Chapter 54: A Secret; A Spell

DAISY.

"Wake up. Please, wake up. Don't leave me. You can't leave me!" I sob, shaking him by the shoulders. "Sebastian!"

His eyes flutter open, and I choke on my tears as relief floods me. His gaze is blurry and far off, but his brows furrow together slightly as he tries to focus his attention on me. "What happened?" he mumbles.

"You passed out. You're not healing fast enough. There has to be something we can do. Bastian, please tell me there is something we can do," I beg.

The seconds stretch into an infinity. In a flash, I see a glimpse of what it would be like to lose him, and it's enough to break me.

"The dagger–" I say suddenly, drawing the blade from its sheath at my hip. "You said it might be an athame, that it could be used to channel magic." If it was strong enough to kill all those Shades, then surely it must be strong enough to help him now. The blast of power from before allowed me to heal. Maybe if we replicate it, we can burn away the black magic coursing through Bastian. "Tell me how to use it."

He shakes his head, and my chest tightens. "It wasn't the dagger, Daisy. Even if it's a witch's athame, the magic doesn't come from the blade. It comes from the witch wielding it. It came from you."

It can't be possible. I shouldn't be.

But if there's a power that can save Bastian right now, do I really care where it comes from or what it means?

"How?" I ask breathlessly. "How can I use it? What do I do? I'm a hybrid, but I'm not a witch. I don't know the first thing about magic."

"Maybe not entirely, but there is something inside you that reacted to the spell. A powerful lineage mixed with the blood of a witch." He mutters something else unintelligible. His voice is low, and his words are muddled. Sweat beads across his forehead, clinging to his golden curls as he frowns, shutting his eyes.

"Hey, open your eyes," I command frantically. "Keep your eyes on me. Just keep looking at me, okay? I need you to stay with me."

What he's saying only half makes sense. I do come from a powerful lineage, born of a royal, ancient nightwalker, mixed with the heritage of a mighty Alpha and a white wolf. My bloodline is a gift of Selene and Nyx, blessed by the Moon Goddess herself. I suppose that kind of power might amplify any magic it comes into contact with, but where in the seven hells would I get the blood of a witch? How can there be an entire part of myself I never even knew existed? Surely my parents would have known, and if they'd known, they would have told me.

Right?

I clench my jaw. It's not important. None of that matters now. I can figure out where this power came from later; right now, all that matters is figuring out how to use it to save Bastian.

I shift on the bed once again, the old, ruined bedposts creaking under our weight. Bastian rolls onto his side, grimacing from the pain of his torn flesh stretching as he moves. I set the dagger down and guide him gently, helping him as he rests his head on my legs with a slow exhale. He reaches up, his hand finding mine, and our fingers entwine as I look down at the boy bleeding on my lap. A mirror image of the moment he first met me, and I was the one at his feet on death's door.

This is so much worse. Now, I know him. Now, I fear for him, care for him, count on him.

Now, I love him.

"Just stay with me," I say again, and he nods ever so slightly. His breathing is far too labored, his emerald eyes glazed. "I need you to think, Bastian. There has to be some sort of spell or enchantment. There must be something, anything. Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

"This will be harder without drawing from the witches' blessing, but you can call the power to you," he says slowly. He closes his eyes, but before I can panic and protest, his grip on my hand tightens ever so slightly. "Close your eyes."

I obey without question. Whatever the command, whatever the task, whatever the price.

"There is always life, even in a place of death. Destruction gives way to creation. Reach out with your mind. Try to find it."

I bite my tongue to stop myself from asking what it is I'm even looking for. Instead, I take a deep breath. I focus on the feel of his hands tangled with mine and the weight of his head on my lap. I inhale slowly, smelling the metallic tang of blood and the dusty ash that surrounds us. Outside, the Witch of the Dark's venomous rain continues to trickle against the window, pattering on the roof above us. Thunder booms in the distance, but I ignore it, trying to find silence inside myself.

I'm suddenly aware of the sound of my own heart, and I choose to listen to that instead. Bastian's heavy breathing. The smell of his skin under the filth and blood. Not a storm but a heartbeat. Not soot, but sandalwood. Not ash and blood, but something sweet and earthy. Petrichor. The pleasant smell of fresh rain on a warm, dry day. I let my thoughts fade into the background, focusing on the feeling of Bastian close to me.

There is good here.

Above the angry dark clouds and below the burnt blackened earth. Light. Life. Far away and buried deep, but enduring and waiting to grow.

My heartbeat slows, but my skin is tingling.

"That's it," Bastian whispers, and I'm too lost in the trance to wonder how he can tell I'm doing it right. It hardly seems like I'm doing anything at all. "The next time you breathe in, imagine you're sucking in more than air."

I inhale, swallowing a small piece of the world. The water from the humidity in the air, so small it can't be perceived. The ash and the dust of the earth. I swallow, feeling myself growing heavier somehow. My insides feel dense, and my head is ringing, but I hold it in.

"When you let it out, don't tell the magic what do to. Don't try to control it. Just direct it. Aim it where you want it to go, and let it do what it will."

I'm dizzy, and while my eyes are still closed, I feel like the room is spinning around me. But I do as he says, exhaling with such force that the breath shakes my body. I let it spill from my lips and seep out of my hands, and while I know I cannot command it, I give the power one request.

Help him.

Bastian is muttering something else, but I don't dare open my eyes and break my focus. Everything is sharpened and far away at the same time, and I feel like there's nothing solid about me. I can't tell where my skin ends, and the air around me begins.

“Lúmarae vae lûmir, vistal vae astrae. Qua saíro caun vanyar, quen vanye enan lirae.”

Bastian's words sound far away, and even if my senses weren't humming, I don't think I'd know what they mean. They feel ancient and foreign, and I don't need to understand. Something inside me snaps at the sound of them, like a door sliding shut, and my eyes shoot open.

Bastian's eyes are closed, his lips moving almost soundlessly as he whispers the enchantment over and over again. I'm exhausted, my limbs shaking from the effort of pulling and pushing forces I cannot truly see nor touch.

But when my gaze travels further down Bastian, I'm giddy with relief. He's still not moving or waking, trapped in a sort of trance as the spell courses through him. But the gashes along his torso have stopped bleeding. The bruise on his shoulder is fading, and with every passing second, his wounds appear to lessen.

It's working.

Somehow I get the sense that this time Bastian is the athame. I summoned the magic, and now the spell is taking shape within him, patching him up from the inside.

What now?

Should I wait for him to stop whispering in his sleep? Is he even technically sleeping, or is he in some kind of entranced state? Will he wake up on his own once the spell heals him? What if it's not over by morning? What if it doesn't stop at all?

My head is heavy, and I'm beyond the point of exhaustion, but I can't sleep. I lean back on the old bed, still cradling Bastian on my lap while the enchantment mends his injuries. Bastian once watched over me while I slept. He kept the monsters at bay and held me through the night.

Now it's my turn.