There was no room for error. I took a calming breath, searching within for the focused stillness that would unlock my power. My magic instantly responded, greedily reaching out in return. I accepted its power, harnessing its wildness with a firm grip; then I threw my senses out, drawing on the natural elements around me. I sensed the midnight dew on the grass, the ancient power that resided within the trees, the light breeze that ruffled my hair, and the rich, fertile soil on which I knelt.
Then, as if aware that the power of the elements was being raped, a thousand eyes turned, and I felt the heavy stare of nocturnal animals. They were right to be afraid. There was a firestorm inside me, the well bottomless, and without end. And losing control of my magic would destroy everything in its path, the animals and me included.
Ignoring their fixed stares, I sifted through the energy that now flowed within me, discarding the residual material left over from the explosion. As if feeding on the power that now ran through my veins, a flame flared to life inside me and threatened to erupt into the night. I ruthlessly smothered it; I did not need my dominant, raw, destructive fire that clamored for release. I needed the small droplet of water magic that I had inherited through my ancestors—a gift that could be used for healing.
My healing powers were an anomaly, for Druids gifted with fire had never been known to have an affinity with water. My flames should have destroyed its existence, evaporating the small droplet when I reached maturity. But for reasons unknown, it had stayed. However, for all its presence, my water magic did not come naturally. It was a constant struggle to harness. I was only able to use it successfully if I could pull back on the dominating heat that continually raged inside. Only then would that droplet of water be able to come forth and thrive.
It had taken twelve years to learn the craft of healing, almost twice as long as other Druids. But I realized that all that time I’d spent learning the healing craft of water was about to be repaid in this single moment. For if I failed to utilize its potential, the descendant would die, and all would be lost.
So, with water magic in hand, and fire held at bay, I zeroed in on her brain hemorrhage. My brow furrowed and sweat pooled down my spine as I fought not just the battle within her body, but that inside me. After precious seconds, I finally felt the brain hemorrhage begin to recede. I didn’t hesitate to halt my progress, aware that one misstep would result in permanent damage. Eventually, the bleed closed and I felt the blood vessels return to their normal size. Without pause, I turned my focus next to her broken rib, one hand on her chest as I wove a series of complex symbols in the air with the other. Within moments, I sensed the rib realign and fuse as if the break had never happened. The sound of her even breathing was like a balm, soothing the pounding of my heart.
With her breathing back within the normal range, and her vitals no longer under pressure, I concentrated on removing the shrapnel in her back, first extracting the three-millimeter sliver that had embedded itself into her spine. It was a long, painstakingly slow process, but my patience was rewarded when it slipped free of her skin. The rest emerged with a single command. Then I turned to the burns on her back, although there was nothing I could do about the clothes.
I inhaled deeply, drawing on the last vestiges of energy inside me, and released a long, soft sigh of healing breath. That small white wisp of air lazily traveled on the breeze, arrowing down into Brydie’s left eardrum. Moments later, it flew out of her right ear before dissipating into a soft mist, the healing energy spent repairing her perforated eardrums. I placed a hand to her forehead and assessed her vitals. She was bruised and battered but stable; nothing rest wouldn’t fix. But as I prepared to use my water magic one last time to push her into a deeper, nourishing sleep, her eyelids fluttered open.
24
Brydie
A pair of cerulean blue eyes stared down at me, now as familiar as my own.
“Gage,” I croaked, confused as to why I was on my back, the damp grass permeating my thin shirt. Then there was a flash of memory, and I couldn’t stop the gasp, “There was an explosion!”
He placed a firm hand on my shoulder. “Quiet!” he barked. “You need to rest.”
I shook my head, pushing his restraining hand away and struggled into a sitting position. He scowled his displeasure, but I ignored him and looked over his shoulder. I gasped as I saw the red sports car, now sitting in the middle of the road, black tendrils of smoke drifting upward into the cool night air.
“The blast!” I gasped. “How—How am I still alive?”
His eyes glittered with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. “You weren’t that badly hurt.”
My brow wrinkled. I could remember the blast, the impact of it. I could also remember an excruciating pain at the back of my head before darkness fell. I lifted a hand to the spot, feeling for a lump, but there was nothing—not even a bruise. I wriggled my limbs cautiously; they felt normal although a little tender. I looked again at the car. Considering its location, I must have been incredibly lucky.
There was something off, and it wasn’t until then I realized how eerily silent it was: no sounds or movement. The air also felt heavy with dew—quiet and still. Ignoring Gage’s angry scowl, I came slowly to my feet, looking around.
My breath hitched as I noticed the black SUV on the other side of the road. The car that had been following us. Squinting, I confirmed what I knew was true—there was no one in the driver’s seat. I spun around in a circle, searching for our attacker, but there was no one there. We were all alone.
Gage’s voice was brusque. “It’s been taken care of.”
“Who was it?” I demanded, not content to be side-lined.
“The security guard from the airport.” Gage’s voice was relentless. “She must have tagged your luggage. She would have been following us to determine if we’d survive the blast.”
I squeezed my eyes shut at the implication. He’d known. He’d been right all along. And I’d been willing to defend her—had thought Gage was paranoid!
His voice broke into my thoughts. “I need to move the car before anyone comes along.”
My eyes flew open. “I’ll help.”
“No!” he barked. “Stay here. Rest.”
Without waiting for my answer, he strode toward the SUV.
A tickle of memory struck. “Wait!” I shouted.
He glanced back, brows drawn together. “What is it?”
“The driver's car door—there was a bullet hole—”
I felt stupid even asking, given that he was walking as though nothing had happened.
“A graze,” he replied shortly, dismissively turning his back on me.
But I couldn’t stop my eyes from roving over his form, trying to confirm that what he said was true. I had seen the bullet hole in the door! But I couldn’t see any sign of hurt, so it must have grazed him as he claimed.
From this angle, I could see his lips moving as he faced the SUV with his palms up. I watched as he curled one of them into a tight fist, then intoned a handful of unfamiliar words before whipping his closed fist up into the air, almost as if he was saluting the vehicle. I turned to glance at it, wondering at what he was doing.
My mouth fell open. The car was slowly rising off the ground! In frozen disbelief, I watched as it hovered ten meters above the road. Gage chanted in that strange language again, waving his other hand at his side in a series of intricate movements.