“He’s in a deep restless sleep, feels feverish.”
“Okay, reach out over him and say these words, quae causa est magicae.”
“Latin? Really, Mom?”
“Yes, Latin. It’s the quickest way to do this. If you have time to get fancy, I can teach you some ancient Mesopotamian incantations.”
“No, this is fine. Just a second.”
I reached my hands out over Finn’s large prone form on the bed, sent out my energy to his, and asked aloud, “Quae causa est magicae?” Basically, asking what the source and cause of this magic was. In answer, flashes of images immediately came to me.
Finn’s walking in the woods, touching the trees, and greeting them like old friends. A presence in the woods, waiting and watching, seething with hatred and desire for destruction. A bow and magic-infused arrow notched in the shadows, waiting for the moment to strike like a viper in the brush. A shot fired. My vision’s as if I’m on the arrow, following it through the air, flying to do its bidding once it’s reached its target—grazing Finn’s leg and fulfilling its purpose by pushing the poisonous tip into his flesh. I felt the malicious glee from the archer spreading through the forest and knew exactly what this was.
“It was a Dark Fae who infused the arrowhead with venom strong enough to take down even a Mage. How do I counteract this, Mother?”
“Dark Fae? What are you getting involved in, Henry? We only let you visit Earth to make you happy, not to let you get involved with Dark Fae and paranormals who run around in the wrong crowd. I think it’s time you come home.”
“Mother, I promise, I’ll be home before you know it. I just need to get this taken care of. Please. How do I fix this?”
“Dearest, there’s only one way we can counteract something like this. You know what it is.”
I knew what she was saying, but I never thought I’d have to do it.
“Are you sure there’s no other way?”
“I’m sure. It’s the only way. If you wait too long, even that might not help.”
“Okay, thanks, Mom. I love you. Gotta go.”
“Wait, Henry, you don’t kno…”
I turned off the phone, threw it on the bedside table, and then covered Finn with the blanket at the end of the bed when I noticed he was shivering. Tears were running down his tortured face, scrunched up in a pained expression that looked like fear and helplessness. Whatever he was experiencing was troubling him. I had to put a stop to it. There was no more time to waste.
Running into the kitchen, I got the sharpest knife I could find, then ran back into the bedroom. I ripped off the robe I was still wearing and stood over Finn naked, brandishing the large chef knife over him. If he’d opened his eyes at this moment, he’d be sure to think I meant to murder him when I meant exactly the opposite. I was going to do the only thing that would save him from certain and permanent death.
I pulled the blanket up until the wound on his leg was exposed to the cool air. His chills doubled, and he began thrashing on the bed. Time was up. Slashing the knife across my wrist, I made a deep cut that immediately began to flow crimson streams down my pale skin and onto the bed. I placed my wrist carefully above his festering wound and let the deep ruby droplets fall onto his feverish skin. As soon as the blood hit the open scratch, he began to thrash on the bed, back and forth, moaning and crying and reaching for something only he could see in his mind. The blood continued to cover the open slash of his skin. The blood began to bubble and steam, but nothing seemed to be changing. Had I waited too late? My skin healed after a minute, so I had to slash my wrist open again. Then again. I didn’t feel the pain, only my desperation to halt the torture and suffering of Finn. He was my only priority, my only thought.
The gash on his leg was covered with my blood, as was the bed, blanket, and several other things in the room from his thrashing around. I’d done all I could. And it might not have been enough. Finn still seemed in pain and inconsolable. I had no idea what fever dreams he was experiencing, but I wanted to make them stop. In one last-ditch effort, I opened his mouth, slashed my wrist once more, then poured my life essence directly into his mouth. I’d never seen anyone heal that way before, but I was desperate.
As the blood hit his tongue, he swallowed, then let out a desperate scream into the night, “Henry!”
The pain and desperation in his voice as it cracked, screaming my name, made my own tears flow. I stepped back so the tears wouldn’t get on him. Our tears had powers of their own, and he didn’t need that right now. Once the scream finally ended, he fell back onto the bed.
Then he went still.
There was no more tossing and turning, no more tears. His face was smooth in a serenity I’d never seen on him other than my vision of him walking among his trees and forest. Had I done it? Had I healed him?
Only time would tell.
I checked his leg and saw the wound was closing up. My blood had saved him. Now he had to heal the rest by himself. I walked to the bathroom, catching sight of myself in the mirror on the way to the shower. I’d looked at myself in this exact same mirror earlier tonight, feeling sorry for myself and planning to run back home. Now here I was mere
