Chapter 9
DARCIE
Hunger gnaws at my stomach, but I can’t bear the thought of eating anything. Not after that conversation.
Distraction. I need a distraction.
I grab my phone and tap Dad’s name. It’s been a couple of days since we last spoke. I’m due for a check-in.
The phone rings.
“Hello,” he answers in a whisper.
“Dad?” I sit on the edge of the bed, facing the open balcony doors. “Are you busy?”
“Hey, sweetheart. No, not at all. Give me a moment.” His voice drifts away. Papers rustle. I wait and stare out at the cloudy sky. The line grows oddly quiet. I pull the phone away to check the connection.
“All right. That’s better.” Dad clears his throat. “Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Good.”
I pluck at a loose string on the duvet. “What are you up to?”
“Ah, nothing. Just research with a colleague at the library.”
That explains the whispering.
“Cool. What research?” I lean back onto the mattress, settling in for the conversation.
Dad proceeds to update me on his latest project—a continuation of the book he wrote regarding the supernatural lore of ancient cultures.
The fact that I’m currently caught in the middle of a supernatural conflict makes me examine every piece of information he shares with a magnifying glass, searching for any likeness to the reality I’ve been exposed to.
There’s more than I expected.
And the fact that I can’t share the truth with him kills me.
“… my editor has charged me with examining the eras where more lore popped up, searching for similarities across cultures. Fascinating stuff. Truly fascinating stuff.”
I smile at his enthusiasm. “I’m glad you’re enjoying work, Dad.”
“I am,” he states. “But I miss you.”
My chest squeezes. “I miss you, too.”
“I can’t wait to see you in a few weeks.”
Guilt clogs my throat. “Dad, I already told you, I don’t know if I’ll be able to take time off from classes to visit you in Italy.”
He’s scheduled to meet with Italian colleagues, the same ones he worked with before his cancer diagnosis. He’s determined to continue the work they started after his miraculous recovery, and with the Immortals’ Masking leading him to believe I’m back in Greece, he’s just as determined to see me.
Honestly, the intricate mind manipulations the Immortals weaved to explain my absence are impressive and terrifying.
Every single person in Brunswick who’d known I was there, enrolled at St. Phillips and working at the Bean Bazaar, had to be magicked to not question my sudden departure.
To them, my presence in Greece isn’t a surprise, but they haven’t forgotten my time back in Maine.
It’s strange walking the line between the realities in their head. Not that I have to talk to anyone aside from Dad. Kayla and I are still not speaking after she yelled at me for breaking up with her brother.
And Kevin… well… we haven't reached out to each other, either.
But while Dad isn’t alarmed by my sudden departure from Maine, his protective instincts are still engaged. And he’s not taking no for an answer.
“If you can’t come to Italy, then I’ll come to you.”
I groan. “Dad…”
“We both know missing a class or two won’t impact your studies. Not with your academic prowess. A trait I take full credit for.”
I huff a weak laugh.
I want to see him. I really do. But with Adir running free, I want him to stay as far away from this Immortal mess as possible.
“Come on, sweetheart. I want to see you and make sure you’re all right. Don’t make me beg.”
I sigh.
How am I supposed to argue with that?
“Fine. I’ll try to find time to visit.”
“Excellent.” His tone brightens. “Can’t wait.”
I shake my head.
“Abernathy.” A thick Italian accent cuts into the background. “Do you have a second to discuss the excavation’s findings?”
“One moment, Roberto,” Dad replies. “I’m speaking with my daughter.”
“It’s okay, Dad. I have to get to class in a few, anyway,” I say, only mildly ashamed at how easily the lie rolls off my tongue
The phone crackles. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. We can talk soon.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” A beat passes. “Okay, well… have a good day, sweetheart. I love you.”
I swallow back the guilt clawing up my throat. “I love you, too. Bye.”
The call ends. I drop the phone with a groan and press the heels of my hands against my eyes, as if I can push away the ache radiating through my skull.
I called Dad for a distraction, but all I accomplished was creating a new problem.
Convincing the alliance to let me visit Italy will be next to impossible. I’m on lockdown here.
But Dad is stubborn. If I don’t go to him, he’ll insist on coming here. Which means I’ll have to ask the Immortals for help.
I shove myself up, resigned. Best to get this over with before Dad has the chance to buy any tickets.
A fresh wave of discomfort crashes through me.
“Whoa.”
I stumble back onto the mattress.
Fatigue crashes over me, mingling with pricks of pain.
My eyes close.
I guess Henry’s healing has worn off.
I crack an eyelid and look at the clock. It’s late. I should sleep.
I drag myself under the covers, not bothering with pajamas. The sheets are cool, smelling faintly of lavender.
I tuck my chin down and force my eyes shut, shoving all guilty thoughts to the back of my mind, praying for the blissful peace of oblivion and to wake pain-free.
My sleep may be free of visions, but it’s anything but restful.
The creeping pain doesn’t fade. In fact, it evolves.
What starts as a dull ache blooms into something crueler, twisting deep in my muscles until it’s all I can feel. I jolt awake with a sharp inhale, but my body doesn’t move. My eyelids won’t open.
The agony spikes, every nerve set alight. I can feel everything, and yet… I can’t do anything.
I’m awake.
I know I’m awake.
I hear the faint ticking of the clock, the whisper of curtains shifting in a breeze, and I feel the familiar weight of sheets against my skin. But when I try to open my eyes, nothing happens. The darkness stays.
What the hell is going on?
Panic explodes through my chest. My pulse kicks into overdrive. Sweat beads along my hairline.
I will my hands to move, to twitch, to do something, but it’s like shouting into a void.
I want to scream. To call for help. My throat won’t cooperate.
My lips don’t even part.
I’m trapped inside my own body, a conscious mind locked behind an unresponsive shell.
It’s Adir’s stronghold all over again.
The memory snatches my mind in its clutches.
The God of War had forced me into that waking paralysis, leaving me aware but helpless, desperate for Des and Bella to realize I was still there. Only… that time, there hadn’t been pain. This agony is different. It feels alive, crawling beneath my skin, devouring me from the inside out.
Calm down. I force myself to breathe, or at least imagine breathing. Panicking won’t help.
I try to focus on the rhythm of my heart, to slow it, but it spikes instead.
A crack of white-hot energy slams into my chest, like lightning under my ribs. My nonexistent breath catches.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe!
A scream stays trapped inside me, looping through my skull until it’s all I can hear.
Then—footsteps. Fast. Heavy. The door slams open.
“Darcie!”
Des.
Relief floods me so hard it hurts. If I could cry out, I would.
“Darcie,” he calls again, closer this time. The mattress dips under his weight. A hand, cool, strong, grips my bare shoulder.
The contact should comfort me. Instead, pain detonates where he touches.
Every muscle spasms in protest. My vision, though blind, sparks white.
I can’t move. But I feel the tears now. Hot. Relentless. Sliding down my cheeks.
“It’s okay,” Des murmurs, pulling me upright. His voice trembles with an emotion I’ve never heard from him. “I know you’re in there. It’s going to be okay, Darcie. I promise.”
His arm presses to my back, solid, protective, and agonizing. My body shakes uncontrollably, muscles jerking with spasms. I can’t stop it.
Des’s hold tightens.
“It’s okay,” he whispers again, though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself. Then, turning his head, he shouts toward the door, voice breaking the air like thunder. “Lome!”
Footsteps echo in from the hall. “What in the he—”
“Get a Healer!” Des cuts him off, the command sharp as a blade. “Get Henry. Something’s wrong with Darcie.”
More footsteps. Then silence, thick and suffocating.
A calloused hand brushes the damp hair from my forehead. Des exhales near my temple, the sound raw. I can feel his gaze tracing every tremor that rolls through me, every involuntary twitch.
He says something I can’t catch, voice low and desperate. Then warm lips touch my brow.
The kiss moves to my temple, cheekbone, and jaw. Each press is both gentle and torturous. Every brush of his mouth sends a new wave of fire lashing through my skin.
I try to beg him to stop, but my body betrays me again. Not a sound escapes.
He keeps going, stubborn, until he finally pulls back with a frustrated sigh.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I thought it might work.”
Like last time, I think weakly.
The last time I was paralyzed, his touch was the key that broke the spell. His kiss roused me from unconsciousness.
But whatever this is…it’s different. Frighteningly so.
Voices murmur from the doorway. More footsteps. The air shifts, and Des moves aside as another presence replaces him.
“What happened?” Alex’s tone slices through the haze, cold and urgent.
“I don’t know.” Des’s answer is sharp, ragged. “I felt her panic. When I came in, she was like this.”
The bed dips again.
New hands, softer, clinical, touch my face. I want to flinch away, to scream for them to stop touching me, but I’m a statue. Every poke, every prod burns.
After a long silence, the stranger finally speaks, “I cannot help her.”
Des growls. “What do you mean, Mark? You’re a Healer. Heal her.”
“I can’t.” The man’s voice is tight, defensive. “The symptoms are internal. No external spell. No toxin. There’s nothing to target. I can’t heal what isn’t there.”
“Are you saying she’s faking it?” Alex snarls.
A scuffle follows. A crash, then a grunt, and the distinct thud of someone hitting a wall.
“That’s enough,” Des’s command booms through the room.
Alex’s growl is followed by another’s rough exhale. The sound of strained breathing fills the room.
“Go find Henry,” Alex orders.
Footsteps retreat fast down the hall.
Stillness returns, heavy and expectant.
“What’s wrong with her?” Lome’s voice breaks the silence, quieter than I’ve ever heard it. “She looks…”
His voice falters.
“I don’t know.” Des’s control is unraveling, each word tighter than the last. “All I know is I felt her panic. She’s aware of her surroundings. I know she is.”
“How can you be certain?” Alex asks.
“Because I can feel her.” There’s something final in the words that silences everyone else.
Another pause.
Alex speaks again, lower this time. “I sent Henry away. He’s helping me with a task. Had I known…”
“You couldn’t have,” Des says, voice clipped. “You and Lome should go tell Thane what’s happened.”
“I’ll get Eshe first,” Lome says, already moving.
When the last footsteps fade, cool fingertips brush my temples.
The touch makes me flinch on the inside.
Alex releases a low hiss. “You are burning up.”
A half-hysteric laugh claws up my throat, wanting to congratulate him on finally being right when checking for a fever, but the sound never reaches my lips.
His voice softens, stripped bare. “Hold on, Darcie. We all need you to hold on.”
Then, without warning, a bolt of energy surges from his hand into my head.
Heat floods my veins. My body jerks, and my thoughts grow heavy.
Right before the darkness swallows me whole, his quiet voice trembles at the edges as he murmurs, “Forgive me.”