Chapter 51
rescue
Jess stayed quiet as the attendant showed the passengers how to safely buckle in. She acknowledged the irony with a little shake of her head. Disoriented, Jess looked out the window, wondering which direction they would go.
It didn’t matter as long as they followed Callie.
She felt Cam’s hand on her own. The soft squeeze was a welcome moment—until she looked at their hands. Her fingers and nails were covered with drying blood, and now Cam had some as well. He’d brushed against his mother to calm her, transferring Callie’s blood to his sweatshirt.
“Cam,” she choked softly, “I’m so sorry.”
He seemed startled, then realized her point. “It’s fine,” he said, then felt her grip tighten. “You’re angry,” he said. “Guess I deserve that.”
He looked away as the aircraft turbines accelerated. “I was going—”
“I’m not mad. Cam, I…I got…” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Distracted,” she sobbed, then the word in her mouth went darker. “It’s happening all over again. This is all my fault.”
He knew what she meant and turned to take her other hand as well.
“No,” he said, struggling. “Your distraction…is amazing. Callie’s wonderful, and the two of you…together—”
Camden had held strong for his mother, but his heart was breaking again. He’d watched his mother slowly fall apart when his father passed.
While they had known that likely outcome, there had been time to prepare—to sit quietly, together and alone. With Callie, there was only the collective anticipation of confronting Max, and, in sudden retrospect, Callie seemed more prepared than anyone.
Despite the seatbelts, Cam held his mother close. He was barely twelve at the time of Zach’s death, but had seen her painful withdrawal begin.
“She’s gonna make it,” he cried, trying to summon their resilience.
They heard a quiet sob from one of the other witches. It was Hope, the youngest of the witches, her massive power now reduced to a red-faced look of empathy before she turned away.
Hands gathered among the witches, and Miren reached out to Jess.
Just then, the radio crackled; Robin’s voice was calm but firm.
“Vitals are stable; fluids and blood are in. We’ll land first. Meet us on the ninth floor, East Wing.”
In the cockpit, the pilot tapped his helmet, and the attendant handed Jess a set of headphones. With a worried look, Jess plugged the line into a speaker jack.
Robin was on the other end.
“I don’t want to worry you further, but we’re going to treat this as a pressure wave injury. That hunk of wood missed her kidney but nicked a larger vein.” There was a pause. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but your Callie is…one strong bitch. She’s fighting hard.”
Jess’s sudden gasp turned into a shriek, alarming the passengers. With the hint of a relieved smile, she shook her head.
“Yes, she is. Thank you.”
“Sorry, I was cranky with you earlier,” Robin said softly. “ETA seven minutes.
Landing went too quickly. By the time Jess and Cam had left their helicopter, Callie had already been rushed behind secured doors—swallowed by the hospital like it was hungry. A surgery nurse met them at the entrance to the surgical wing.
“She’s in good hands,” the older nurse began. “I know you are under great stress, but if I can ask you to suppress your **mana** signatures as best you can?”
Jess looked at her son. “Do I even want to know?”
“He’s fine,” the nurse said, then turned to Jess, “you, on the other hand.”
Jess looked up, angry, ready to argue, but the nurse’s eyes flared. “I get it,” she said, steady as stone, “but we get to be here because we have rules.”
“Mom?” Camden cut in, “Let’s find a bathroom and get you cleaned up, okay?”
Jess let out a ragged breath and avoided looking at the charge nurse. The lights along the hallway surged suddenly before backing down to their regular, soft levels.
“Thank you,” the nurse acknowledged, and her tone softened.
“I’ll find you two some scrubs, and we can get you cleaned up. There’s a shower available…if you want.”
Jess shook her head, not caring. “When?” she asked quietly, grabbing her son’s arm. “When will we know?”
“Unknown,” the nurse answered, then, “we have three healers on staff, but…” She made an extended glance at Cam, clocking him the way only professionals can. “As you brought your own med team…”
Cam smiled meekly. “Let’s go, Mom.” He turned to the nurse, “You’ll keep us updated?”
“I will,” she said, appreciative of the young man’s calm. “And Robin is well known around here for her skills. The minute I hear.”
The hallway smelled like antiseptic and electricity. Like someone had wiped the world clean and left the grief behind on purpose.
Jess’s boots—still the wrong boots, still battlefield boots—tracked dirt and old leaves across spotless tile. She didn’t care. She couldn’t. Her body was here, but her mind kept flicking back to the altar, to Max pinned, to Callie’s hair in her fingers.
Cam guided her into a small staff washroom and turned the faucet on without being asked. He didn’t lecture. He didn’t coddle. He just handed her a paper towel like it was a lifeline.
And then the witches started arriving.
Not all at once. Not dramatically. In twos and threes—like they’d done on that dirt road—only now their magic was muffled, their clothes soot-streaked, their faces hollowed out by adrenaline’s absence.
Miren stepped in first, her eyes scanning Jess the same way she’d scanned runes on bark. “She in surgery?”
Jess nodded once. Once was all she had.
Hope hovered behind Miren, smaller now, not because she’d changed, but because the hospital made everyone small. Her lip trembled. “Is she…is she going to—”
“Not that,” Jess snapped, then immediately faltered. Her voice broke on the edge like glass. “Not that.”
Isabel arrived last, cloak gone, armor scuffed, her hair half free. She took one look at Jess’s hands—the blood under her nails, the shaking she couldn’t stop—and her mouth tightened.
“We’re here,” Isabel said softly. No theatrics. No charm. Just presence.
Jess’s throat worked, trying to form words. Nothing came.
So Isabel did what Isabel always did when a room threatened to collapse—she made structure.
“Waiting room,” she said, nodding down the corridor. “We hold there. We keep the signatures low. We keep the humans calm.” Her eyes flicked to Jess. “And we keep you from doing something stupid.”
Jess’s laugh came out raw, wrong. “A little late.”
Isabel’s gaze didn’t soften. It sharpened. “Not for what comes next.”
They moved. A quiet migration—battlefield creatures learning fluorescent rules.
In the waiting room, someone had already pushed chairs into a rough circle. A vending machine hummed, as if it had no idea what it was witnessing. The TV in the corner played muted weather. The whole world kept going.
Jess sat. Then stood. Then sat again. Her body could not decide if it belonged to a mother, a monster, or a widow in rehearsal.
Cam lowered himself beside her, his shoulder touching hers. “You’re not alone,” he said, and it wasn’t comfort.
It was a command.
And Jess—who had survived hurricanes, betrayal, death, and magic—finally did the hardest thing.
She stayed.