‘How is she?’ Brother James asks, taking a seat opposite me. I fight the urge to rip his hand away as he places it on Niamh’s brow, then lifts her delicate wrist to check her pulse.
‘Do you know what’s caused this coma she’s in?’ I ask.
‘She’s been poisoned withCrateagus aetheria.’
‘Celestial hawthorn? That?—’
‘—only grows in certain places in the Caledonian Forest. Areas of the forest that only exist in the Underworld,’ James confirms. ‘There’s no known antidote. It induces this coma-like state– she’s essentially frozen in time. And I have no idea what to do. I’ve looked through every text that mentions it. And nothing on how to reverse the effects. In fact, it should have simply worn off, it’s as if there’s still a source poisoning her constantly but we can’t work out how.’
‘Have you ever noticed the necklace she wore?’
James looks at me, frowning. ‘No, she wasn’t wearing one when we removed her robe to examine her.’
I somehow contain my rage at the thought of him touching her. He’s a doctor, he would have needed to examine her. Plus I can’t kill him within these walls.
‘But before that. Did you ever notice it?’
He shakes his head. ‘I never saw her without her robes.’ That helps to calm me a little.
There’s something my mind is trying to piece together, but as soon as the pieces begin to fall into place, they suddenly drift apart again. All I know is that the necklace is key. I need to focus on that, despite the urge to forget.
I run my fingers around Niamh’s neck, tracing the path the chain has lain on for all those years. I rest my hand flat on her chest exactly where the pendant would have lain and… and I can feel a slight tremor, like that of long-term magic. I stretch my hand out into a V, and move my hand closer to her throat. My thumb lying where the chain would have been on one side, my index finger on the other.
I nearly pull my hand back when power suddenly rushes through me. My fingers tighten on Niamh’s throat. And for the second time, my serpent tattoo embodies.
James’s chair clatters as he leaps to his feet. He’s about to grab my wrist to attempt to pull me off her, but the snake lunges for him, hissing a warning before it slithers from my hand and wraps itself around Niamh’s neck and starts to squeeze.
‘No!’ I yell. Is this the Court informing me that I did the wrong thing, that I should have hunted her down and killed her? I can’t move my hand– magic stronger than my own is holding it in place, my own fingers squeezing as tightly as the snake is. Niamh’s head tilts back as the snake’s coils tighten still further until suddenly it rears its head back and strikes. Its fangs lodge front and centre in her throat and then it’s gone and only my hand remains.
Niamh’s body convulses as I loosen my grip, pulling my hand away. She sits up and coughs. A chunk of apple flying from her throat as she holds her throat and blinks.
I almost laugh in disbelief as James reaches for the piece of poisoned fruit. He holds it up so that I can see the two clear puncture wounds that go deep into the apple.
‘What the…’ I whisper, looking at the serpent, which has now returned to my wrist. I close the gap between us, pulling her against me.
‘Vittoria…’ Niamh whispers hoarsely.
‘It’s all right. We know what happened, and we’ll work out the rest when you’re better. Don’t try to talk yet.’
‘I’ll get you something to drink,’ James says. ‘One of our medicinal brews.’
‘Not Stox,’ Niamh rasps, and I smile. I lift her off the altar and carry her through to a lounge area, sitting down with her cradled on my lap. I don’t know how long we sit there, until James brings her the drink.
‘I’d really like to check you over, Niamh,’ he says.
‘She’s fine,’ I snap, not wanting to let her go even for a second and definitely not ready to let another man put his hands on her.
‘Cillian, it’s probably a good idea,’ Niamh says, attempting to climb off my lap, but I hold on tighter, before finally accepting that she’s right.
I keep hold of her hand, though, as James checks her blood pressure and the puncture wounds on her neck.
‘How does it feel?’ he asks.
‘Rough and sore. Like a bad sore throat.’
‘The wounds are almost healed. While there was a physical aspect to the manifestation, it’s essentially a magical wound, so it’s healing much faster than normal. I still can’t quite—’ He shakes his head. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this. Powerful magic like this– it’s only heard of in stories.’
‘Maybe not anymore,’ I say. My Huntsman senses are peaking, and I can sense something in the area. ‘There’s something stirring. I’m sure of it. Old magic.’
