By Samantha Cook
Chapter Fourteen The Impossible
"Trust me," Tristan said, his voice booming off the walls of her mind. "I know this thing isn't supposed to happen."
She caught his arm before he could slip away through the door. "Wait."The tortured glint that blossomed when she even considered him leaving again was mirrored in the black iris of his dark eyes.
"I'm just going to get us, well, you some water. You don't look too well." He laid his fingers atop of hers and eased them from his shoulder. "I was never hurt Fey - you don't have to worry about me."
"I know." Her grip softened while she shook her head, trying to jiggle her muddled beliefs into some kind of order. She sucked in her breath and held it tight until her memory caught the moment of his return - it had felt so much longer in real life.
"Here," he said, handing her a chipped crystalline glass filled with... bubblegum blue, glimmering like stardust the way that truth and imagination entwine in a dream before the colour dissolved and it was just water once more, the way she remembered it; everything else spiralled into contortion. The lights blinkered to a menacing red, sending fear to tousle her heart as she apprehended the morphing figure before her. His hair was no longer floppy, but elongating down to his cheeks in lighter streaks that sat flat against his skull. A thin line serrated his temple as eyelashes flourished around their green eyes...
This wasn't her reuniting with Tristan anymore.
"Choice is simply a luxury."
Feya was upright before her eyes were open, the feeling of nausea pushing up from her stomach. She tore herself from the bed, scrambling bruises into her knees for a solution to her upcoming problem. Her eyes sought the bin; perfect. There was no time for breath, so the flood of stomach acid tangled in her airway, choking her into a mess. While wave two churned at the ready, she spied Tristan, still sleeping as if he had been hit by a rock. At least he wouldn't see her like this.
It was from the corner of her eye that she absorbed her surroundings: the curved panel walls, four oaken beds that matched the floor. It felt like being inside a tree trunk, giving Feya the eerie feeling that Nikkitah's potion had done more than just put them all to sleep.
Suddenly a voice came from behind her, distant but strong. "Through the door, Kelsey." It sounded like the harsh tone of Nikkitah, then followed by a crash and a shuddered, that told Feya exactly what Kelsey thought of her door. Their muffled voices were still defined enough for her to listen in.
"You heard what he said," Kelsey's unmistakable voice growled. "There's a new threat, and this one's real - or were you too busy trying to knock his teeth out?"
"He was a Demon," Nikkitah began in a calm voice that put Kelsey's shouts to shame, "and if your pampered half-light friend had resisted the urge to give him what he desired-"Kelsey cut in to defend her friend, putting a smile on Feya's face "-then we may have known a thing or two about this theat."
"We'll either have magic to protect us or we won't - that's no one's fault but yours."
"The strength of tradition will-"
"Lead to your naive slaughter." Feya could tell Kelsey would be smiling right now yet Nikkitah stayed assertive and calm. Impressive.
"Tradition," she tried again, "will protect us. It will tap into the magic untouchable by our blood - for crying out loud that's the whole point of rituals."
"It's a feast. Of fruit!"
"Correct, and it will continue as planned." If Kelsey replied, it was too low for Feya to hear. "Embers - pampered half-lights. Oliana has made you soft, and now you're out of your depth at the first hurdle."
