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My cousins bring Cal to the chair at my desk, and he flops down miserably, wordlessly. I unsheathe my pillow from its case and use the fabric to apply some pressure on the wound. That’s not entirely sanitary, but it beats letting the guy die.
“There’s a first aid kit in my bathroom,” I say, to no one in particular.
“Got it.” Maelys is back with the white box in mere seconds.
I open it and find gauze, alcohol, bandages—nothing that can close up a wound like this. “I can try to stabilize him, but you’re going to have to take him to a hospital, ideally. Or at least the school clinic. He needs scans to see if any organ’s been punctured. Potentially surgery, and something for whatever poison’s at work.” I glance to my stupid cousin. “Cal, you need to tell us what happened.”
The boy sniffs. “He was confronting me about Daella, some girl who was chatting me up in the yard. Nothing happened, we were just chatting. And then I started screaming, and he screamed too, and before I knew it, I was raining star shards in the room. I didn’t mean to. I was just so angry, and you know how it gets, Alis. It was an accident.”
Boy, don’t I know it.
“Star shards,” I repeat. “You summoned pure light?”
He whimpers miserably.
Of course he did. He’s a Frejr.
That explains why his scratch isn’t infected: Callan’s a chaotic witch with dubious allegiances. Light wouldn’t hurt him.
“We need shade magik to counteract the light. If this guy’s reacting this badly to light magik, it stands to reason he’s a shade. Mar.” I wave her forward. “Both hands on his chest. Summon your energy. Don’t do anything with it, just call it to you.”
Marline’s a pure dark witch. She never so much questioned her allegiance, as most teenagers do for a few years. From the moment she could summon, her energy has come from the darkness. I watch her light up like a torch as she absorbs the darkness of the room, potentially the entire tower.
I peek under my pillowcase. "It’s working.” The wound’s clearing of all the gross goo. That guy’s still not out of the woods, though. “Now let’s take him to a clinic. I’ll keep pressure on the wound.”
I’ve only just gotten up when his body starts to convulse. Still unconscious, the boy shakes, head thrown back, eyes rolling in his skull. I stare in horror, helpless. Hopeless.
“Listen to me right now.”
I keep my eyes on the body, at a loss. I can hear the voice, and some wailing—Callan’s, I think—but they seem far, far away.
Then my cheek stings. I bring my hand to my face and wince, confused to see my cousin right in front of me. “Did you slap me?”
“Someone ought to,” Mar seethes. “Look at it! Look at him!” She’s screaming now. “He’s dying, and you’re not doinganything.”
That’s not fair. I tried. I—
Mar breathes out, as she does when she attempts to control her legendary temper. “No one blames you for what happened before. You were a child. We all made messes at that age. But now? If this man dies, it’ll be on you. It’ll be your choice to stay on your high horse, when you could have saved him. You think you’re dangerous to the world?” She shakes her head. “You’re worse. You’reindifferent.”
That’s not true at all. I’m not. I tried to be. I tried to stay away from everything and everyone, so I could stop caring. But I care. I care for Daria, and my pushy family. Even Mar, who’s being an asshole right now. I love Callan, I always have. He embraced me like a sister, knowing full well that he was risking his life every moment he spent with me.
I’m not indifferent, which is why I see that Mar is right.
This boy is dying, and if I let it happen, it’ll be on me. Callan forgave me everything I’ve ever done in the past. He forgave me for killing his twin, because that was an accident. Will he forgive my inaction?
I doubt it. I know I wouldn’t.
I close my eyes, pushing down the bile that rises in my throat when I think of what I’m about to do. Then I let it in.
It’s ever so easy, like opening a door unlocked on my side. I feel the weight of my strength hit. I stumble as the floor shakes. The lights came back on after Mar finished her summoning, but now they flicker and die out.
I don’t have to touch him. I don’t even have to wave my hand. I barely glance at him and will him to get better. I see tendrils of my dark green energy slither his way. The convulsions stop instantly. His chest rises and falls in slow, deep breaths.
Callan’s the first to move, rushing to his lover’s side. Under my pillowcase, the wound’s gone, erased like a bad dream.
Callan’s eyes fly to me, and he cries again, though he’s half laughing, too. “Thank you. Alis, thank you.”
I try to smile, and I probably fail.
