Page 34 of Contested Crown

“I… I’ve never been good at healing. Not like Rhys is. They can do art. I just put Band-Aids on wounds and use far too much power to do so.” He looked at his own hand. “It isn’t bleeding. It will heal.”

Frowning, I said, “It didn’t feel like a Band-Aid yesterday.”

“It’s…” Cade huffed out a long breath. “I can’t, all right?”

“Cade,” I said slowly. “What’s going on?”

“When my parents were killed…” He trailed off, then raised his chin and looked me in the eyes. I was the firing squad, and he had no plans to even ask for the grace of a cigarette before I pulled the trigger.

“When my parents were killed,” Cade said, “Leon let me out of the closet, and I immediately rushed to them. I was a child. I didn’t have much power—this was before I’d absorbed what my father left behind, obviously—and I tried to heal them. They were dead.” He wet his lips, his eyes distant, reliving the worst moment of his life. “If you’re good at healing, the way that Rhys is, it becomes art. You can mend flesh so that it looks like it was never injured. If you arenottalented, your magic mostly speeds the existing healing process.”

“And what happens if you’re a child?” I asked quietly. “An untrained child?”

“You create monsters.” Cade’s words were flat, but I heard the hint of terror in them, an echo of something that had happened years ago but still lingered in his nightmares. “My mother… her skin healed over a missing face. She had no mouth or eyes, and her fingers… My father was much the same. His flesh healed over his clothing so that his shirt became a part of his chest.”

I gaped, trying to wipe the image from my mind. A nine-year-old boy, making nightmares that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Anyway,” Cade said. “Yesterday was an exception. It didn’t feel like healing. It felt natural.”

“It didn’t hurt either,” I said. “Your magic didn’t hurt me.”

Cade looked struck and pulled his hand back. I wanted to hold it close but let him drag it from between my fingers. He frowned down at his hand.

I pressed my own palm on top of his. “Heal me.”

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his eyes searching my face and body. “You didn’t say anything!”

“Cade.” I grasped his hand in my own, and he hissed in pain. “Heal me.”

His brows tight, Cade stared at our interlocking fingers. His breath came in jerky bursts. Then he shook his head.

His magic poured down his arms, leaves raining down from an autumn tree. It flowed around our interlocked hands, and I felt the warmth of a bath. He bit his lip, breathing unsteadily.

Slowly, his magic pulled back, and I let go of his hand. We both stared at his palm. It was unblemished—completely healed.

Cade’s lower lip trembled before he set his jaw. “It didn’t hurt.”

“No.” I agreed.

His arm was no longer burned, the skin pale.

“Why could I grab onto the magic?Youcouldn’t touch it.” I asked. It had been bugging me. “The only time I could do that before was when Basil was helping me.”

“I don’t know,” Cade said, frowning. “Do you think…”

“Basil is still alive?” I guessed.

Cade nodded slowly. “Have you heard him? Has he appeared?”

The expression on his face was neutral, and he was staring at the wrapped sandwich on his lap. He opened the paper and began to eat, although from the speed, I doubted he was tasting a single bite.

“No.” I didn’t want to break that hesitant hope I’d heard in his voice, but I couldn’t lie either.

Cade drew his chin up but finished his sandwich. “We should go. Where are we going to be staying? Or are you planning to add ‘confront Declan Monroe without a plan’ to today’s itinerary?”

“No,” I said. “I know some places we’ll be able to hide out. Declan has ears everywhere, but he also has pissed off a lot of people.”

I started the car, glancing behind us and freezing. Two people stood at the mouth of the alley, their postures relaxed. The first one extended her hands, and magic flew along the walls.