Chapter 10

After Lark’s oh so kind statement, I tiptoe past the bed where Michael sleeps and creep into the bathroom. Someone, more than likely Darnell, left two clean sets of clothes on the long counter, one topped with a piece of paper bearing my name and the other with Michael’s. I ease the door shut before flipping on the blinding industrial light that hangs over the sink. Who knows how long or how powerful that sleeping juice Darnell put in Michael’s IV is? No need to accidentally wake him.

Hot water and fancy-smelling soap does wonders to boost my mood, but as I stand there, letting the steam and water melt the tension in my muscles, my mind starts working through everything that’s happened in the past few days.

Donovan’s weird.

Genius deduction, I know. Sherlock Holmes will arrive any minute to ask me to join his sleuthing team with mad skills like mine. But seriously, I can’t figure Donovan out. Last time he was all wolf-fang smiles and sneaking up on me; this time he chats, basically apologizes, and says he wants to save me.

I slam off the water and grab my towel. It’s scratchy.

He’s up to something. But know what? I don’t really care. He knows about the Portals and about the Shades growing in strength, and he hasn’t told anyone. What does he stand to gain by keeping people in the dark? Control. And it’s no different where I’m concerned. I will never get answers from Donovan. He doesn’t trust me. Therefore, as long as he’s in leadership here, Keleusma can’t be my home.

Erik was right. The Shifters are pawns. Disposable as far as those in charge are concerned. If I could find a way to remove all of our bracelets—to free my friends—I would. In a heartbeat.

I pull on fresh clothes and run a comb through my hair. Catch sight of my shifting bracelet in the mirror and freeze. In theory, I can get rid of mine. Shades aren’t pulled through time like Shifters are. They aren’t pawns.

Leaning against the counter, I twist my wrist and touch the dark blemish on the underside of my bracelet. Erik said I could call to him. He promised to answer. To help. He followed through on his word whereas the Shifters’ leadership never has. If I stay in Keleusma, I’ll never reach my mother, will I?

Turning, I brace my hands against the edge of the counter. The coolness from the tiles causes me to shiver. My reflection stares back at me. I lick my lips.

Dare I call to Erik here … in Keleusma?

A half scream, half moan from outside the door snaps me from my dark thoughts. With my heart racing, I fling the door open and am back in Michael’s room in the medical ward. Light from the bathroom floods the area. Michael’s sitting up in bed, breathing heavily while his hands move frantically over the blanket as if he’s lost something.

“Michael?”

He jumps, his hand to his heart, and then spins to face me. He blinks and then squints.

I glance out into the hallway, willing someone from the medical ward to walk past and check on him. By now it’s the middle of the night. I don’t know if there’s a nurse’s station where I can get help. Besides, I said I’d be here when Michael woke up.

I cross toward the bed.

“Hey. It’s okay.” I place my hand on his shoulder.

He flinches.

Okay, he’s still probably a little bit sick, he’s on heavy medications, and he spent a few months on the front line of a war. While I know those things are true, they don’t seem to matter to my heart. My throat feels tight, and I swallow around a lump the size of my fist.

He flinched.

As I’m about to step away, his hand snakes out and secures my wrist. He suddenly leans close to me—an inch away, maybe two—and his mocha eyes slowly map out every angle of my face. Sweat makes his hair droop across his forehead.

My fingers itch to touch his face. Instead, I hold my breath. Too afraid of startling him in case he does, in fact, have some form of shell shock. Michael would never willingly hurt me. That’s a truth I feel deep in the marrow of my bones. But I hold still nonetheless.

His eyes stop roving over my face and finally lock with mine. Michael’s eyes are usually full of kindness and deep with emotion, but right now, they read lost.

His hold on my wrist tightens. “It was a dream, wasn’t it? A nightmare?”

Is he asking about the war? Or something he imagined while he was sleeping? Don’t ask. It doesn’t matter.

“Only a dream.”

Michael closes his eyes. “I thought so.” His forehead droops to my shoulder. “Only a dream,” he whispers. His arms come around me, and his hands rest on the small of my back. He takes a few large gulps of air, as if a doctor with a stethoscope was instructing him to breathe in, hold it for a second, and breathe out slowly.

I place one hand on his shoulder and use the other to cup the back of his head. He’s warm. Really warm. His shirt feels damp with sweat even though the temperature in the room is comfortable. The line from his IV is pulled taut behind him. That can’t feel good.

“Let’s have you lay back down, all right?” I apply light pressure and guide him back to his pillow. Then I help him swing his legs onto the bed again and pull the covers back up to his chest. “No more nightmares, you hear me?” I realize how ill-timed my words are only after they’re out of my mouth. Michael could have hearing loss. Hearing-related jokes need to be removed from my vocabulary.

He turns his head in my direction and watches me through half lidded eyes. “Stay with me?”

“Always.” Using my foot, I drag a plastic chair to the edge of the bed and drop down onto it. My hand finds his on the bed, and I offer a squeeze, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

I almost left him. A couple minutes ago. In a whirlwind of stress-fueled thought, I came close to breaking my word to someone who only hours ago I called my best friend. I hope I’ll be able to get back to him after I rescue my mom, but if not … I would have been leaving without a goodbye. Where’s my crown? Because I’m definitely king of the jerks.

But I won’t leave yet. Michael and I have time still because there’s more to figure out. Donovan knows something else about my mother. He has to. How do I get him to spill without suspecting my intentions? I don’t want to become a Shade. I know, I know—A few minutes ago it was on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t really want that path unless it’s my only option. Can’t I rescue my mother and then go home, become a Norm, set up a new Portal and have Michael visit whenever he’s not on a mission? If only.

I lay my cheek against our joined hands and close my eyes. In the morning I’ll regret the crick in my neck, but right now I need the contact with Michael. He’s not okay, is he? I turn my head a little and breathe in his scent. Woodsy with a minty hint from his soap. Please be okay.

Hours later, the murmur of voices wakes me. I sit up slowly, rubbing the back of my neck and appraising the world through narrowed eyes. Michael flexes the hand I held all night. Poor guy, it probably went numb at some point. A normal person would have reclaimed his hand during the night.

“Morning, finally.” He smiles.

“Is it late?” I glance at his nightstand only to find it lacks a clock.

Darnell steps into my line of vision. “You didn’t help yourself to Michael’s IV, did you?” His eyebrows arch.

I sit up straighter. “I’d never. How would that even be possible?”

Michael chuckles as he rearranges his pillows so he can sit propped against them. “He’s joking with you.”

“Darnell and joke?” I find my feet and cross my arms as I face Darnell. “Those two words together don’t compute.”

Darnell’s lip twitches. “On occasion. When there is a reason. I joke.”

“Glad I bring some light to your life.” I roll my eyes, hiding the relief that floods through my body. Darnell is a big guy. I’m talking body builder champion of the world big. My aim in life is to never find myself on the other side of an argument with that man. “With that, gentlemen, excuse me while I go brush my teeth.”

Darnell doesn’t fight his grin as he takes the seat I vacated. “You realize I could make another joke now, don’t you?”

“Too easy. You’re smart, so you like a challenge.” With that, I make a sweeping gesture, usually reserved for royalty, and head toward the bathroom. After closing the door, I take care of the necessary be seen in public morning type things. And I rub my cheek for a couple minutes to smooth the odd crease from lying on Michael’s hand all night.

When I step back into the room, Michael and Darnell are in the middle of a heated conversation.

Michael pulls at his hair. “That makes no sense. I feel fine, and you said yourself that my vitals all read normal. The medicine worked. There’s no reason for you not to release me. I’ll rest better back in my own room.”

Darnell swipes at the screen of the small computer pad he carries without looking back at Michael. “Your prior contacts with the medical ward show you don’t obey follow up instructions, and you rarely come back for your recheck. Why should I believe this time will be different?”

“I’m fine.” Michael looks my way for help. “Tell him I’m fine.”

Suddenly a scuff on the floor becomes the most interesting thing to look at. “I … I think Darnell’s right. You need more time here.”

“But. I’m. Fine.” Michael’s voice rises in emphasis.

“You’re not.” I force myself to meet his eyes.

His brows join together. “If it’s my hearing …” He shakes his head. “Darnell already talked to me about that. It doesn’t seem to be that bad. It’s only the one.” He looks to Darnell for confirmation.

Darnell nods. “You’ll never hear someone at whisper level in that ear, but your other tests are at a hundred percent. I think it’ll compensate unless you want a hearing implant—which we can do.”

Michael shrugs. “Let’s wait.”

“That’s great news.” I step forward but stop a few feet away from them. “But I’m not talking about your hearing. I’m talking about last night.” I launch into the details of finding Michael woken from a nightmare. The medical details. Not the hugging and hand holding.

Michael makes a face. “What? You’ve never had a bad dream?”

I can’t look his way. He must think I’m betraying him. At the least, hurting our friendship. He needed my comfort last night; I gave it and now go and tell Darnell.

Darnell stands. “Everyone has nightmares and yours could be a reaction from getting awoken while under the sedation medication or you could be suffering from some shell shock. We need to be certain.”

Michael works his jaw back and forth.

Darnell zeroes in on me before leaving the room. “I’m going to write orders to keep him longer. Make sure he stays.”

“Traitor,” Michael grumbles, but the tilt of his lips lets me know he’s not upset. Something tight unknots in my chest, and I smile. I should have known he wouldn’t be angry. That’s not Michael’s style.

We pass the next half hour playing Crazy Eights with a deck of cards he found in the nightstand. The cards look like they’re from the seventies. We use the bottom half of his bed as a table, and he keeps adjusting how he’s sitting because he’s hunched over and it can’t be comfortable.

“All right.” He rubs his hands together. “One more game and I win the title.”

“Sure. You can be the craziest eight of them all. Quite an honor. I’ll make you a certificate.”

“Perfect. I’ll hang it on my wall.”

I stop shuffling the deck. “This is nice.”

“Being in the medical ward? I can think of better places.”

“No. The fact that we can be friends when we’re not in the middle of a mission. I always wondered.” I start to divide the deck, but his hand closes over the top of mine, preventing me.

Michael’s mouth is slightly parted as his eyes search mine. “Of course we can. Why would you think we can’t?”

“Michael. There you are.”

I look over my shoulder toward the doorway. There’s a young man entering—maybe sixteen—with sheepdog hair. He’s holding a long sword in his hand.

Instinctively I stand and put my arms out to shield Michael. Although last time I checked, being impenetrable to swords is not one of my talents. “Who are you, and why do you have that thing?” I use my chin to indicate the sword.

Michael’s hand lands on my shoulder. He squeezes lightly. “It’s fine. It’s Andy.”

Andy juts the sword toward Michael. “He’s my Trainer.”

“Your?” I look back and forth between the two of them. “Trainer?”

Michael grins.

“But you’re my Trainer?” Heat rushes to my face. Why did I say that out loud? And with a tone that made me sound like a toddler who doesn’t want to let go of her favorite toy?

Darnell clears his throat as he re-enters the room. “Learn to share, Gabby.”

For the record, I like philosopher Darnell better than comedic Darnell.

I face Michael who winks at me. Rat. “In that case, would you rather have Andy sit with you overnight? Seeing as you’re his Trainer too. I don’t want to monopolize.”

“No way. You’re prettier than Andy. No offense, Andy.”

“None taken.” Andy shuffles forward, sword in hand. “I was hoping you could help me with the correct hold. ’Cause, man, I’m struggling.” This guy bumbling around with sharp objects is really making me nervous.

“Sure.” Michael slips off his bed and wheels the IV so he has a little more room. Then he holds out his hand. Andy passes the sword to him. “A katana. Nice.” He turns the blade over in his open hand. “So many Shifters don’t bother getting trained in Eastern swords, but they’re so much better than the bulky things used in Western fighting.”

I inch toward Darnell and keep my voice low. “Should he be doing that in his condition?”

Michael positions Andy so the younger man can copy his movements. “You can’t hold it like a baseball bat. Understood? Grip the tasuka—that’s the handle—right below the guard at a forty-five-degree angle. Good. Grasp pretty firmly with your pinky and ring finger and then slightly looser with the others. Same with the rear hand, but space it as far away from the other on the tasuka as you can. Like this.” Michael demonstrates and then slices the air with enough force to make my breath catch.

Darnell leans his shoulder into the doorframe. “If by condition, you mean possible shell shock, then yes, it’s all right for him to do that.” He keeps his voice low so only I can hear. “We’re not dealing with post-traumatic stress here, this is different. The best treatment is rest—which we’re making sure he’s getting—and then returning him to familiar tasks in order to restore confidence.”

Michael holds the sword high and then does some fancy back and forth movements. “We’re trying to achieve a push and pull type motion, not swiping. That’s what usually trips people up. But a katana is a fast blade, and it’s really effective at cutting so be careful with it.”

“And sword fighting is a familiar task?” My voice rises in disbelief.

Lark slips in the doorway between me and Darnell. “Are you kidding? Michael’s the best swordsman in all of Keleusma.”

My eyes dart to Michael who holds the sword point down. “So I have a thing for swords. What little boy growing up didn’t? That hardly makes me the best.”

Darnell crosses his arms. “He’s the best. By far.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I don’t know when it started in the conversation, but I’m sweating. A lot. The heat on my arm almost burns.

“I guess it never came up.”

What else don’t I know about him? Shouldn’t best friends know that kind of thing?

Lark’s eyes go wide. “Your bracelet.”

It’s glowing.

Air starts to rush past my ears. Lark latches onto my arm with the strength of a vise.

The sword clatters to the ground. Michael lunges toward me, making the IV machine pitch to the side. He hisses, pain registering across his face. Darnell surges forward and grabs hold of Michael.

“Let go!” Michael struggles. “I’m supposed to stay with her. I have to—”

But whatever he says is cut off as Lark and I plunge into darkness.