They immediately start peppering him with questions:
“What happened?”
“Did you fall?”
“What’s your name, sir?”
But JT’s gaze remains fixed on me. “I understand,” he says in that same trembling tone. “I will, I promise. I promise!”
That’s right. Because Death conquers all, bitch.
18
I make it into the hospital lobby before the nausea catches up to me. Vomit scorches up the back of my throat, and I run for the bathroom.
I slam into a stall door with my elbow and drop to the floor, my knees skidding on the white tile. The little food I’ve eaten comes right back up into the toilet, as reality comes screeching into focus.
Oh my God. What did I do?
Almost killed someone. That’s what I did. And not by accident, not out of ignorance this time.
Ate him up, like an apple on a stick!My nonhuman aspect is seemingly delighted by this turn of events. And at being full once more.
I shudder, bracing myself for another wave of sickness. My stomach lurches but holds steady.
I can’t decide if that makes me feel better or worse. I am sick with guilt but only part of me seems to register it.
After a moment, I force myself up on shaky legs and flush thetoilet. I can’t just sit in here on the floor; someone will come in sooner or later. And Chessa and Carter are still waiting upstairs, with Daan.
At the sink, I scrub my hands and splash cool water on my face, trying to ignore the new healthy glow in my cheeks.Damnit.
When I pull open the door and step out, Devon straightens from where he’s leaning against the wall nearby. “You okay?” he asks, holding out an unopened pack of mint gum between his fingers.
“Where did you get that?” I frown. He’s always one step ahead, looking out for me, and it’s both unnerving and flattering.
“Gift shop.” He tips his head in the opposite direction down the hall.
“Thanks,” I mutter, taking it from him. My mouth tastes like I’ve been licking toilets instead of just hovering over one.
“You did what needed to be done,” Devon says calmly, his green-eyed gaze meeting mine. “You know that. You know what would have happened if you hadn’t.” Even now his face is too pale, showing signs of our ordeal.
He’s right, of course, which sucks. JT, the Fear spawn, would have killed or incapacitated us and then wreaked havoc on Beecher because he could, high on his supposed triumph against me. “I don’t have to like it,” I snap.
Devon shrugs, leading the way back to the visitor desk. “But you don’t have to hate yourself for it, either. It’s who you are.”
“You need to make up your mind,” I tell him, folding my arms across my chest. “One minute you and Maggie are like,we want you because you’re not like the others, not killing people for power,and then the next you’re cheering me on.”
In my frustration, the words come out a little too loud, and thesilver-haired volunteer at the desk gives me a suspicious look, like she’s three seconds from pushing some kind of silent alarm.
Shit.“Gaming,” I say quickly. “He’s just a sore loser, that’s all. I took all of his sheep.”
Devon makes a sound that might be a strangled laugh.
The woman’s expression eases slightly, but she doesn’t take her eyes off me.
“It’s not the same thing, Jo,” Devon says to me quietly. “You know that as well.” Then he smiles at the volunteer, charm on full. “Hello. Yes, terribly sore loser, that’s me. We’re here to see a friend.”
It takes a bit of Devon-specific sweet-talking to get us in because I don’t have an ID with me. But after the volunteer takes my picture and issues us both sticker name tags with our images printed on them, we’re on our way to the ICU waiting room.
