Chapter Thirty-Two - Lucifer #4
Az put his palm flat against Topher’s sternum. His voice was low and firm when he said, “Topher. Stay here.”
The air pressure changed. My ears popped.
And in a fraction of a second, the elevator was not an elevator.
The mirrored walls stretched into an infinite hallway, lit by pale gold at one end and red dark at the other.
Something shifted beyond the reflection, a corridor folding over itself like paper.
Then Topher’s hand tightened in my jacket, and the elevator snapped back. Rafi had gone white. Az exhaled through his nose.
I looked at Topher. His eyes were still closed.
“Is he aware of what he just did?” I asked.
“I doubt it.”
“Wonderful.”
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened into the penthouse foyer. Liora stood waiting. She had a blanket in her arms and a face full of controlled alarm. Behind her, the nurse hovered at a distance, eyes wide, professional mask hanging on by a thread.
“Evie?” I asked.
“In bed,” Liora said. “Still awake. Still asking whether you’re back every ninety seconds.”
I stepped out of the elevator with Topher in my arms. The penthouse was too quiet, as if it were waiting.
Liora’s eyes dropped to Topher’s face. Her expression softened in a way she probably would have resented if anyone mentioned it.
“Oh,” she whispered. “He’s burning up.”
“I noticed.”
The nurse stepped forward, then stopped when I glanced at her. To her credit, she only froze for half a second.
“I need to assess him,” she said, voice tight but steady. “Vitals. Fluids. But I need to know what he’s on before I give him anything.”
Az shot me a look, and I sighed.
“Maybe heroin.”
She pressed her lips into a thin line, and I almost liked her for it. “Put him somewhere flat.”
“The third guest room,” I said.
Liora nodded immediately and turned down the hall. Az walked beside me as I carried Topher after her.
Halfway there, Evie called from our bedroom.
“Luc? Is that you?”
The sound of my name in her voice nearly broke my stride, and I stopped. Everything in me turned toward our bedroom. Topher shifted in my arms, head lolling against my shoulder. Az saw my hesitation.
“I have him,” he said quietly. “I can carry him the rest of the way.”
For one second, I almost refused. Then Evie called again, softer. “Luc?”
I looked down at Topher. He was still breathing. I shifted him carefully into Az’s arms, and he took Topher’s weight without effort, one arm behind his back, the other under his knees. Topher stirred.
“Guest room,” I said.
“I know.”
“If he starts to open a path—”
“I’ll stop him.”
“If you can’t—”
He nodded once, then carried Topher down the hall, with Liora and the nurse moving beside him.
I stood there for one breath. Then I turned toward our bedroom. The door was half-open. Soft light spilled into the hall. I stepped inside.
Evie was sitting up against the pillows, exactly as stubborn as I left her, but she wasn’t as pale as before. There was color in her cheeks, and her hair was loose around her face. The IV line ran from her hand to the pole beside the bed. One palm rested over her stomach.
Our bed looked too large around her. She looked too vulnerable. Her eyes found me, and every sharp, ancient, monstrous thing inside me went quiet instantly.
“You’re back,” she said, her smile small and tired and enough to make something in my chest give way.
I crossed the room, sat on the edge of our bed, and took her face in both hands. Carefully, always carefully now.
“I’m here,” I said.
Her eyes searched mine like she needed proof. So I gave it to her. I kissed her, soft at first, because she was still pale and fragile and hooked to an IV, and because every violent thing in me had learned to kneel when it came to her.
When she opened her eyes, she said, “I heard voices.”
“We just brought Topher in.”
Her eyes filled, and she tried to blink it away and failed. “Is he—”
“Breathing.” I caught myself before the old word became a shield again. “But… he’s not okay.”
Her hand tightened over her stomach. “Are you okay?”
I looked at her. Of all the questions in all the realms. I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to hers and just breathed her in. Warm skin and the faint medicinal scent of the IV meds, but under it was all Evie and berries and sugar and something smoky.
“I’m trying very hard,” I said.
Her hand lifted and curled around my wrist. “You never have to with me.”
I kissed her slowly again, and behind us, somewhere down the hall, I heard the nurse’s soft commands and Az’s deeper answer. But for this one moment, this one breath, I was in our room, alone with her.
I touched my thumb to her cheek. “You scared me,” I said.
Her mouth trembled. “I scared me.”
“I know.”
“The girls…” Her hand moved over her stomach, slow and uncertain.
I covered it with mine.
She looked down at our hands. “They felt so real.”
“They are real.”
Her eyes lifted to mine, and I didn’t know how I knew that. But our daughters were real, and they were trying to tell Evie something. And for a moment, terror made room for wonder.