And then there’s the brain damage.
Devlin,Hands warns.
“Don’tDevlinme. It’s the only way that I know to lock down the magic enough so that maybe it can repair itself. Magic is alive, you know that, and if it’s fed what it needs, maybe it can mend itself—at least for a little while, until one of the daughters can…”
The thought of marriage hits me hard and I’m overtaken again. It’s a few minutes before I can speak.
I exhale. “This might not even work. But it’s worth a try.” I rise from the chair, entwine my fingers and rest my hands on the back of my neck. “And you can’t stop me. Even if you attempt it, I’m still going to do this, so you either help me or you stay out of my way.”
He scratches the fingers of the opposite hand.I don’t like it.
“I’m doing it for Blair.”
You’ll have to be careful.
Not interested in that, but sure. “I will be.”
How much power do you want to draw out?
“As much as I can lose without dying.”
No surprise there, he signs.I’ll monitor you.
Downstairs in the basement, I find the holding vessels that I’ve tucked away, locked in a cabinet. They’re ancient oil lamps, the kind that genies are supposed to be locked inside. They’re empty now, all genies having vacated the property, and they’re perfect for what I need.
How many are you going to use?Hands signs.
“Three.” He flexes his fingers frantically. “Yes, three,” I growl. “If you don’t like it, you can leave.”
He jumps onto the table and drags himself over to the first lamp. Point taken.
I place both hands on the cold metal and close my eyes. I feel magic inside me, trapped, waiting to be released, so I let it go, allowing it to flow out of me and inside the vessel.
I open my eyes to make sure this is working. Power drips from me, falling in a stream. It’s a beautiful thing to witness, golden energy filling the lamp, the lamp drinking up as much as I want to give—and more than that, even. So much more.
Each second that I give of myself, the effect is instantaneous. I was already tired, but fatigue hits me like a wall. I stagger forward and catch myself before I collapse on the table.
Hands flicks his fingers up at me frantically.
“I’m fine.”
I’m not fine, but I’m going to keep on.
When magic begins to spill out from the top of the first lamp, I stop. Hands caps it and reluctantly grabs the second lamp, opening the lid.
His disdain for what I’m doing is obvious. I don’t care. If Hands was in the same situation, he would do this. He would help the family of the woman he loves.
By the time we fill the third lamp, I’m so drained that I can barely stand. “Thank you,” I say weakly before heading upstairs and falling onto the couch.
My eyes close and I sleep. It’s the first sleep I’ve had in days. Every time I’ve shut my eyes before then has been plagued with worry, fear for Blair, guilt. But today, I sleep.
It doesn’t last long, maybe an hour. When I wake up, I’m still exhausted, but at least I can walk.
I shrug on a jacket, call the lamps to me. They don’t come. Apparently I used too much of my magic. I walk down the stairs on shaky legs and retrieve them.
Upstairs I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Haven’t shaved in days, and a patchy beard’s beginning to grow in. Myeyes are sunken; so are what I can see of my cheeks. Can’t remember the last time I ate.
I wipe a hand down my face and head out without saying goodbye to Hands.
