Chapter Twenty-Two
Headache. Blackness. Cinnamon buns. Smoke. Ferns. Steel. Marble. Dizzy. So dizzy.
I struggled to see past the initial haze as I wiggled against my bed. No, it wasn’t a bed. Was I on the couch? No, it wasn’t pillows. Was I still at my mother’s? No, I smelled the baked-goods scent of my own flickering candles. My detergent. The lingering familiarity of my everyday perfume. What was more, I smelled Caliban. I had to be home. I wanted to embrace it, but I winced against the pain as I struggled to look up at him.
It was the worst headache I’d ever felt in my life.
Aneurysm. Meningitis. I struggled for a third traumatic reason that might pop up if I did a medical search of sudden severe migraine. It hurt too much for me to fully open my eyes. I couldn’t move my head. I exhaled a whimper, hand going to my temple as I muttered a faint, “Ow.”
He rested his hand against my cheek, pushing the cool tips of his fingers into my temple. Relief flooded me like morphine. I relaxed, realizing the unfamiliar shape was the cradle of his arms. Even after jumping, he hadn’t set me down.
The knots in my shoulders unraveled as the threat against my eyes relented.
“It’s the blood loss,” he murmured.
“What is?” I asked, rubbing my eyes as I sat up. I examined the room to find that it wasn’t just Caliban’s mist and Azrames’ssmoke. I looked around to see if Fauna had jumped with us, but there was no evergreen or sea-spray scent to be found. A hollow, tinny sensation followed. I told myself I was relieved that she’d given me space, but that empty echo felt suspiciously like disappointment.
I didn’t have the space to dwell on my thoughts of Fauna for much longer, as my gaze fell to where Silas slumped against the wall, knees partway to his chest on the far side of the living room floor.
I looked at Caliban with renewed intensity.
“You’re undergoing a similar change,” he said quietly. “His is…substantially more severe.” With a dry mutter, he added, “I haven’t exactly offered him my services.”
“You have to,” I said, righting my spine.
His expression wavered.
I shook my head. “It’s not out of sympathy. Fuck his feelings. My mom implied…” I gnawed my lip uncertainly. “I shoved Fauna out because of what Silas showed me. And after what my mother said…I don’t know if I was right. I don’t know his role in this, or if the two of them were working together. I’m not sure that I trust him.”
“What do you mean?” Caliban asked, words stretching with eerie stiffness.
I continued to glare at Silas.
“He was at the house when Fauna and I were there, before I ever got to see Hell. He was working with my mom to stake Heaven’s claim. He told me to ‘think of home,’ which sent me back to Lisbeth’s. And it’s something my mom said during our fight about his promise to bring me back. I just… I don’t know for sure whose side he’s on.”
For the first time in my life, Caliban directed his ire at me. “But you called him.”
I got to my feet, satisfied when my equilibrium leveled quickly. Whatever he’d done to heal me, it had worked unfailingly. “I had no choice,” I said defensively. “You were fighting for our lives, and I only had one card to play.”
Caliban stood slowly. “But you played that card not sure if he was for us or against us? You tossed a coin as to whether you were calling in aid or ending the fight by eliminating me?”
“No, no. You’re misunderstanding me. I—”
“No, Love, I don’t think I am,” he said. “I’m hearing you say that you genuinely believed Silas had orchestrated the attack. You thought he and your mother had conspired to end your life and take us down. Even if you thought his feelings for you would keep you safe, you believed he hadn’t defected, and by extension, that when he arrived, he would fight with the other angels. If you had been right, Azrames and I would be dead.”
I displayed my open palms. “That’s not it. You’re not hearing me. I had no choice, Caliban. I panicked. I wanted to help—”
“But”—he lifted a hand—“if you didn’t know whether he was on our side, then you didn’t call him for me. You called him for him.”
The relief at Caliban’s healing was short-lived. My mouth dried. Fear knotted in my throat. I fought the urge to look at Silas.
“That’s ridiculous,” I breathed.
“Is it?” he pressed. His face was stony as he said, “You wanted him there because you feel safe around him even if part of you believed he was working for your mother. You called him whether or not he’s onyourside. I’m trying to be understanding here, Marlow.”
I stiffened. Across the room, even Azrames went cold.
I blinked at him with glacial slowness. “What did you call me?”
