I wiped a few tears away. “Even if I knew how, I can’t do what you’re asking me to.”
“But—”
“I hurt you, Caleb,” I said, swiping away even more tears, my nose getting snotty. “I’m a changeling who didn’t even belong in your home, and I got you hurt—almost killed. I can’t do that again.”
“Kella, listen.” Caleb, still holding my chin in his hand, pinned me down with his gaze. “You being in my life was the best thing that could’ve happened to me.”
I snorted.
“Seriously. Being raised alone with Dad? You being there gave me a reason to fight. Sure,”—he held up his other hand, stopping me from speaking— “I didn’t fight the same way you did. You’re kind of in-your-face. But you gave me someone to live for. You,” he said, “are my sister and will always be my sister. No fae magic can change that.”
I sniffed, wiped my nose on my sleeve, and lunged forward to hug him.
He patted my head awkwardly.
“But, um…back to what I was saying. About the whole your-magic-keeping-me-alive thing.”
I nodded into his shoulder to show I was listening—even if he was ruining a moment.
“Please, when the time comes, please take it back. He told me how you can do it.”
I jerked my head back. “He told you that? Why are they telling you, the human one, and leaving me, the now non-magicless one—”
“Double negative.”
“Shut up—why am I being kept in the dark? Again?”
“Kella, listen. He said you need it for the investiture. So this is how—”
“No, this doesn’t add up. Why didn’t whoever talked to you talk to me instead? And why you? How could whoever he is even know we could communicate? It doesn’t add up.”
“Your magic is keeping an open connection between the two of us—kind of like you’re the cell tower and I’m getting your signal—and vice versa. He wasn’t sure how often we’d connect, but he hoped we’d reconnect in time for me to tell you about all this because he couldn’t tell you himself.”
I stood up. “Oh he couldn’t, could he? You know what? I’m done with this. Tell her this, don’t tell her that. Push her over here. Now over there. And now some fae’s gone behind my back and told my human brother a bunch of half-truths.”
“I don’t believe they’re half-truths.”
“Of course you don’t. I never do either—until I find out more later. Fae always leave something out so they can manipulate you, jump to your own conclusions, make you do this or that. Well, now they got to you, and why? So you’d think I need to kill you by taking back my magic for the investiture—which, by the way, will go on just fine without me having magic? No. It’s not gonna work.”
“Kella—” The way he said it almost broke my heart—it was like I was breaking his.
“No!” I was so angry I was shaking. Calmer, I said, “No. You were getting better before. If it’s really my magic keeping you alive, then maybe once I’m closer, it’ll work faster. Better.”
“Kella, it doesn’t work like that.”
I shook my head with enough force to make myself dizzy. “It will.”
I jerked my shoulders out of his hands…
… and woke up on my bed, staring at the white ceiling.
I was never going to let him go. He was my Caleb. Mine. And I was his.
I’d been attacked by homicidal classmates, watched Bridgette morph into a calm, detached killer, and finally realized the rebel fae—half of the population here in town—were out to kill me. But what really got my heart beating more erratically than a kid who’d downed forty energy drinks? That my brother wanted me to kill him because some fae convinced him that was what needed to happen.
And no. That was not an option.
But me getting out of here was an option, and one I was going to make happen no matter what. Details were fuzzy right now, but I was going to storm into Caleb’s hospital room and heal him again if it was the last thing I did.
But first, I needed a number.
I got up and headed downstairs, only to be greeted by Maeve.
“Kella, I’m so glad to see you’re up.”
I nodded, sneaking glances at the phone behind her elbow.
“How are you feeling?”
I raised my eyes to hers. “Well, I’m still alive. So far.”
Maeve’s smile chilled me. “Yes, that is the goal now, isn’t it? Bridgette told me you’d fainted shortly after the fight. At least you have good timing. Anytime sooner, and you would have been done for. Which is why we need to get your episodes under control. I’ve taken the liberty of setting up an appointment with a therapist. Your first appointment is tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I spluttered. “I told you, I don’t need a therapist.”
“What you think you need and what you actually need are often two separate things,” Maeve said.
“No, they aren’t. What I need is for people to stop trying to kill me. What I need is for people—excuse me, fae—to be upfront with me. When you told me I needed to go to school to show everyone we were strong, you didn’t mention you were sending me into a classroom full of homicidal students!”
Maeve shrugged. “That information seemed irrelevant. We had fae to protect you.”
“Except they didn’t! Bridgette didn’t show until, like, minute five into them trying to kill me.”
“That was unfortunate, but we do not believe there will be another such attack anytime soon. Rebel sympathizers masquerading as your supporters had managed to stall Bridgette. On the bright side,” Maeve continued, “the fact you survived for several minutes by yourself is to your credit. Word will get around that while you may be weak, you’ve got grit. That will be an asset to the queen.”
“‘To the queen?’ You mean me?”
“Of course, it’s an asset to you as well.”
I shook my head. “Whatever. Look, what I need is to call my caseworker.”
Maeve shook her head. “That’s not going to happen. Even if I allowed you to do
