Chapter 16 #3
As we walk past a series of doors, my shifter senses hum with warning, picking up on the air around Alanna growing faintly heavy, charged.
Her hands clench and unclench at her sides, and I catch the barest shimmer of the crystal mark on her inner forearm, so faint it’s almost a trick of the light, but undeniable to my senses.
She’s struggling. The guilt, the fear, the lies, even her (unfortunately justified) anger at me—they’re churning inside her, and that emotional turmoil is a dangerous thing for a burgeoning magic user.
I clench my own hands tightly. I want nothing more than get her out of here, away from the possibility of her powers drawing more trouble.
We should never have left the wards. I should’ve tried harder to stop her.
Alanna rushes into the room when we arrive, hurrying to Lizzy’s side while Jen trails in after us.
Lizzy’s warm brown eyes are drooping as she lies weary in the bed, but she’s awake.
A bandage, stark white against her dark skin, covers most of her shoulder, and her arm is set in a blue cast. She perks up when Alanna joins her, grasping her free hand.
I hang back by the door, leaning against the wall in an effort to appear relaxed, even though I feel anything but.
“Lizzy! Shit, I’m so, so sorry. Are you okay? I should’ve been with you, maybe I could have—” Alanna cuts herself short, knowing she can’t possibly finish that sentence. “I haven’t been a great friend lately, and I promise I’ll make it up to you. To both of you.”
Lizzy squeezes her hand weakly. “Not your fault, Alanna.” As she says it, my Librarian’s face darkens, and I know she’s blaming herself.
“Just glad you’re here now. I’ll be fine, really.
A little sore but the doctor says everything will heal up.
Thanks for coming.” Her eyes, still slightly dazed, dart to me, and then back to Alanna’s face with a flash of confusion.
“Jen told me what happened,” Alanna says, lowering her voice. “I’m going to help figure it out. I promise.” I can hear the resolve, see the determined set of her shoulders.
“It was so weird . . .” Lizzy says, sounding weaker than a moment ago. A huge shiver makes her suddenly shudder. “I’m so cold.”
At this, Alanna sends me an alarmed glance over her shoulder. She may hate me right now, but I’m still the only person who knows what’s really going on. Pushing off the wall, I am drawn to her, helpless to resist when she needs me.
When I take my place behind her shoulder, she whispers out of the corner of her mouth, “Touch her.”
On the other side of the hospital bed, Jen watches us intently.
I already know it’s not going to work—whatever heat I have to give flows only to the Librarian, only through our bond—but I don’t want to have a drawn-out discussion about it in front of her perceptive friend, so I do as instructed.
Alanna releases Lizzy’s hand so I can wrap my large palms around it.
Through her shivers, Lizzy stares at me in bewilderment. “Who . . .?”
“Is your hand feeling warm now, Lizzy?” Alanna asks earnestly.
“What? No . . .” Another quiver.
Alanna furrows her brow, no doubt trying to puzzle out why it worked for her and not Lizzy. This is absolutely not something I want her applying that massive intellect to.
“We should call the nurse,” I say, partially because it’s true—I can do nothing here—and partially because I don’t want Alanna putting together any pieces.
Hell, I don’t even want her to know there’s a puzzle in the first place.
I let go of Lizzy’s hand gently and retreat back to the far wall of the tiny hospital room.
“I’ll do it,” Jen says, disappearing through the door. But before she goes, she shoots us another perplexed, assessing look.
“You’ll be alright, we’ll get you warm,” Alanna murmurs soothingly, smoothing the hair away from Lizzy’s face.
She’s projecting a calm exterior, but I can smell her rising distress, feel it in the way her magic thrums under my skin.
Shit, it’s becoming more unstable. This isn’t helping her, or Lizzy.
It’s making everyone here a target, like I knew it would.
As the nurse bustles in with extra blankets for Lizzy, I catch the faint sound of a television from the waiting room down the hall—inaudible to human ears, but clear as day to me. The urgent tone of a news anchor cuts through the hospital’s ambient noise.
“. . . energy company spokeswoman declined to speculate on the cause, but emphasized that teams are working to prevent any disruption to critical infrastructure. The mayor’s office has issued a statement urging residents to conserve electricity while investigators determine the source of these escalating power grid anomalies . . .”
My blood turns to ice. The echo-beast. Gotta be.
“Alanna,” I say sharply, pushing off from the wall. “We need to go. Now.”
She looks up at me, startled by the urgency in my voice. “What? Why—”
“Trust me.” I move toward her, keeping my voice low but insistent. “Time to go.”
The confusion on her face shifts to alarm as she reads my expression. She deflects an interrogative question from Jen by muttering something reassuring to Lizzy about getting more rest, then follows me out into the hallway where I can speak more freely.
“News report,” I explain quietly, guiding her toward the waiting room where she can hear the television. “Listen.”
The anchor continues: “. . . third unexplained power surge in the downtown core this afternoon. City officials are investigating what they’re calling ‘unprecedented electrical anomalies’ affecting multiple grid substations.
The Richmond District is experiencing a complete blackout, with no word yet on when power may be restored.
We’re receiving reports of similar fluctuations near the university campus and the financial district . . .”
Alanna’s face goes pale. “Energy sites,” she murmurs.
“But not just any energy—large concentrations. Industrial levels.” Her eyes go distant as she processes.
“The historical accounts never mentioned anything like this . . . Because they didn’t have .
. .” She smacks herself in the forehead.
“Oh, I should have seen this. Of course.”
She’s pacing now, muttering to herself in the waiting room, too quiet for the other humans to hear. I hold myself still, knowing better than to interrupt her when she’s like this.
“But if that’s accurate, it’s never had access to sources other than magic to feed on before.” She turns to me, flush with both discovery and distress. “It means, we’re dealing with an entirely unique event. New energy sources, new quantities, non-magical power . . .”
“So it has things other than you to feed on,” I say, not hating the idea even though it is, objectively, bad news.
“It could be a greater danger than ever before. Who knows what might happen if it feeds on—” she pauses, the weight of what she’s saying sinking in, “—all the power of the city.”
That brings me up short.
“And if it’s drawn to the biggest sources . . .” She trails off, and I can practically see her mind racing through the city’s infrastructure. Her face goes ashen. “It’s heading for the main electrical substation. By the railyard.”
“The old railyard?” I ask, frowning.
“The railyard’s defunct but the substation is right there.
I cataloged the city’s infrastructure maps for the archives last year,” she says, looking as though she’s riffling though the maps in her mind.
“The main high-voltage transmission corridor runs parallel to the tracks. There’s a massive substation that feeds the entire downtown core.
If the beast consumes that kind of voltage, it would be catastrophic. ”
“We’re leaving,” I say firmly, already moving toward the door. “Back to the den where you’re safe.”
But she catches my arm, and I can feel her power sparking. “No. This is our chance. We can track it, study its patterns. Maybe even stop it before—”
“Absolutely not.” The growl in my voice makes her balk, but I don’t care. “You’re not going anywhere near that thing.”
Her jaw sets in that stubborn line I’m beginning to know all too well. “I’m the only one it seems to respond to. I can’t sit back and do nothing.”
“I need you alive,” I snap, then immediately regret the harsh tone.
For a moment, something vulnerable flickers across her face. Then her expression hardens with resolve. “The echo-beast is getting stronger, feeding on these energy sources. If it reaches the substation . . .” She shakes her head. “I won’t let that happen. Not when I might be able to stop it.”
My instincts are telling me to drag her back to the den, to the wards, to safety. But determination blazes in her hazel eyes, and I know with sinking certainty that she’s going to do this with or without me. Which means my choice is already made.
Plus, her logic is, unfortunately, undeniable. Waiting for this creature to grow more powerful by consuming the city’s energy is a death sentence for everyone. Including her.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. Then, louder: “Fine. But we do this my way. No arguments, no detours, and the second things go sideways, we’re out of there.”
She nods quickly, relief flooding her features. “Agreed.”
As we head back to say goodbye to her friends, I catch another fragment of the news report drifting from the break room: “. . . authorities urge residents to stay home as a precautionary measure . . .”
Too late for that, I think grimly. We’re about to head straight into the heart of it.