ve really retained. No, but it gets better.
” Church sits up excitedly, tucking his feet under his backside.
“The low hanging fruit is that I learned a bit about the Short-Haired Windilas. But what’s really interesting is that if they draw blood, even once, they’ll forever be attracted to it if it’s drawn again. ”
Church springs from his chair and flicks his wrist near the lower half of Vrath’s face. The swipe is so quick, I’m shocked when I see a fast trickle of dark blood spill from Vrath’s severed bottom lip.
“I’m willing to bet they’ve nicked you once or twice.”
Vrath stumbles back, tapping at his lip with a black-gloved hand and pulling it back to inspect the blood.
“Do you think they’ll come running?” Church plays with the bloody razor between his fingers. “Oooh, I wonder if they’re fast. Are they fast, Vrath?!”
This alter reminds me of a unique blend of Uncle Niles and Dessin. He uses irony and quick wit to deal with these challenges he’s split in response to.
For a moment, Vrath pivots to me with a pathetic, creepy look that asks for help.
Help.
I laugh, then cough so hard, my eyes water hot tears.
“If you were afraid of Dellilian, I can’t imagine how frightened you’ll be of her pack,” I say with wheezing breaths.
Vrath breathes heavily behind clenched teeth, scurrying off to the back of the library. He crouches low to the ground, lifting something heavy behind a writing desk and dragging it out to the main light of the crystal chandelier.
With choppy steps, the white tights and modest, black-strapped heels are revealed.
Vrath’s hands hook around the ankles as he takes three more steps to the open hardwood floor.
Her feet hit the floor with a thud. Her cream-colored lace dress with ruffles and a navy sash bow is sopping wet with blood.
A deep red streaks behind her, saturating her blonde hair, and gently gushing from an open wound in her chest with each aggressive form of contact Vrath has with her.
I gasp. Church lifts his chin and watches the vile display closely.
“What are you doing?!” I shriek in a feeble voice.
“No shortage of mothers here.”
Vrath places one hand on top of the other on her chest and throws his body weight downward. Her breastbone cracks, and he pulls it apart with a panicked grunt. His hands scoop out as much blood as he can carry without too much overflowing, then splashes it to the floor in a substantial puddle.
There’s a sound coming from all around us. It’s like a cold winter’s night when screaming winds whistle against the side panels of a house and the frigid glass windows.
“They will not get me. No, they will not get me.” Vrath mutters numbers and strange, ancient words under his breath, using his finger to make symbols and spiral drawings in the thick pool of blood. “Protect my soul, World’s Dark Twin Tree.”
After twisting off a strand of the mother’s hair, Vrath vanishes in a pit of sparkling black dust and violent stormy winds. Pages fly free from bookshelves and the scones and fireplace flickers.
The sickness leaves my body a little too slowly.
I slump into my chair, wheezing, and clutching my chest. I should have jumped into that opening with him and tried to find my way back to Niklaus.
I should have commanded the tunnel of moving time to take me to the man I’ve fallen in love with.
I cough and tremble in my seat. Useless. Sick. Stupid.
My eyes flash back to Church. I want to warn him about the coma so badly, but he is a new alter.
A child. What guarantee would I have that he would remember or be able to pass along the message for an event that will take place in another decade?
I need to get closer to that time he is injected by Masten.