So, when after a few tense moments, she merely nodded and leaned back in her seat, my stomach dropped to my knees.
My mother, Priscilla Wake, the most formidable woman I knew, was willing to just sit and let others do the work? If I didn’t already know that my father was in a very serious predicament, her reaction drove the point home.
Tears began to prick in my eyes as I sat back in the chair and folded my hands tightly together. Following Mother’s lead, I relinquished control to the Wardwells.
Talk about the worst birthday ever.
Chapter Four
I’d nearly fallen asleep for the hundredth time when the heart rate monitor went psycho again and my head snapped up.
A day ago I would have said it was impossible for someone to fall asleep in an uncomfortable chair while three people worked tirelessly nearby and a heart monitor beeped in the background.
And I would have been dead wrong.
The adrenaline rush I’d experienced after hearing about my father’s incident had long since worn off, leaving me feeling depleted.
Thankfully, there was one tiny bright spot in this terrible night. In the last hour the healers had staunched Father’s bleeding. Now they were just working on replenishing what he’d lost. The Wardwells believed that overall my father’s bodily functions were stabilizing. But that still left the threat of the curse that no one understood. Whatever magic the black witch had placed on him was very serious and kept reversing bits of their progress.
Most witches despised black magic, ancient evil methods or incantations gifted to vile witches and warlocks from the royals of Hell. And yet, even though it was despicable to work with darker energies, I couldn’t help but wish the Wardwells knew how to do it. Or even that I possessed the ability to wield that forbidden power.
Knowing how to work black magic would increase Father’s chances of survival, and I’d do anything to save him.
One of the Wardwells moved, catching my attention. The son, Alex, was walking toward a table filled with an assortment of herbs and random Western medical supplies. He picked up a vial with a label too small for me to read, uncorked it, and sniffed.
“We already tried that elixir, Al,” John said with a heavy sigh.
“I know, but that was when he first got here. We’ve stabilized him since then. Maybe now it will have a different outcome.”
John shook his head, but Alice interceded. “Let him try, John. What harm is it going to do?”
I cringed at the insinuation. Father was already so far gone that what could a vial of God-knew-what do to him?
Mother stood up. She’d been silent for hours, her hands clenching and releasing the folds of her shirt until the fabric stayed crushed up. Mother had many magical strengths, but healing was not one of them. I imagined that she felt as helpless as I did.
“If there’s any hope that elixir will save my husband, then give it to him.” Her voice cracked from disuse, but somehow Mother still sounded commanding.
Alex nodded as he transferred the solution to a syringe and cleaned a new spot on my father’s arm. Despite my tumultuous mix of frustration, confusion, and sadness, I had to admit that watching the Wardwells work was intriguing. The family ran like a machine. The son, in particular, was impressive. He acted as though he’d been in a medical ward or healer’s sanctuary all of his life. It was clear that what knowledge he’d attained, he’d studied hard to earn.
Unlike Jackson. The thought came as a bit of a surprise, although it wasn’t a stretch that I’d connect the two. These last few days had been the worst of my life. Once or twice a part of me had even wondered if maybe Jackson had cast a curse on me after our breakup. But after I really considered it, I doubted he could manage something so advanced. Jackson did the bare minimum to get by, unlike the guy standing before me.
I studied the young healer, watching the muscles pop in his forearms as he repositioned Father and administered the injection. After a few moments had passed, the heart monitor was still beeping dangerously fast. The remedy didn’t seem to be working. John sighed and began flipping through the same book he’d been referencing for the last hour.
Alex’s lips were tight, annoyed, but instead of joining his parents and consulting with them, he darted across the room again, toward a different stack of books.
“Mom! The black witch was from Romania, right?”
Alice nodded, and Alex pulled a text from the middle of the pile and began flipping through it as thoughhislife depended on it. Minutes passed and a million questions raced through my mind as I watched him puzzle over the book.
Were there specific Romanian incantations? Most of the ones I’d heard my mother utter were Latin, or a variation of it. But I knew older spells existed too, which meant there were probably spells in other languages. And if they existed, and they were in Romanian, would Alex be able to read them? Did they use a different alphabet over there?
Alex dropped the tome he was reading and rushed back to the exam table. His eyes blazed, and he undid the top two buttons on his shirt as he went. Despite the fact that I was in a blood-soaked room with my father dying on the table, heat pooled in my hips.
Get a grip, Di, I chastised myself.
“Stand back, Dad,” Alex commanded, which made John arch an eyebrow.
“What have you got up your sleeve now, Al?”
