Page 130 of Death's Daughter
But it’s worth it to be here at the hospital. The construction noise is from a service boarding up the broken-out windows in the lobby below, where the glass shattered as a result of a “freak earthquake in Beecher, the second in as many days.” That’s the official story, anyway.
The most important result, though, is sitting up in a bed across from me.
“This woman, she was trying to attack Chessa?” Daan presses the button on the bed remote to adjust his position a little higher. He’s awake today. Woke up shortly after I sent all that power into the ground last night—surprise, surprise.
He doesn’t remember anything after returning to campus on Saturday. The brain blocking out trauma would be my guess.
But he’s alive and well. For now.
I’m grateful, so grateful, but… I don’t know what that means for him. For anyone who was affected by that wave of magic. Will his recovery be permanent? What if there are unexpected side effects?
I’m just trying to focus on the positive aspect for now.
“They think she might have been a patient who escaped a secure ward,” I offer from where I’m leaning against the wall in the corner. Again, humans making up stories to make things make sense.
“And then Jo winds up and bashes her right in the face,” Devon says with obvious delight, rocking back in the visitor’s chair.
“And then this woman took her clothes off and ran away?” Daan asks with disbelief.
It’s a ridiculous story. But it’s not ours. Not entirely. Before the security cameras cut out on the maternity floor, due to an “anomalous power surge,” they showed a confrontation that looked like nothing more than a bunch of hand-waving and people falling randomly on the floor. And then, in the aftermath, when the authorities finally arrived, the confronter—a young woman—seemed to have vanished… leaving nothing but a pile of clothing. The humans are doing their best to piece together what happened, based on their limited understanding of the world.
Last night, the police released us—Devon, Maggie, Shane, and me—as soon as they got us outside. They knew enough to be looking for a woman fitting Nova’s description. We gave statements, confused jumbles of truth and fiction, about a young woman abducting our friend and attacking us, without a mentionof the words “magic” or “Death.” Devon may havehelpeda little in convincing them we weren’t involved.
One college student, an out-of-state visitor, a social media–famous meteorologist, and a skater kid from Danvers—we were an odd bunch. Our statements made no sense, but then, neither did the limited security camera footage, so the police were stuck. Detective Morales hasn’t found me for her conversation, but I expect she will. I don’t think she’ll say anything to her colleagues because what can she say? She doesn’tknowanything.
So, when Chessa texted me this morning to let me know that she had checked on Daan and he was awake, we decided between the two of us that he didn’t need to know either.
“It was wild,” Devon says, with a glance at me. He winks in a very obvious, flirtatious manner.
Chessa introduced Devon to Daan as “Jo’s new friend,” and Daan is clearly putting the pieces together now exactly as intended. He raises his eyebrows in an approving look.
I try not to squirm. It makes sense for that to be the story if Devon is going to be sticking around, which he obviously is, but I feel like it adds a layer of complication to my life that I don’t need right now. Especially with things as… confusing as that one kiss made them. But it’s nice to have someone around who knows the truth and has a solid understanding of the Old Ones.
I just miss Carter.
And I hate myself for it.
While Devon continues to regale Daan with the sanitized version of all that he missed, Chessa catches my eye and tips her head toward the door.
I follow her out.
“Are you all right?” she asks once we’re in the hallway, her armsfolded awkwardly over one another. Her right arm is in a purple cast from wrist to elbow.
I shrug. “Hell of a headache, but that’s about it.” The awareness of my connection to Beecher and to Carter, Devon, Shane, and Maggie has faded, mostly. It lingers in the back of my mind, like a distant ache, something you don’t really feel until you move a certain way. I’m choosing not to think about it for now.
“How’s your arm?” I ask.
Chessa makes a face. “Six weeks in a cast. It’s going to make it hard to keep up with my classes.”
I would offer to help, but I don’t know if that would be welcomed. The last time we spoke in a non-emergent situation, she told me she never wanted to talk to or see me again.
Silence fills the space between us for several beats, a level of awkwardness that has never existed between us before.
“So… are you staying?” she asks finally, kicking her shoe against the tile floor.
“In Beecher?”
She nods.
