“I don’t have to remind you whose Nephilim pulled the sword,” Ros says.
Samy.
I don’t say it out loud, but we’ve been playing Finish the Thought long enough that Ros raises his eyebrows like I did.
“He always had a thing for it,” he says. “Even the bullshit version. So, what if…”
I nod. “He made the spell so it can only be cast under certain conditions.”
“One of the last scrolls had a spell I’d never seen before. It looks like he somehow infused our powers into the amulet over the years, and then something to do with intentions. It might be another dead end, but this feels right.”
“Chant away then, brother.”
Ros closes his eyes, his words barely audible as his lips move.
And then the crystal starts to glow.
Nothing more than a quick spark, but more than we’ve ever gotten before.
His eyes fly open, catching the last of the show before the amulet powers down again. He drops to the floor, landing on his back and raising his arms in the air. “Fuck yes. You’re not such hot shit now, are you, Samy?”
“I hate to bring down the taunting party, but the spell didn’t work.”
“Not completely, but it’s a start. From what I can tell, it’s like training it to respond to us. The more we cast with the right intentions, the stronger the power it releases.”
“And what’s the right intention?”
Rosdan climbs off the floor and tosses me the amulet. “No idea. I just tried to channel Samy.”
I catch the chain as Ros drops out of my living room. Only then, he reappears a second later.
“You good?” he asks.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He cocks his head to the side, studying me. “Cass said you called him for advice about your charge.”
“So?” I stand up and head to the kitchen for a beer.
“No one in their right mind would ask Cass for help with their charge.”
I snort. He’s got me there. When I close the fridge, he’s still staring at me from the archway.
“You figured out the whole wanting-to-bang-your-charge’s-girlfriend problem then?”
“All solved and wrapped up with a bow.” I crack open my can and lean back on the counter.
He smirks and nods. “So, the groaning before you answered and the erection are—”
Before he finishes, I toss the crystal back in the blocker bag, and he involuntarily drops out of my apartment. While I sip my beer, I stare at the amulet in my hand. But instead of thinking about how close we are to unlocking it, I’m picturing Kai in a pool of blood. Thinking about what it felt like not to sense the light from him anymore. Even if it was just in a dream.
The half-assed approach at avoiding Nyx isn’t working. I can’t keep my eyes, hands, or my mind to myself. If I want to steer clear of Cass’s nuclear option, I’ll have to take it up a notch until Kai moves on.
I’ll need to disappear.
Luckily, I’m one of The Fallen. A Watcher. Being invisible is what we fucking do.
“Miss Lamore.”
I ignore the nurse chasing me through the entryway, not in the mood to deal. Not that I ever am, but today is definitely not the day.
“Miss Lamore,” she tries again.
“Sorry, I’m running late.” I don’t slow down to throw out the excuse over my shoulder.
She catches up with me as I descend the porch steps. “We need to discuss the changes to your grandmother’s medications.”
“Not a doctor,” I say, crossing the yard.
I’m almost to my car when she rushes in front of me. I consider going through her but huff out a breath and cross my arms. She beat me fair and square. I’ll give her thirty seconds.
Once she’s convinced I won’t bolt, she tugs at her white cardigan to recompose herself. “Thank you. Now, as you know, the disease has progressed far faster than the doctors…”
And here’s where I tune her out. This is why I visit at night. Her nurses let me come and go without forcing updates, which are pointless anyway. Ninety-eight-year-olds don’t suddenly make miraculous recoveries. Their bodies fail them, their minds, until they stop talking and recognizing you.
I twist around to see the front of the house while she talks about test results and scans. My eyes scale the two-story Victorian I bought when we moved to Colorado a few months ago. It really is quaint. Smack dab in the middle of nowhere with a tattered porch and a bench swing hanging from chains. A rusted tricycle sits next to the banister at one end. I wonder who left it there. If, when they climbed off after riding up and down the wooden beams, they had any idea they would never get back on.
I doubt it. We rarely recognize those types of moments as they’re happening, only after we realize we’re missing something—or someone. That’s when last times become important. When they’re already gone.
Guessing we’re somewhere around the half-minute mark, I face the nurse straight on. She’s talking about morphine when I hold up my hand to stop her.
“With all due respect,” I say, “I don’t have time. Do what needs to be done to keep her alive. Those were her directives, and it’s what all of you are being paid to do.”
She lifts her arms, only to drop them again in exasperation. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Miss Lamore. There’s nothing more we can do for her.”
“Well”—I crowd her toward the car until she’s forced to sidestep out of the way—“I really don’t have time for this then.”
She shakes her head as I jerk the door open.
“And with all due respect to you,” she says from behind me with no respect at all, “that woman deserves more than a weekly drop-by from someone who can’t show the least bit of compassion when she’s dying.”
I bite the inside of my cheek until the metallic tang touches my tongue and close my eyes. She has no clue what she’s talking about, but it isn’t worth the energy. Let her think I’m cold and uncaring, that the last two words out of her mouth weren’t a vise grip on my heart. I won’t waste time trying to prove otherwise when I can still do something to help her.
Once the door to the farmhouse slams, I breathe deep and exhale slowly, hoping when the air slides out of me, it takes the bullshit with it. I’m still gripping the doorframe when I notice the piece of paper stuck under my wiper blade.
Wind blows the chimes hanging from a tree beside the house, the rest of the yard eerily quiet while I retrieve the note. I climb in the car before reading it. It has a phone number scribbled in the middle. My eyes roll at the familiar handwriting, and I pop open the center console. I grab the cell phone from underneath a pile of napkins and dial the number, irritated and he hasn’t even answered yet.
“My goddess,” Hex says.
“Why are you leaving me notes?” I look around in case he’s lurking.
“You wouldn’t give me your number.” He pauses, and I hear the smirk as he adds, “But now, I have it and can hear your voice anytime I like.”