Magic and Loss

Chapter 25

I tried to call out his name, but all that came out was a strangled groan. I kicked and flailed at him, but he did not let go. Just as my vision started to turn gray around the edges, there was a horrific screeching noise and Scratch launched himself at Hexe, beating his master about the head and shoulders with his batlike wings while raking him with his claws.

Hexe let go of me and jumped off the bed, cursing in Kymeran as he grappled with Scratch. Blood poured down his face and neck and onto his naked chest and arms from the dozens of deep scratches that the familiar had dealt him. His eyes had dropped back down, but were as glassy and unfocused as those of a sleepwalker.

“You dare attack your master, hellspawn!” Hexe shouted indignantly as he tore the madly clawing winged cat off his head and hurled it to the floor.

“I don’t know who you are, buddy,” the familiar hissed, his eyes glowing like live coals, “but you’re not my master!”

As Hexe lifted his left hand, I saw the flicker of hellfire ignite in his palm. Scratch flattened his ears against his skull and growled in preparation of a second attack.

I tried to shout, but the best I could do was a hoarse croak that made me grimace in pain. “Hexe! Don’t do it!” To my relief, his eyes regained their focus and his left hand dropped to his side, extinguishing the flame.

“You did it, Tate!” Scratch said. “You woke him up!”

“What—what happened?” Hexe winced as he touched his face, staring in bafflement at the blood staining his left hand. His eyes jerked in my direction, only to widen at the sight of the bruises that now ringed my neck. He then looked down at his right hand, to find its fingers still moving of their own accord, as if trying to strangle an unseen throat. With a shout of wordless horror, Hexe dashed from the bedroom.

“What’s wrong with him, Scratch?” I rasped.

“The boss is possessed,” the familiar replied. “But not by a demon; I’d recognize the smell if he was. It’s some kind of evil spirit—” Whatever else Scratch had to say after that was abruptly drowned out by the bansheelike screech of a power tool.

“He’s in my studio!” I exclaimed. I leapt from the bed and hurried down the hall without bothering to throw on my housecoat, Scratch following at my heels.

As I entered the room, I saw Hexe standing naked at my workbench, brandishing one of the cordless power saws. He held his right hand away from his body, staring in disgust at its wildly writhing fingers as if they were venomous snakes.

“Hexe! Put that down!” I croaked, my voice still rough from being throttled. “What are you doing?”

“I have to do this, Tate! Don’t stop me!” he replied, gesturing with the power tool. “The darkness is in my hand—I can feel it—it’s crawling up my arm, creeping into my brain, and spreading through my heart. I can hear it inside my head—it’s whispering to me—it’s telling me things—promising me things—it wants me to hurt you and the baby—I can’t let that happen—I won’t let that happen —!”

As if in response, the gauntleted hand suddenly lunged at his left forearm, as if to knock the saw away. Hexe responded by menacing his right hand with the spinning blade, and it promptly recoiled.

“You were right, Tate!” Hexe exclaimed, his eyes filled with a terrible determination. “I have to get rid of the gauntlet—before it takes me over completely and makes me hurt you and the baby again!”

“Hexe! No! Don’t do it!” I pleaded.

“There’s no other way!” he replied. “The voice is too strong—if I don’t do it now, it’ll be too late!”

“Miss Timmy—? What on earth is going on? Oh. My.”

I turned to see Clarence standing in the open doorway of the studio, dressed in his pajamas and bedroom slippers, his eyes agog at the sight of a naked, crazed Hexe wielding a live power tool. Hexe used the distraction to bring the saw down on his right forearm, just above the Gauntlet of Nydd’s white-gold cuff. There was a sickening crunching sound, followed by an agonized scream as blood sprayed across the floor. I added my screams to Hexe’s own and covered my eyes, unable to bear the sight of the saw blade ripping through unresisting flesh and bone.

The gauntleted hand dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, only to promptly right itself and scuttle away like a silver-clad spider. Scratch gave an angry yowl and pounced on the amputated limb, sinking his fangs deep into the back of the hand, just like a house cat attacking a rat. The fingers of the severed hand wriggled frantically for a few seconds, like the legs of a crab, before finally going limp.

The power saw slipped from Hexe’s grip mere seconds before he collapsed. I knelt beside him, desperately trying to stem the lifeblood spurting from the stump of his right wrist. I felt something drape across my shoulders, and I realized that I had just been covered with a blanket. Suddenly Clarence was there, kneeling beside me with a first-aid kit.

“It’ll be all right, Miss Timmy,” he said reassuringly as he placed a tourniquet fashioned from one of his ties about Hexe’s forearm. “I was an Eagle Scout, in my day—always be prepared.”

“I had to do it. . . . There was no other way . . .” Hexe mumbled, his golden eyes seeming to grow paler with each spurt of blood.

“Hold on, Hexe,” I said, squeezing his remaining hand as hard as I could. “Don’t you dare die on me.”

“Boss—are you in there?” Scratch mewed, butting his head against his master’s bloodied chin. “Can you hear me?”

“I’m still here, old friend,” Hexe replied with a faint smile as he squeezed my hand, his voice sounding frighteningly weak. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better not,” I said through the tears streaming down my cheeks. “You’ve got a son to raise, you know.” Suddenly Hexe’s eyelids flickered and his eyes once again rolled back, exposing their whites. “He’s going into shock, Clarence,” I said anxiously.

“You both are,” he replied quietly.

With a start, I realized he was right. The initial burst of adrenaline that had first spurred me to fight, and then kept me on my feet, was finally starting to disappear. I felt like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole, watching helplessly as the light from the world above dwindled into nothingness. As my vision telescoped down from gray into black, I thought I could hear the Queen of Hearts shouting somewhere off in the distance: Off with his hand! Off with his hand!

Chapter 26

I woke up to find myself in one of the recovery rooms at Golgotham General, the community hospital that served the city-state’s diverse population. I had been there, once before, when a demon broke my arm. I sat up straight, gasping like a swimmer coming up for air. “The baby . . . ? Hexe . . . ? Are they—?”

“Your baby is fine, Miss Timmy,” Clarence said reassuringly from his post at my bedside. “As for your young gentleman, I would say he’s in amazing spirits for someone who has just chopped off his own hand.”

I looked to where Clarence was pointing and saw Hexe sitting propped up in the hospital bed beside me, talking to his parents. His face was still pale but no longer bloody and the bites and claw marks Scratch dealt him had already disappeared, as if nothing had happened. The same could not be said for his right wrist, which now ended in a gauze-wrapped stump. Upon seeing I was awake, Hexe tossed aside his blankets with his remaining hand and swung his legs out of the bed. He took a couple of steps, only to have his knees buckle. Captain Horn stepped forward, helping to steady him. Hexe flashed his father a brief but grateful smile.

“Thank God you’re alive; I was so afraid I’d lost you,” I sobbed as he wrapped his arms about me.

“Don’t cry, Tate,” he said soothingly, wiping at my tears with his left hand. “Everything’s going to be better