Page 42 of Curses & Keys (Curses & Gods #1)

PHAEDRA

T he news is full of reports about bombs going off in Greece. Media outlets are frantic to determine the cause, but all the evidence has disappeared. Locals report a group setting up camp in the area but can recall few details.

“It has to be them,” I tell Hawthorne, biting my lip. “I hope they’re okay. What do you think? You know them best. Why don’t you wake up and help me figure out how to contact them? Time for you to open your eyes.”

His face remains blank, and his breathing even.

I sit up in bed and throw off the covers.

Not wanting to leave him alone, I’ve been sleeping beside him every night for the last week.

His body responds to my nearness, muscles contracting, but that’s been the extent of his awareness.

Shoving a hand through my hair, I get up and start the day.

There have been no replies to any of my text messages.

I tried calling every number. No answer.

The tests I ran on the phone came back clean, but I’ve been around too many years not to know when my tech has been compromised.

How? I’m not certain, but my gut made me order a new phone. It’s scheduled to arrive this morning.

After I shower, I pad into the kitchen to get a piece of toast and Hawthorne’s tonic.

I hold the bottle up to the light. It’s almost gone.

The healer said it would heal his physical body.

While there wasn’t a scratch on him, the depletion of magic took a huge toll, made him weak.

Hopefully the tonic is working, but I won’t know until he wakes and attempts to walk.

With the last bite of toast in my mouth, I walk over and drip the tonic into his open mouth, then bend down and follow it with a kiss. Can’t hurt, right?

“It’s a gorgeous day,” I tell him, maneuvering his body into an upright position. “The sun is shining. There’s a cool breeze. Want to join me outside?”

I quickly realized that relying on my strength to haul him around wasn’t going to work long-term, so I ordered a wheelchair. Being able to wheel him from one spot to the other has been a huge help. Locking the wheels, I slide him into the seat and place his feet on the pedals.

“There,” I say in a bright voice as I grab the handles. “Let’s go.”

The sun pierces the shade on the porch, and I wheel him directly into its rays.

His burnished skin begins glowing the color of copper as if the sunshine is nourishing his body.

I pick a purple flower from the nearby landscape, lavender petals darkening into a deep violet near the middle.

Musky notes waft from its center. I don’t know what kind it is.

The plant was here when I bought the place, and it continues to bloom every year.

Holding it to his nose, I let him breathe in its scent for a few seconds.

Then I brush the soft petals across his lips and over to his ear, then down his neck.

Muscles contract along the way. I continue across his arms, skimming the sun-bronzed skin as the flower follows the dips and valleys of his corded muscles.

Finished with his nature therapy, I grab a chair beside him.

“You know, I’ve never cared for anyone like this before.

As a princess, I didn’t really have any chores, and most of my adult life has been spent alone.

Here I am, winging it. I’d love for you to wake up and tell me if I’m doing a good job. ”

I tilt my head and laugh. “Or do you want to complain? I’m probably touching you more than is necessary. Sorry… not sorry? You should definitely wake up and reciprocate. I mean retaliate.”

Silence. “Not to mention how guilty you’re making me feel for getting you into this mess. I really need you to wake up and tell me you forgive me.” I lean forward and point to the corners of my eyes. “Look, I’m getting wrinkles from all the worry.”

No response. I sigh and drop my head. “Seriously, though. I don’t know how to reach Jamison or the rest of them.

So stupid. I should have asked for an alternative.

A burner. Email. Smoke signal. Anything.

It never occurred to me. That’s what happens when you’re used to working by yourself. But that’s why I need you to wake up.”

Tears well, and I reach over and lace my fingers with his. I’ve looked at all the options but always come to the same conclusion. Moving Hawthorne is too risky. Someone could easily catch us on camera. Even if we made it to London, I don’t have a secure place to take him. The Hari is compromised.

The doorbell rings, and I jump up and run to the monitors in the office. I check the security cameras and see a courier.

“Can I help you?” I ask through the intercom.

“Package here for P. G.,” she says with a huff. “I need a signature.”

“I’m not home. You can sign and leave it by the front door.”

With a shrug, she scribbles on a slip of paper and props the box against the door, then leaves. I watch every move until she gets on her scooter and drives away.

Picking up my gun, I hurry to the front door and grab the box. The return address is a familiar one. It’s my phone. That’s one worry off my shoulders. I set the gun on a nearby table and stroll back outside to set it up.

“Look what came,” I say, holding up the box. “Not that it will help us reach them, but at least we’ll have secure communications.” For the next half hour, I get the phone up and running, then place another grocery order. Two things accomplished.

“I’m going to heat up some lasagna. Want some?”

Leaning over, I place a kiss on his lips and brush his silky hair back from his face. “It’s really, really good.” I search his smooth expression. “I know you’re in there. Listening to me. Is your magic coming back to you?”

Fear and guilt vie for first place, but I continue to shove them down deep. The present is the only thing that counts. I head to the kitchen to heat up leftovers. He missed a great lunch. I made the lasagna hoping the smell would wake him, but of course, it didn’t.

One week. How long is too long? Maybe I should call Charlie and get the healer’s number and ask. I think about it and decide to give it a couple more days. Time, she said. I snort. All these years I’ve had nothing but time, but now the clock is ticking. Loudly.

After lunch, I grab a soft sponge and a bucket with soapy water. Bathing Hawthorne outside has been the easiest. It’s private, and I don’t have to worry about him falling or the water splashing onto the floor.

First, I wash his hair. Spearing my fingers through his thick mahogany locks, I take the time to shampoo every strand until it’s shiny and clean, massaging his head and neck.

Then, I move on to his body. Over the last few days, his body has responded, muscles lightly flexing, but that’s been the extent of it.

My little beacon of hope. Running the sponge lightly across his chest, I can’t help but devour every sun-kissed inch.

When his breath catches, it takes me a moment to understand, but the second I do, I run the sponge across his chest again. Wait. Was that…? There. His breathing, steady as a rock, picks up its pace. I inhale sharply, filling with hope.

“Hawthorne, I need you to wake up,” I murmur, kissing him lightly on his lips. “Please, please, wake up. I need to see those beautiful green eyes of yours. Hear that smooth voice that sends shivers down my spine. I want to hear you say my name.”

His breathing steadies again.

With a sigh, I drop my head onto his chest. A knot forms in my throat. All I want to do is cry or scream, but I swallow it down and pat his arm. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

I finish his bath and dry him off, then wheel him back into the living room. We usually watch a little TV in the afternoon. Lifting him into the bed, I pull the sheet up and leave him resting there.

I flip on the news and watch as the camera pans across an exploded minefield. With a gasp, I lean forward and scan the war zone. There are no bodies, but that doesn’t mean much. The council would have sent in a clean-up crew before the humans got there. I hold a hand to my mouth. Did they survive?

I grab my laptop from the office and navigate to the council’s website. A banner displays a message notifying users that a live press conference will be held tonight to update everyone on the developing situation.

Four hours. I set the timer on my new phone and walk over and slip into bed beside Hawthorne. Curling into him, I pray to the gods like I haven’t done since I was a child, begging and pleading for their grace. Hoping they’re alive. Hawthorne needs them…and so do I.

Hours later, I open the laptop and watch as Daegan, the head council leader, and Lord de Vere, Jamison’s father, stand behind the podium and inform the supernatural community of the loss of forty-seven members.

Shouts ring out from the crowd. They haven’t lost this many in a long time.

Numb, I continue to listen, but they refuse to release the list of names until all family members have been contacted.

If they’re… Tears slide silently down my cheeks. I can’t think about it.

The two councilmembers finish their announcement with the promise of another live press conference tomorrow.