Sloan’s hand is poorly bandaged in a bloody rag. “Is Arly okay? They didn’t take her, did they?”
“She’s fine. She’s with her father,” I tell him.
I don’t expect the agonized wail. “No! He’s going to keep her until she gives him her hair! Don’t go to the commune. We have to get to her now! If Conan has her hair in his possession, there’s no end to the damage he’ll do to the world.”
Gray is still a little winded, but he leans forward all the same. “Well, she took care of that already. He’s not going to get anything from her now.”
Sloan’s labored breaths are the only thing that fill the car as Cassia drives too far above the speed limit. We race toward Jen, who can hopefully right all the wrongs that were done to Sloan.
12
Sloan is a Buttface
Paxton
Nurse Jen’s bedside manner is impeccable, even through the occasional tear she can’t excuse away. Though they’ve only been dating a short while, it’s clear Jen cares deeply about Sloan. Either that, or she’s just as horrified by the abuse as the rest of us.
Charlotte’s thrown up twice at the sight of the carnage, so she’s not allowed to go back inside Sloan’s bedroom. As she quietly cries on Cassia’s shoulder in the living room in front of the fireplace of our home, Gray is in danger of cracking his knuckles so much that something’s bound to break.
“Arly should have answered her phone,” Gray says again, though I’m sure by now he knows that we have no new comments on the matter. “We called from Sloan’s phone and from Jen’s. She would have picked up if she was able to.”
The hint left dangling in the air is that Arlanna isn’t as safe with her father as we’d all hoped.
The voices coming from Sloan’s bedroom grow louder. I can hear frustration in the incoherent tones. Finally, the door opens. “I get it, Jennifer, but I don’t have a choice. I have to find her.”
Jen stomps out behind him. “You need to rest! We can go look for her.”
“You wouldn’t get past the front door. There are rules in the family, and you don’t know them. I do. I’m her guard. I have to find her before they do something I can’t fix.”
I perk up, raising my hand to remind him of the development. “She shaved her head, Sloan. Conan can’t take her magic.”
Sloan is limping, and though he’s got enough care taken to his face to where he’s not actively bleeding anymore, he still looks ghastly. His hand is bandaged, and he looks about five minutes from falling over.
The glare he fixes me with carries a great deal of pity, like my mind can’t possibly keep up with the evilness of the infamous Conan Valentine.
Fair point.
“Conan is a patient man, Paxton. He has the means to hold Arly captive until her hair grows back.”
Cassia pipes in from the living room, not daring to leave Charlotte’s side. “I don’t get it. He’s her father. They lived in the same house for years. He could have taken her hair her whole childhood. Why didn’t he?”
“Madness isn’t achieved in a day,” Sloan explains. “It takes years to descend to the depths he’s reached.”
Charlotte speaks up, her voice weepy as she blows her nose into a tissue. “I could feel Arly’s energy when she first entered Prigham’s. I can understand how the temptation to take it could override reason, if love was forgotten.”
I trot to the bathroom and grab a second box of tissues, then make my way into the living room to set it on the coffee table for anyone who might need one. I pluck a few from the box and dab at Charlotte’s face. “We will find her. We have not forgotten how to love well.”
Sloan can’t even get his coat on without help, which Jen refuses to offer. Watching him struggle with the heavy fabric is a pitiful sight. “I need to track her down now.”
Gray rises from the chair to which he’s been glued. “You’re not going anywhere alone, Sloan. Charlotte, you can find her for us. We did that thing with our blood on your tongue. We’re tied to you. You can lead us to her.”
Charlotte blows her nose again, her pupils flicking from side to side as she attempts to pull herself together. Finally, she nods. “Of course. I’m out of sorts, though. It would help if you all sat with me. Easier to access my more obscure magic if I can draw on someone else.”
Sloan freezes, his arm halfway in his sleeve. “Me. Draw from me.”
Jen’s tattooed arms fold over her ample bosom. “Ho, no. You need all the magic you have to help you heal. Park it right there at the table, Mister. I’m not above taking your shoes so you can’t leave.”
Sloan’s lips tighten. “You say that like going barefoot would ever stop me from protecting my daughter.”
Jen softens and pulls out a seat at the dining room table. The open concept of the first floor makes it so one room isn’t cut off from the next. “Sit, Sloan. I know you care about Arly. We’ll find her. But if you faint halfway there, then we’ll have to delay rescuing Arly to take care of you. Take a breather while Charlotte does her thing. Then we’ll all go, if I can’t convince you to stay home.”
Sloan’s shoulders sag. “Fine. Charlotte, do what you need to do to send us in the right direction.”
Charlotte is still hiccupping back her tears as she straightens, parting from Cassia’s embrace. “Okay, let’s do this.” She straightens as much as her spirit allows and shakes out her hands. Her meditative pose of her hands on her knees, palms up while breathing deep through her nose communicates that she’s tapping into possibilities of which we could never dream.
Only a few beats later, her head hangs in defeat. “It’s too foggy! It’s me! I’m the problem. I can’t focus. I can’t concentrate.”
“We have to find her!” Sloan shouts, though not angrily.
Sloan’s heart is in the right place but his volume does nothing to calm the nerves Charlotte must ignore if she’s to locate Arlanna.
I point to Sloan. “You, go to Arlanna’s bedroom and pack her whatever she might need if she’s been shoved in some hole by the family.”
Though she’s only been missing half a day, and probably only needs a rescue at this point, Sloan stands and ambles up the steps, taking pride in his post. Really, I just need him out of here, as he’s the one who is no doubt messing with Charlotte’s clarity.
Once Jen helps Sloan the rest of the way up the steps, Charlotte exhales. “Thanks, Paxton.”
“Absolutely. Would it help if I held your hands? You can draw on my magic, if you like.”
She nods, sniffling through too many emotions. “Cheers, brother. I’m trying! I really am.” She shakes her head at herself.
Sometimes a person needs someone like Sloan to snap them into action. But right now, I know I am the perfect person to be sitting on the coffee table across from Charlotte, our knees touching as we hold hands. My rare talent (more impressive to me than shooting fire from my eyes) is that I can find serenity, fresh in the middle of any storm. I can smile at cameras and answer dicey policy questions after dealing with the business end of Father’s belt.