Thomas lay beneath me on his back, naked, wracked, withered. Tears streamed from his unfocused, deep blue eyes.
“Harry,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, man,” I said. I knelt next to him, sliding a hand beneath his head and tilting his face toward mine. “Don’t be.”
“I just wanted to protect her. Protect the baby,” he said. “I should have come to you. Now it’s too late. Even if we get out of today, Etri will hunt us down.”
“Thomas,” I said, gently and warmly. “You knob. You sack of blunt instruments. You crayon-chewing pretty boy. Even you can’t be airhead enough to think you’re the only one in this fight.”
I leaned down and put my forehead against his.
“Remember,” I breathed.
And I brought up my memories of my brother and me. The first time I’d met him, dressed as a goddamned butterfly. Our time living together in my tiny basement apartment, the frustrations and the laughter and the arguments and the peace. I shared with him my memories of him with Justine, their joy in each other, their quiet love, the peaceful home they shared. I called up my memories of him and me building the Whatsup Dock on Demonreach, listening to an ancient AM/FM radio while eating chips and sandwiches for lunch while we cooled our feet in the waters of Lake Michigan and randomly pushed each other into the water during the labor.
And then I brought out the real magic.
I showed him his courage, his heroism, from my point of view, battling literal forces of darkness with sword and pistol and courage andskill, laughter on his lips and a snarling smile on his face. I showed him what I saw when I looked at him, a man of deep bravery and conviction, who fought demons within and without with equal courage. I showed him his strength, his courage, his kindness to me and to my Maggie. I showed him who he was in my eyes. The one I depended on. The one I could always go to for help. My brother the hero. My brother.
Mybrother.
“Thomas,” I said, and the sheer will in my voice made the empty space shake. “This isn’t your time. This isn’t your place. This isn’t your end.
“Get up,” I breathed.
He started to twitch, convulse, his chest spasming, spine and abs flexing weakly.
“Get up,” I called quietly.
His mouth gaped open and closed again like a landed fish.
Like he was trying to remember how to breathe.
“Get up!” I cried.
There was a sudden rush of wind, then a torrent, then a gale, and I was suddenly back on the floor of the summoning chamber on Demonreach, my hand coming off of Thomas’s head as his body arched into a bow and he gasped and thrashed and began dragging in ragged breaths.
“Thomas!” Lara cried.
His eyes flew open, blue, then light blue, then pale grey. His withered skin smoothed. Ragged hair grew lustrous. Pale muscle swelled slightly over his bony frame as he kept breathing, as his Hunger translated the energy I’d fed it into physical restoration. He gasped, still starving-thin, though he looked less like something out of a World War II film, opened his eyes, and looked wildly around, barely strong enough to move his head, trying to focus his gaze.
“Harry?” he gasped. “Lara?”
“Here,” we both said at the same time.
Lara’s eyes were filled with tears. They spilled down her cheeks. Her voice throbbed with intensity. “You stupid, romantic, ridiculous boy,” she said. She cupped his face between her hands. “You scared the hell out of me. You’ve given me so many headaches. I should strangle you.”
And then she leaned down and clasped him close to her, sobbing.
“Wow,” Thomas croaked weakly. He lifted an arm and patted Lara’s back clumsily. He met my eyes and smiled, mostly with his eyes, as I took his hand. “With family like this, who needs enemies, right?”
I laughed. Harder than I should have. And with the laughter, I felt some of my weariness fall away. I felt strength coming back into me. I felt my chest heave and draw in a deep, clean breath and felt tears blur my eyes for a moment, and then clear my vision.
I put a fist on the ground. Levered a knee under me. Shoved myself up to my feet.
And then I faced the Queens of Winter.
Chapter
