Melissa had left the room on the first night, and only at the healer's insistence. Last night, she fell asleep before anyone could nudge her out. Now she sat in a padded wooden chair, a hot mug of espresso in her hands.
An older woman had brought it by under the thinly veiled pretense of returning the twins' backpack. Jonathan wasn't in the room, so she had no way of knowing what the circumstances were.
"Good morning, Ms. Marland. I trust you've been holding up?" asked the woman. She had introduced herself as Errol Osred, and Melissa still hadn't gotten past the question of whether or not the name was unisex.
"Considering that we're having this conversation over my comatose daughter, no," she answered flatly. Osred mumbled an awkward, "Right."
She cleared her throat. "About your children," she stammered. "I understand that you chose not to take Perry when he was born, but had no reservations with Bronte. Did you have any ideas about their heritage?"
"You're asking me if I knew that I'd given birth to magicians? You hide yourselves too well," she replied, shaking her head. "These are better questions for Jon. He's the one who finally explained it all. If I remember right, there were demons essentially stalking me during my pregnancy. They made me hallucinate, and I blamed it on the boy I saw in nightmares. I thought that it was one of my babies, but I was mistaken."
"So you never knew about magic before Perry arrived at your home?"
Melissa nodded in confirmation.
"Bronte never showed signs of being gifted? She didn't claim to see spirits, or ghosts? Dream of things she couldn't know?" Osred was steadily leaning in, and Melissa wanted very much to shove her away.
"A lot of kids do. My mother told me that I thought I was psychic when I was little," she explained, letting out a faint smile. "I told Bronte she was being silly and to ignore it, and it didn't come up again."
The woman looked overly intrigued at this statement. "Did you see things as a child?"
Melissa's smile fell. With each question, her opinion of the woman leaned more and more towards utterly daft. She was about to correct her, but was cut short by Jonathan's entry.
His mood appeared to have greatly improved since he left. Then he saw who was hovering at the end of his daughter's sickbed and any cheerfulness he had dropped dead.
The older woman warmly greeted him in attempt to get herself out of the danger zone. In response to her salutation, Jonathan fumed.
"Get the hell away from my family," he said at a near shout, dropping the brown bag in his arms. He hadn't been thinking too highly of the woman since Warren told him what he knew about his children's endeavor.
"Wizard Arval—"
"Don't even try, Osred. You had every reason to believe Perry was possessed. And you shrugged it off because one man told you everything checked out, without consulting the exorcist he was supposed to have seen. I guess you forgot that a demon can possess more than one person at once, right? Bloody brilliant of you, Errol," Jonathan ridiculed with a sarcastic hiss. He went on with his rant, flinging a hand into the air. "Then you sent the same man into battle against the demon that was controlling him. Do you know how many people are blaming Warren for sabotage and treason?"
"I understand your anger," Osred said carefully, "but I'm not the only one to blame here. We were all fooled by the demon. How long did it take you to realize your son was possessed?"
"About two seconds, when I interrupted the summoning!" Jonathan retorted. "The only real warning I got was a minute before it started. As for the haunting, the symptoms are a bit too similar to the behavior of an average teenager. At least I have a legitimate excuse for—"
"Jon." Melissa interrupted the argument with a sharp stare. He stood motionless for a moment before he clamped his mouth shut.
"Osred, you need to leave."
"Arval, please. There's still the matter of the circle—"
"Oh, I know," Jonathan snapped. "Sorcerers have come down before they've received treatment to pester him about it. I'm sure he'll explain everything as soon as his soul fully reattaches to his body!" He stepped out of the woman's way, hands on his hips. Before he shut the door on her, he added, "Thanks for stopping by," with a heavy dose of derision.
"Is it safe to say she's one of the unwanted visitors?" Melissa asked. Jonathan brought his chair a few feet over to sit beside her and set the brown bag in between them.
"She tops the list," he muttered. "But she's gone, and the kids are doing fine. I don't know about you, but I am starving. Unfortunately, the castle rarely stocks up. We've got moderately stale bread and a handful of mini butter portions."
"The breakfast of kings," Melissa said, accepting a thick piece of bread and a small package of butter. They began talking as they ate, telling stories and describing places, asking and answering.
After the sun had well cleared the horizon and the hallway started to fill again with the dramatic hustle and bustle, the conversation rolled around to the battle that put so many magicians in critical condition—or six feet under.
Jonathan didn't linger on the topic for long. He brought up a new matter for discussion as quickly as he could.
"Never mind that," he said. The man lowered his voice and leaned in sideways. "You owe me something, my dear."
Melissa grinned widely. "That I do." She tipped her head toward his and laced their fingers together.
"Jonathan Arval," she began, "I am a thirty-five-year-old woman. I had children at nineteen, and have been a parent over everything else for the last sixteen years. I've dated to appease my mother, but I haven't been committed to a romantic relationship since you—also known as 1991. Mind you, I never had a particularly bad date. But then I would go home and see my little girl...and instantly remember everything about you. Jon, if that doesn't prove to you how hopelessly in love with you I've been for the past seventeen years, I don't know what will."
His lips slid up in a content, slanted smile. He tilted his head to one side and pulled her into a soft kiss.
"Definitely worth waiting for," he whispered into her hair, then sealed the words with a firm kiss to the top of her head.
#
Bronte was at the perfect level of warm and cozy. She felt a heavy blanket on top of her and the sun was keeping her toes toasty. She rolled onto her back and stretched.
"Bronte?" came a quiet question. "Are you awake?"
It was her mother, speaking in a soft whisper. "No," she replied. The girl turned away from the voice, her head lying on her arm.
"Yes you are," Melissa said firmly. "Get up, I need to talk to you."
"About what?" she mumbled grouchily. She looked back at her mother with an annoyed squint.
"Bronte Marland." Her tone was scolding, but there was a hint of distress. "Are you aware that you have been unconscious for the past two days?"
For a moment, she stared at the woman like she'd lost her mind. The memory came slowly, first spurred by a closer observation of her surroundings.
"Oh my God," she breathed, sitting up. Melissa placed a hand on her shoulder as she raked a worried gaze over the girl's face.
"Take it easy. You're pale, baby. Do you need a glass of water?"
She waved the attention off with an agitated shake of her head. "What happened? Where's Perry?"
Melissa moved from her chair to her daughter's bedside with a deep exhale. "He's fine, honey." She directed her gaze to a second bed that was partially obscured by a plain curtain. "As for what happened, I'm not sure myself. From what I gathered, Perry snuck out to fight the demon himself. And you went with him."
Bronte furrowed her brow. "There was no other option, Mom. That demon was bigger than anyone wanted to admit. Perry had the power to stop him. If he hadn't tried, Malus would have killed everyone. Wouldn't you do the same thing?"
"Probably," she answered, "but that's not the point. It's a miracle that you're both alive, and you purposely put yourselves in that danger. These people aren't strangers to this world. If they had seen that Perry was sensible and his reasons were valid, they would have let him go, and helped him as well."
"You don't understand," Bronte said, shaking her head. "Maybe I don't either, but I do know he needed me there. Something about us being paired made him stronger, and that's how he was able to win against Malus. There was no way for the others to defeat him, because it was Perry that summoned him."
Melissa shut her eyes and sighed. "Baby, I can't begin to grasp all of this. I believe you did the right thing, even though you didn't do it the best way you could have. I'm not as angry that you did what you did—even though I'm pretty sure that involved almost losing your soul—as I am disappointed that you couldn't trust me. After all I've done to teach you to come to me, or someone, you still ran off without even trying to explain. Do you really feel that I'm not on your side?"
The berating layer of her tone was gone, replaced by an unstable dam that kept the tears out of her voice.
"Mom," she said softly. She hadn't foreseen the consequences of what she thought had been an honorable cause. "No, it's not like that. You're the greatest mom I could ask for. It's not that I couldn't trust you. It was something I felt I had to do. Besides, I couldn't let Perry go alone. And he was too determined to right his wrong, so he wouldn't have listened to anyone. He probably would have done it in the basement if I didn't go along with it."
Melissa broke into a genuine grin, thought her eyes were watering. "God, you're already trying to pin blame on your brother. It's like you two were never separated."
Bronte returned the grin, moving to sit beside her mother on the bedside.
"It doesn't feel that way." Her eyes were on the partition as if she could see past it to him. She leaned her head on Melissa's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mom. I love you."
"I love you too, sweetie." There was a short pause as the woman freed her arm to hug the girl's shoulder. "But, seriously, never do that again."
#
Bronte wasn't happy to start a new book before finishing Robinson Crusoe, but she had no other choice. She was curled up in the old armchair by the window, a printed copy of one of Witton's works in her hands. The floor of the castle she was on, devoted to housing the "demonically affected and alchemically injured," was currently ER-level chaotic, so she had been advised to stay put. Her father was on-call, helping other magicians when he was needed. He had come in the morning to deliver breakfast and relieve Melissa of her babysitting duties. She was napping in the lower levels now.
Not a full minute after he'd collapsed into a chair by Perry's bed, an older man had peeked in to call for Jonathan. He'd gone with an exasperated moan and an apologetic farewell, leaving her alone with her sleeping twin.
Now the door creaked open, and she expected Jonathan to enter wearing his tired slump. She was caught by surprise when a young man peeked around the door and immediately assumed that it was another "wandering patient."
"Oh, excuse me," he mumbled. "I didn't know... Er, sorry for the intrusion. I came by to see how Perry was doing."
"You're not the first. Quite the line has built up," she said flatly. She closed the book and put it down on the inset window sill. "No visitors. He's resting."
He didn't notice her cavalier attitude, so he took a step into the room. His left arm was in a sling, and a white bandage covered his left temple. "I assumed he'd be." After a moment's hesitation, he crossed the room, brandishing a folded sheet of paper. "Give this to him for me?"
Bronte nodded slowly, holding her hand out for the letter. She recognized him now that he was closer. He was the boy who had been at the cottage, the same one that had asked whether she was all right and if she needed anything later on at his own house. She remembered thinking, despite the circumstances, that he was terribly sweet. And incredibly attractive.
"Of course," she said, switching from what she hoped wasn't a gawk to a more welcoming expression. "Raynor Reid, right? I heard you two are good friends."
"Yeah. He's my closest friend, really, and my oldest. I've known him all my life. And now he's saved it, and my dad's. Countless others, too." Raynor paused, scratching the back of his head and turning to look at the occupied bed. "He's...a lot braver that he thinks he is."
Her smile widened as she turned her eyes to the sleeping boy. "He is," she agreed softly.
Raynor coughed nervously. "Bronte, isn't it?" She dipped her head in a nod, looking up at him. "I guess you played quite the part in saving the day, too. This may be a little backwards, but it looks like you're my knight in shining armor."
A corner of her lips slid up higher and she fingered the amulet hanging from her neck. Is he flirting?
"You have my thanks," he said. "I wish I'd thought to include you in the note. I guess I'll have to show my gratitude another time."
Bronte sighed contentedly on the inside. He is definitely flirting.
She cleared her throat and stood, feeling underdressed in her sweats, socks, and white, long-sleeved shirt. "You were at the fight, weren't you? I hope that doesn't hurt too bad," she said, lamely gesturing to his injured arm.
"Oh, this? Not a bit. I dislocated my shoulder, but I woke up feeling great. I attribute it to the fact that the best healer of the century is making her rounds." As Raynor watched her, his wild grin faded. He paled, regarding Perry's sleeping figure with a guilty frown. "I... Have you gotten treatment yet?"
Bronte shrugged. "I'm really not sure. I was out for a couple days, but I'm fairly certain they were burning some, uh, apothecary powder earlier."
"That sounded like a question," he said, his grin returning. "They must have been using a wicker, if either of you were sleeping uneasily or having trouble breathing. Well, I'm sure she was already here, being close to the family." Raynor let out a deep breath. His eyes started to wander, apparently not satisfied with scrutinizing his slumbering friend. "Oh, you're reading up on alchemy?" he said eventually, gesturing toward the book.
"The magazine section was a little lacking," she said with a shrug. He laughed lightly. "Besides, I figured I should get some background before I jump into this...apprenticeship business."
Raynor nodded and slid his right hand into his pocket. "Right. I'm not sure someone from a gifted family has started so late since Witton's time. A magician with ungifted parents, sure, but that's still rare."
Bronte felt her smile slip. She preferred Perry's use of "non-magic," but if she would have mustered up the nerve to say anything, she didn't find out.
The door opened and one of the women from the Reids' house stepped in, hanging on the doorknob.
"There you are. Figured you'd sneak in here," she mumbled. She raised her voice, hand on her hip, and sent a hard look at her son. "Your father wants to see you."
He let out a faint, "Oh," and drifted to the middle of the room. He stood awkwardly for a moment, as if torn between the two girls. "Don't keep him up and worrying, Raynor Reid. At the moment, he's not quite sure if he brought you back with him."
Raynor furrowed his brow. He glanced back at Bronte and bade goodbye with a subtle wave. His mother seemed to take a moment to assess her before following the boy and letting the door slam behind her.
When they were gone, Bronte fell back into the chair and reluctantly dragged the book off of the sill.
#
Jonathan wasn't the sort that could sleep in, especially when he'd collapsed earlier than usual. The sun wasn't up yet, but the moon wouldn't be around much longer. Thankfully, neither would the castle's chill. He had swiped Byron's afghan to ward off the cold before he went up to sit with the kids.
Of course, they weren't up yet. It seemed neither of them had inherited his rise-at-sunup policy.
They still hadn't woken when the sun broke through the horizon and stained the dark sky with a rosy blush. Jonathan was beginning to drift off when a cloud of wicker smoke hit him on its way to the flue. He crinkled his nose and coughed, taking his hand out from underneath the blanket to swat the haze away. As he was readjusting himself, he heard it: an almost imperceptible murmur.
Jonathan held still for a moment, uncertain whether he'd imagined it. Perry's head fell to one side and his arm rose from his torso to rub at an eye. Then he rolled over, curling up underneath the covers. The man moved from the chair to the bed, not to be delayed any longer than the three days he had already spent pacing his son's bedside.
It was undoubtedly the time for reproof, but punishment was not Jonathan's forte. The embarrassment and guilt of doing something wrong had always seemed to teach the boy a lesson on its own without need for a lecture. That, and he'd never been able to stomach making his child cry over a misunderstanding.
This was different, though. The circumstances could make him feel either contrite or like a hero. Knowing his boy, remorse came first, even if it was out of place.
Still hesitant on how to approach the situation, he set a hand on his son's shoulder. "Perry?" he whispered. He moaned in response, pressing his face into the pillow. It wasn't until the sun had fully passed the horizon that he opened his eyes.
Perry stared blankly while Jonathan sat waited, afraid to rush him. His gaze finally shifted, refocusing to the second bed, then he blinked slowly.
Jonathan searched his face, hoping there was something there he could go off of. "Perry?" he asked again. His hand slipped away as the boy sat up.
He wasn't dazed, and he wasn't hysterical. His expression reminded him of a still lake: no ripples, no churning waters. It seemed he was in a state of plain acceptance, and he had no idea how to feel about it.
After a moment, Perry met his father's eye. His voice was low and clear. "Papa, I don't want to be in bed any longer."
Jonathan nodded and stood, pulling the covers back. Perry pushed himself to the edge of the bed and placed his feet down. He seemed to test his legs for a moment, as if he was afraid they wouldn't work. When they did, his stagnant expression almost gave way to a fleeting relief.
Perry crossed to the window without a word. He folded his arms over his chest as he stood, watching the sun ascend. Slowly, he lowered himself into the armchair.
Jonathan draped the pilfered afghan over his son's shoulders and knelt in front of him. "Do you remember, dear?" he asked softly. His eyes clouded over and he nodded.
"Did Bronte see it too? All that darkness, and that mess of colors." Perry was speaking so quietly, he might have been thinking out loud. He turned his head and frowned. "Did you see it?"
He shook his head. He'd never gone through the experience himself, but he was sure overpowering an extra-elite demon was capable of causing hallucinations. Perry returned his gaze to the window and fell back into a silent brooding.
Melissa had all but made him swear to use discipline in some form, and he supposed now was as good a time as any to address the issue. He would have to revisit the memory to work up a lecturing mood. "You could have died," he began, ditching his whisper.
Perry dragged his gaze over to the man, once again knitting his brow. Jonathan went on.
"I could have lost you, Perevull. I've never been able to stand the thought of something happening to you, and you went and threw yourself into terrible danger. And you took your sister with you."
He spoke with a somber tone to match his frown. "Dad, I'm sorry, but...we had to."
Jonathan got to his feet and ran a hand through his hair. "I know. I know you believed you had no other choice, that it was the only option. I know you were trying to help, but you could have gotten yourself and your sister killed!"
He shook his head. "It's more than that," he said. Jonathan noted how unusually level-headed he was being. He accredited it to the fact that he had become accustomed to a demon-crazed teenager. "It was my responsibility."
Although he knew he should have countered with a firm reprimand and a grounding for good measure, he was having trouble seeing the fault in what the boy had done. Finding him in the middle of an enormous portal had been terrifying, yes, but Perry had done what was right. It was borderline reckless, and at the same time it was incredibly brave.
Jonathan smiled, clapping a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I can't decide whether to be pissed or proud." Perry looked up at him and his lips edged up in a weak grin.
"I am sorry, Papa. For putting Bronte and myself in danger." He let out a deep breath and the smile spread to his tired eyes. "It won't happen again, if I can help it. It is kind of a brother's job, right?"
The man chuckled happily. "I guess it is," he said, turning to look at the sleeping girl. "Oh, and Bronte will get the same load when she's up."
Right on cue, the girl raised an arm and waved it dismissively. "I already got it from Mom, Dad. Just focus on getting us released from Ye Olde Wizard Clinic, please."
Jonathan laughed, pushing off of the wall and sauntering to the table. "That reminds me, your 'doctor' will be in this morning, and probably soon. She was too busy yesterday, but she's gotten more mages on their feet. I'm one of them, so I'll be leaving to help after she comes in." He picked up a glass and filled it with water from the pitcher. "Need a drink, Perry?"
He nodded. Jonathan crossed back over to hand the glass to him and Bronte sat up to pour one of her own. Perry leaned against the wall, gulping the water.
There was a knock at the door. "That must be them," he said, then raised his voice. "Come in!"
The door slid open and Byron entered, pushing a wheelchair in front of him.
Bronte nearly let the water spill over the rim of her cup. Perry lowered his glass and promptly dropped it. Frowning at the shattered cup, Jonathan reached for the washcloth that was on the table.
Perry looked, understandably, like he'd seen a ghost. The color had vanished from his face in the same horrifying moment that his heart had skipped a beat. While he stood like soon-to-be road kill, Jonathan swiped up the large bits of glass.
Bronte spoke first, her voice so feeble it sounded like it should have come from the old woman.
"Madam Kiernan?"
Madam Kiernan smiled warmly at the girl. "Good morning, Bronte. Perevull." She spoke as if they hadn't seen her frozen corpse over a week earlier.
Bronte stood, almost laughing out of her incredulity. "I don't believe this," she said. She hurried over to the old woman and bent over to wrap her in a tight hug. "Don't get me wrong, this is amazing, but how is it possible?"
She chuckled, patting the girl on the back. Bronte gently pulled away, still awed.
"Oh, dear, it'll take more than an ice demon to best this old crone. Hyde found his way in after you two vanished, and he wouldn't let some deformed elemental have me." Madam Kiernan turned her smile to Perry, who wasn't yet out of the disbelief stage. He started to sputter and mumble through some form of apology, but the old woman cut him off.
"For heaven's sake, Perevull, sit down before you faint," she said. "You can bake me an I'm-so-glad-I-didn't-actually-kill-you cake later, but now is the time for business." She took control of her wheelchair and maneuvered herself closer to the window, squinting at the boy.
"From what I hear, you were both comatose for several days," she pondered aloud. "Sounds about right, since you funneled a demon through your bodies that surpassed Witton's scales." Madam Kiernan scrutinized Perry's face for another minute. "Hmm... This might take some creativity."
Bronte met her brother's gaze, giving him a reassuring smile in hopes of calming the wide range of emotions in his expression. After a minute, he grinned and regarded her with clear blue eyes.
#
Perry woke up to twitching nostrils. He lifted his head from the pillow and met a face full of wicker smoke. He coughed and flipped around to lay on his back.
Jonathan was seated in the armchair, reading by the light of a candle that he'd perched on the window sill. He didn't recognize the book, but it didn't look like anything he'd manage to get through given half a decade.
"Papa?" he asked groggily. He wiped at his dripping nose. "What time is it?"
Jonathan looked up and a smile stretched across his face, more genuine than any he'd seen in the past week. "A little after ten, dear, or it should be. You two conked out after dinner, so Mel left not long after."
His heart fumbled, then raced to get catch up to a steady rhythm. He sat up with a small, "Oh."
His face must have betrayed something, for Jonathan's smile turned into a worried frown. "What is it?"
Perry met his eye. He knew he shouldn't say it, since didn't have any real reason to be afraid. It was only the recent chaos. He didn't want to drag his father down with him.
But the man wouldn't be written off, either. "Can I get you anything, Perry?" Jonathan persisted.
He sighed, unsure of how to voice his unfounded concerns.
"What?" he asked with a faint grin. "Come on, if you could have anything right now, what would it be? I'll do my best to make it happen."
Perry laughed lightly—something he hadn't expected to come out of his mouth with the adverse emotion tearing through his head. He sighed and forced the words out before they fled completely.
"I wish I hadn't met my sister at a coffee shop. Dad..." he paused, searching the far wall for encouragement. "Don't let them go this time."
His father's smile returned, perhaps a bit broader. "I'll do my best," he repeated. He stood from the chair and crossed to the bed in a few long steps. He bent down to kiss the boy on his forehead. Jonathan sat on the bedside in front of him, resting his hand on his shoulder. "I love you, Perry. More than anything."
Perry let out a breath, so full of relief it felt like a weight had vanished from his chest. He leaned forward to wrap his arms around him. "I love you too, Papa."
#
Another day passed, and Madam Kiernan insisted they stay for at least one more night. Hopefully they'd be free to go home in the morning, but in the meantime, it was an extra night's sleep at the arctic castle.
Jonathan had taken Bronte with him to help replenish the mages' apothecary supply and Melissa had wheeled Madam Kiernan down to find some "decent tea."
Perry was alone in the room, seated on the edge of his bed. He had nothing to do besides wait for one of the parties to return, as he had been told to stay put. Many magicians were astounded by the twelve-ring circle and he was promised he'd be ambushed if he left the room.
He might have felt proud two weeks earlier, maybe even superior. But advancing sorcerery had come at a cost, just as forging Witton's Society had lost Rourke Witton his brother. Everything came with a price: he had ridden himself of Malus, but he had lost Erisef. He had created a circle powerful enough to counter the demon he'd conjured, but he'd dragged his entire family through hell to do it.
Did the expense of your endeavor ever truly bother you, brother?
He couldn't be sure if the demon's thoughts were residual, or if he really had been privy to a dead man's lament.
Witton's ghost, whether or not he'd imagined it at the solstice party, had felt the spirit's presence even then. The apparition's response hadn't been a good one—but was it from spite or guilt?
Did my story ever appear in the pages of your precious books?
It will. Perry set his jaw. It was a promise. He didn't owe his possessor anything, but there was redemption for every sin. He could still feel the demon's dirt in his soul. There had to be a way to rid himself of that.
He was pulled out of his rumination by a shift in the light. A bright glow at the window caught his attention. The sun had already started to dip down, but now the dusk was reversing.
It was as if the glass had been replaced by fire. He thought at first that it was a trick of the light, that the candle flames were somehow reflecting on the window.
Then the fire contracted and seeped into the room. It settled on the floor as a small flame before it stood.
Perry couldn't say anything. He wasn't sure there were any words to express himself in this situation. Besides, he wasn't used to needing a language to speak to this particular friend. So neither of them spoke.
It was a lot like looking into a mirror, if mirrors could show one's reflection embossed in fire. The flaming version of himself didn't look quite right, either. His ears were too sharp and his height was lacking...or was he actually that short?
Perry raised one tentative hand, his left palm facing the demon like he really expected a mirror to be in between them. Erisef copied the gesture, worriedly drawing his scorching fingertips toward the outstretched hand.
The heat forced a surprised wince from the boy, who hadn't been burned since he was seven years old. The initial jolt passed quickly and the two of them stood, palms pressed together, for as long as they could. They were no longer occupying the same space, nor were they capable of such tight quarters, so this was as close as they could get.
Perry suddenly tore away with a shout, cradling his hand against his chest. Tears stinging his eyes, he looked from his demon to his seared flesh and back again, holding back a pained groan as best as he could.
The opening door startled both of them. Erisef took the women's entry as his cue to leave, and he shot for the window.
Perry reached out for the tail of the phoenix, but he only caught a handful of heat. He was left standing in the center of the room, one hand outstretched and the other an angry shade of red.
"You twit," Madam Kiernan grumbled. He snapped back into attention and withdrew his empty hand. "I suppose you never did learn not to play with fire—anymore than stitching it into your soul, that is." She chuckled at her joke as she wheeled herself to the small table. "Come here, dear. I'll patch that up."
Perry walked quietly to the bedside and sat down in front of the old woman. As she went on, he couldn't keep his gaze from flicking back and forth to Melissa. She was hovering awkwardly near the door, and it was no mystery why she hadn't talked to him much in the past couple days. The last he could remember before waking up at the Reid's house, he had said some unkind things. And he wasn't sure if he'd meant them.
"You're lucky I've got salve left over from the day. Most everyone's wounds have closed, thank goodness, but the aftereffect was a burn on the skin. You rarely see demon-inflicted injuries that come strong enough to scald. I suppose that terrible thing was as bad as they come."
Perry wasn't listening. He stared straight into nothing as Madam Kiernan rubbed the salve onto the skin of his left hand.
It still nagged him that his father was chatting with the woman as if they had been parted for several hours instead of the entire lives of their children. He obviously felt that Melissa leaving again was impossible, that nothing stood in the way of the happy family he'd always wanted.
There was that idea again: his mother had left. But he had no way of knowing if that was accurate. Melissa hadn't backed out of a commitment, or walked away from him. As far as he could gather, she had simply removed herself from his life before he knew the difference. Was that better or worse than trying and failing, when the subject was as frail as a life?
He creased his brow. The situation was not only completely foreign, but intensely complicated. None of his books or his friends could offer an answer, or even advice. He was alone to figure it out himself.
"There you are," Madam Kiernan finished, patting his wrist. His left hand was bandaged, almost too tightly, and the salve on the other side made his skin tingle. Am I alone?
"All wrapped up. Don't mess with it, Perevull, and I implore you, don't go touching that fire demon again. I'll point this out to you once, dear: he's composed entirely of flame. Until someone figures out what he is exactly, I'd avoid him altogether. But your Jon's boy, and that's not going to happen."
She smiled gently at the boy with these last words. Then she dropped his hand and wheeled away from the bed.
"It's getting late, Melissa dear. I'll be at the right end of the hall if he tries to cuddle the hearth," Madam Kiernan said as she neared the door.
"Would you like help?" Melissa asked, moving to grab the back of the wheelchair.
"Oh, no, thank you. I'd rather you stay with Perry." She wheeled herself out the door once the other woman propped it open. Madam Kiernan gave her a grin before the door closed. "I'm old, but not quite that old."
Melissa turned back to the room with a small sigh. To her surprise, Perry was smiling broadly at his burned hand.
She coughed, folding her arms over her chest. "Are you all right?" she asked cautiously.
Perry laughed lightly. "I just found out my brother is alive. I'm more than all right, I'm elated. Lord, someone really isn't in the mood for the dead to stay dead."
Melissa grinned weakly. "I suppose so."
Perry chuckled at his bandages again. It was confusing to sort out the positive from the negative in a time like this, but seeing Erisef again couldn't be anything but miraculous. His smile slipped back to a thoughtful grin. "You know..." He trailed off, letting his eyes drift up to where the woman stood.
"I held onto Erisef for so long," he started slowly, "because I needed to feel him close to me, even though it hurt. If there was no risk involved...love would be pointless."
Melissa remained silent. She gave him a small nod, not sure if he was speaking to her. His gaze fell back to his hand, then traveled up to her. The deep blue of his irises looked like the ocean with the glimmer of tears over them. "I'm sorry you had to see me like I was, with that demon making me crazy."
Her resolve softened. He was apologizing. This was her long-lost son, no longer plagued by worry for his father, sorrow for lost friends, or residual madness from a vengeful demon.
His lips parted and his jaw quivered slightly. Whatever words were coming next, they were stuck.
"I'm..." Perry paused one last time to draw in a deep breath. He met the eyes that so well matched his own, filled with hope as deep as the sea. "I'm sorry, Mom."
Melissa was caught off guard by the name. She had heard it from her daughter for years, but she never could have dreamed her son would use it. She let out a happy gasp, her trembling lips not quite able to form the smile she felt.
She ran to the boy and threw her arms around him. Perry stood, returning the embrace with delighted laughter. After a moment, a beaming Melissa drew back to see his face. She took it in her hands and planted a firm kiss on his cheek before cradling his head in her arms.
Perry smiled into her shoulder.
Am I alone? he thought again.
Melissa sputtered out a relieved laugh. "My baby boy, I love you so much," she whispered, kissing his head. His response was muffled in the tight hug.
No. Most definitely not.
#
Jonathan and Bronte had returned just as the joyful tears stopped and the pair had settled down. Puffy eyes and a completely bandaged hand raised questions, but they quickly gave up trying to understand either of them. It wasn't long after that Melissa and Jonathan headed off to their rooms.
One thing Bronte had pulled out of her mother and brother's hurried, overlapped speech was that Erisef was alive. She was glad, of course, though more for Perry's sake. She knew she owed the demon thanks, but the conditions of his survival concerned her. What did a demon with its own body mean for the society she'd just been thrown in to?
Lying awake later, she thought of the same question while she strained to stay warm. She let out a loud sigh and wiped at her eyes. There was only silence for a while, then a whisper.
"Bronte?"
She turned her head to the sound. "What is it?"
It seemed her response was the answer he was hoping for. Perry slipped quietly out of bed and swiftly transferred to hers. He hurriedly pulled the covers back into place, shivering from his brief encounter with the cold.
Through the darkness, she could see him grinning. "I couldn't sleep," he said, still whispering. Bronte smiled knowingly and turned to face him. There wasn't much of a gap in between them, and even without Erisef's help, her brother was like a furnace.
"Me neither. It's been a crazy week."
Perry laughed. "That's a bit of an understatement," he said sarcastically. "I bet this will survive as the wildest month of our lives."
Bronte resisted the urge to knock on wood. She wasn't sure she was capable of handling a higher level of adventure. Tossing the thought from her head, she let her eyes shut. She could imagine what late summer nights would have been like, lying with her twin instead of her grandma's dog.
"I couldn't have done it without you, you know," Perry said. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "I wasn't strong enough alone. So thanks for saving me."
She felt a sleepy grin spread across her face, and she murmured, "Any time." She directed her gaze to the window, seeing that the moon was full, or at least close enough to deceive.
Bronte sighed happily and pulled the covers tight around herself. "I've never seen so many stars."