"Hey, bud," Zaden said, instantly soft. "How’re you holding up?"
Bryce shrugged, then pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. "It hurts."
I dropped to my knees beside him, wrapping him up. "I know, sweetheart. We’re taking you home."
He slumped against me, not even trying to hide how wrecked he felt.
The nurse eyed us both. "He said the light makes it worse. And when we tried to give him Tylenol, the bottle jumped, er, fell off the counter. I’ve never seen anything like it."
She looked at Zaden, then me, and I could see her brain struggling to file it all away under weird but somehow explainable.
I tried to smile. "Just a bad day."
The nurse didn’t argue.
I helped Bryce up, keeping a hand on his back. Zaden took the icepack and held it to the nape of Bryce’s neck, and for a moment, the three of us stood there, a unit against the world.
Outside, Zaden steered us toward the car, picking Bryce up so he could bury his face into Zaden's chest and block out the sunlight. He handled the seatbelt, buckled it gently, then closed the door.
Bryce slept the whole way home, head tilted into his seat, fingers curled around the waistband of his jeans like he was bracing for impact. He slept through most of the afternoon. I set him up on the couch at first, darkened the room, and gave him a pillow and the soft gray blanket he’d loved since he was five. He didn’t even touch the TV remote, just burrowed under the blanket and curled up on his side. I set the laptop on the coffee table, went through every login and setup step for the online school program, and even printed out the orientation packet in case he wanted to look at it.
He didn’t. He dozed, then rolled over, groaning. Sometimes he’d hum the melody of an old song, just for a second, before shoving his fist into his eye and pressing it hard.
Every five minutes, I checked on him. Either to bring a glass of water, adjust the curtains, or just watch the rise and fall of his shoulders. None of these things helped. He didn’t touch the water, and the blankets ended up puddled on the floor.
I tried to keep busy. I ran the dishwasher with a half-load, folded laundry, and straightened the pile of paperwork on the counter more times than I could count. Even when I told myself to leave him alone, I’d circle back to stand just out of sight and listen.
Zaden moved through the house with a different rhythm. He spent most of the afternoon outside, chopping wood or pacing the back garden. Every so often, he’d come in, look at Bryce, then look at me with eyebrows raised. Once, he sat with Bryce for a fifteen-minute stretch, humming a jazz line so quietly I only noticed it when it went silent.
The afternoon crawled toward evening. At five-thirty, my mom’s car eased down the drive, headlights flicking over the porch. I opened the door before she could knock.
Eleanor looked drawn but determined. She carried a canvas tote full of gear. Crystals, tiny vials, a packet of bundled sage. Aurelia appeared behind her, looking breezier than usual, but her focus sharpened the moment she got through the door.
Aurelia set her bag on the table and scanned the living room. "Where’s our patient?"
"His bedroom," I said. My nerves crackled like static.
The three of us filed down the hallway. At the threshold, Aurelia paused. "No shoes past here."
I kicked mine off and walked in.
Bryce lay still, cocooned on his side, the comforter bunched halfway off the bed. The low light made the room look smaller, the walls closing in. I smoothed his hair off his face and whispered, "We’re here, bud. Just relax."
He didn’t answer, but his breathing eased a little.
Eleanor went straight to work. She laid out a circle of smoky quartz and clear crystals on the quilt, spacing each piece with precision. Aurelia opened a velvet pouch, scattering a handful of dried lavender at the four corners. The smell was sweet and sharp.
Aurelia took up a post at the head of the bed, palms flat on the wood. "I’ll stabilize the field," she said. "You draw."
My mother nodded, lips thinning in determination.
I stepped back, out of the circle, and tried not to breathe too loudly.
Eleanor pressed two fingers to Bryce’s temples. She closed her eyes, muttering a string of words that didn’t sound like any language I knew. The air in the room changed, heavy, charged. Thin strands of blue-white light unfurled from under my mother’s fingers, spinning up in delicate ribbons. She coaxed them outward, gathering each line of magic and directing it toward a glass bowl set in the center of the quilt. The bowl began to glow, first faint, then stronger, until it shone like a pool of moonlight.
Bryce gave a twitch, eyelids fluttering, but Aurelia’s hands pressed down, and a low hum filled the room. It was barely audible, but enough to steady the air.
Eleanor kept going, drawing more of the light, funneling every drop into the waiting bowl. Sweat beaded on her forehead. The muscles in her neck stood out, but her hands never shook.
