Chapter 24
twenty-four
Kit
Kit stopped levitating Gentry and caught her as he exited the bunker, rage making the act effortless.
He recoiled from how damp and cool her skin was, the pallor of her skin alarming under the red light of the rising morning sun.
It cast the sands in crimson. Needing to set up everything for the broom ride, he set her down on those sands, grateful that the sun had yet to make the sand hot, although he couldn't help but wonder if the heat would’ve warmed her skin.
As if revived by the sands, Gentry opened her eyes.
The vibrance of her emerald eyes stole his breath.
"Sorry, Mom," she murmured, "I got another strike." It was nonsensical, but Kit somehow understood what she meant.
"No, you're here with me, Gentry." He cupped her cheek. "A witch, remember? You hate witches, particularly this one. I tried to kill you." He kept his tone light and jovial.
She instantly frowned. "Go away."
"I can't, not yet. Not until I get you the antidote." He spoke casually, like he wasn’t worried. Visha’s poisons were potent.
Kit grabbed his broom and then gathered Gentry back up into his arms. It was awkward; the seat of his broom was only designed for one. But he propped her up onto his lap, his arm a vice around her waist.
"Careful about giving me a splinter," Gentry lisped at him. "I’ll keep bleeding. It's really gross."
"I think a splinter is the least of your concerns, baby.
" He took off into the air and was alarmed when the small woman instantly started shivering from the airflow.
He kept the broom at a low altitude, zipping across the sands like a hellcat as he read the shapes of the mountain ranges.
He estimated an hour and a half flight to get to the Jumper camp. But he pushed himself well past that.
"Stay away from my makeup drawer, sis. It's too expensive," was the last thing Gentry said before losing consciousness. He felt the tension leave her body. If it weren't for the shiver caused by a particularly strong wind gust, Kit would’ve thought she was dead.
He could now see Skadra in the outline of his vision, tall buildings and paved streets breaking up the monotony of the desert.
He curved his broom towards the smaller coven encampments.
Under normal circumstances, he would've avoided flying over anyone’s but the Jumpers’ base, but this time he didn't give a damn, cutting across the air with such speed that when their patrols pursued him, they couldn't keep up for more than a mile or two.
Some of those witches weren't used to flying at such a low altitude.
They wiped out in the sands below. But one managed to stay on his tail, a tail he didn't have time to lose.
So he merely trusted that the Jumpers' guard was on high alert as he sped towards the small smattering of trailers with a grey house in the center.
Luckily, he recognized Samar from one of the watchtowers, the other man's dark brown eyes wide with recognition. He waved in his direction and then pointed behind. Luckily, no other words were needed. His friend shot out in the opposite direction to take care of the straggler, but Kit didn't have time to watch the takedown and instead crash-landed on the gravel near Visha’s house. Far harsher than sand, the gravel ripped up his pants and dug into the skin of his shins, but luckily he managed to keep Gentry protected from the flying rocks. And then he was up on his feet, cutting through Visha’s wards with ease.
To his great aggravation, they greeted him as they always had, curling leaves and vines swiping at his legs and arms lovingly.
He gritted his teeth and batted away a wayward fern that reached out for Gentry.
"Don't touch her," he snapped, beyond frustrated as he stomped his way towards the medicine cabinet.
Juggling Gentry in one arm, Kit now yanked the drawer out, the little bottles clinking together in protest. He then laid Gentry onto the sofa and went to work.
She was in a far worse state than she had been an hour ago.
Her hair was wet with sweat and her pink complexion had turned gray.
She moaned when he pried her mouth open with his fingers and gave her the first potion.
Her dull green eyes opened up at him as she swallowed it. "It tastes bad," she said.
He kept his palm at the base of her back, feeling the ugly presence of Visha’s magic underneath her skin.
Everyone was allergic to magic at the end of the day, but a non-magical like Gentry was particularly sensitive to it.
She had no immunity built up. And each potion he gave her was spelled with magic, so it was more likely to send her into severe magical poisoning, but he didn't have a choice.
They were on their fifth bottle when he finally felt Visha’s magic dissipate. But instead of relief, all he felt was concern.
Samar burst into the room just as he was placing blankets on Gentry. "What the hell was that?" his friend asked. Kit clocked that his fists were bloodied, so he surmised that the fight in the sky had likely turned into a desert brawl.
"Visha," was all Kit said.
His friend looked down at the unconscious Gentry and swore. “Tell me later,” Samar said, as he rolled up his sleeves, “what do you need from me?”
“She’s still burning up, and I don’t know what else to give her.”
Samar gave him a patronizing look. "Have you considered non-magical medicine?
" He then walked over to Visha’s cabinets and pulled out the smallest drawer.
Kit then found himself taking orders from his friend.
They gave her anti-inflammatories, and Samar shoved cotton into her cuts when he explained that they wouldn't clot on their own.
It took about an hour for Gentry’s body temperature to go from dangerous to sickly. Her breathing was no longer shallow, and she resembled less a ghost and more a pale human.
"She can't handle any more magic for a while, but she should be okay," Samar announced, his dark eyes focusing on Kit with quiet intensity, “now tell me what this is all about. How’d you wind up with that”—he gestured at his neck—“there?”