There’s no sign of the malum. I lift my hands from the sigil. With a swipe of my foot, I erase the symbol I drew in blood. The fire goes out instantaneously, leaving us trapped in a cloud of smoke. My ears ring, and I can barely stand. Exhaustion makes the world spin.
Through the smoke, a buttery glow penetrates the chamber. A sunbeam shines down on me. Like a God ray. I bask in the warmth of the light and wipe the dirt from my eyes.
I blink, unsure of what I’m seeing.
Shadows move in the distance; muffled voices filter down through the haze.
I can’t hear what they’re saying, my ears are still ringing.
Atticus and Dorian stand, brushing debris from their hair and clothes.
Men with hard hats and high-visibility vests stare down at us from above, their mouths open in shock.
“Stop the demolition!” someone cries, and the work comes to a halt.
He calls for a ladder, and I bury my head in Atticus’s shoulder, squeezing Dorian tightly around the chest, sighing with relief.
28
Atticus
You will think me cruel, very selfish, but love is always selfish; the more ardent the more selfish. How jealous I am you cannot know. You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me, and still come with me, and hating me through death and after.
—Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu,Carmilla
The paramedic’s handsare cold as he takes my pulse.
“Can you tell me your name?” he asks.
“Atticus Garcia,” I say. He’s checking if I’m in shock. I might be.
My back may have been healed, but my body remembers. With a shudder, I recall the way the claws sliced my skin and how cold I felt, like I’d never be warm again. I think…I think I almost died. The realization hits like a hammer.
We sit outside the perimeter of the Arches demolition area with the paramedics. Raven is talking while an EMT bandages a small wound on her arm. Dorian lets another paramedic check his blood pressure. I’m seated in the back of an ambulance, draped in a shiny shock blanket. There’s yelling from people in yellow vests, and the sound of construction equipment rolling out of the way, and a crackle of static from a radio. I feel hollow, small, and fragile, like a porcelain doll with a crack in its body.
The paramedic attending me asks something else, but I don’t hear him. He asks again, and the world snaps back into focus.
“What?” I ask, dazed.
“Your heart rate is elevated, but that’s to be expected. Are you hurt?” he asks.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. Because of Dorian…
“What’s all this blood, though? Are you injured somewhere?”
He gestures to my hair and to my hands, finding nothing that would cause it.
“It’s…” I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I should tell anyone about Dorian or what he did for me. I don’t know if he’d want me to. I don’t quite understand it. Maybe Dorian doesn’t understand it either. I spot him again, leaning against another ambulance, and my urge to be with him surges.
He’s standing with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his gaze distant. He almost died. Maybe he did die, or was close to dying.
Raven is talking to a police officer who just arrived. She’s holding herself tightly across her chest, looking like she climbed down a chimney. Soot covers almost every inch of her. Her magic saved us all. Raven showed us just how strong she is. She twisted her hands into empty air and conjured fire, tearing the fabric of reality as easily as tearing paper. Beautiful. Terrifying.
“All this blood,” says the paramedic. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
I sense his growing concern for my lack of answers.
His thoughts swirl with worry, medical jargon overwhelming me.Concussion…? Possible internal bleeding…? Acute stress reaction…?
