A Matter of Forever (2 page)

To all the readers who took

a chance on Chloe, Jonah, and Kellan’s stories—

this one’s for you.

Thank you.

The way Jonah is saying my name over and over again shears my heart clean in half.
Wake up
, he begs me.
Open your eyes. Let me know you’re okay. You have to be okay. Open your eyes, Chloe. I love you. Don’t leave me—don’t do this. You are not leaving me, not now. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. Hold on, love. Just ... hold on. Chloe, can you hear me? Chloe?

I’ve never heard him cry before. The two pieces in my chest disintegrate until they are nothing but dust.

Chloe?

I’m here, I want to assure him, but I’m swimming in heavy, sticky darkness. All my screams and tears and words are voiceless, just gaping maws of frustrated efforts that go nowhere. I try to reach out to him, to hold on like he begs me to, but I can’t even do that.

I can’t move. I can’t open my eyes. I can’t speak.

Terror grabs my ankles from below, threatening to drag me back down into the yawning expanse of shadows I’m desperate to escape. Am I paralyzed? Did ... Jens ... no, not
Jens
—am I paralyzed? Oh gods, what if he gets to Jonah? What if he hurts Jonah? I’ll die. Just ...

Wait. Am I dying?

I’m not ready. Not yet. Not now, not after everything that’s happened. Not after everything I’ve gone through in my attempt to figure out what it is I want out of life.

My name spills across my face, all sad and urgent and scared, along with more demands, more assurances and threats, more pleading, and my heart reforms, breaks, dissolves, and repeats over and over. The clearer the voice of the man I love becomes, the more pain acutely defines my existence. My hands brutally ache; my brain throbs and threatens to escape my skull.

Soft pressure on my face, like hands cupping my cheeks, reaches through the darkness. More distant now, “Where is Cora?”

Someone answers Jonah, but those words are too far away. I try to say something, anything, but letters and sounds slip easily through my unmoving fingers. How is it I can feel my beloved’s hands on my face, know he cradles me in his arms, but cannot will my own mangled digits to move in response?

“I’m here, Jonah.” Each syllable of my Cousin’s waterlogged voice grows a shade louder in her approach.

Another voice in the distance turns angry. I strain to match tone to face, but cannot. Everything is too fluid right now. Too hard to grasp onto.

“Fix her,” floats by me.

Something cold touches my face, shocking me back into harsh, bright clarity hidden cruelly behind the veil of darkness.

“What’s wrong with her?” Jonah’s demanding. “Why can’t she wake up? Cora. Please. Heal her.”

My oldest friend murmurs, words as soft as dandelion dreams on the wind, “I don’t know. This is ... I don’t know.” Is that a choked cry? “I can’t ... I’m sorry, gods, so sorry Jonah, I ... we need somebody else, somebody more powerful than me. I don’t know. Who could ...” Noisy sobs dot the spaces between each breath I take. At least, each breath I pray I’m taking.

Silky strands brush across my nose and lips as a smooth slice of skin presses against my forehead for one beautiful moment in the midst of my agony. And then it’s gone, and Jonah’s yelling that somebody better go get Kate Blackthorn, the Council’s lead Shaman.

As he pleads with me to wake up again, quiet sniffles nearby punctuate thoughts spoken around me that I cannot decipher. There are angry voices, scared ones, and I think sad ones, too. So many voices and they’re all too hard to focus on, all except his. There are promises made, pleading done, and each word he utters grounds me from sinking away, even if I can barely hang on. Because, outside of the blistering pain enveloping me, I’m drowning in terror. Don’t let me go, I want to tell him. Don’t leave me in darkness again.

I’m not ready to die.

I don’t know how much time passes before I’m jolted into another sharp instant of lucidity. “Finally! What took you so long?” Jonah barks, one of his hands sliding away from my face.

“I’m here. I’m sorry, I came as fast ...” A distinct drag of air sounds above me; Kellan is here with us. “J, I’m—”

“Don’t.” Jonah’s furious and desperate at the same time. “That’s not important right now. I can’t wake her up, Kel. She should be awake right now. I’ve done everything possible, but—”

“J.” Kellan’s voice is low, tremulous, like he’s on the verge of tears, too—and knowing that the two men I love most in all the worlds are brought to tears guts me. “Just ... calm down. We will—”

They’re both quiet for several beats. And then, Jonah explodes with, “
I don’t know what the fuck happened!
I don’t know who did this! Don’t you think if I did, I’d have their fucking head off already?”

“J.” For once, Kellan sounds like the rational one, and all my perceptions flip-flop in the black. “We will figure this out. We’ll find whoever this is, and I swear to all the gods, they will be punished. But right now—”

More silence between the brothers.

Jonah finally whispers, “It’s ... it’s not right. I tried. Repeatedly.”

I struggle to make sense of what he’s talking about.

“It’s like,” he continues, voice nearly breaking, “she’s not even here anymore. Tell me I’m wrong. Prove to me I’m wrong.”

How can he not feel the sheer terror I’m saturated in? How can neither of them feel it?

Another hand touches my face, one so familiar my Frankenstein-monster heart aches. “Chloe?” Kellan asks. “Please wake up for us. Don’t you give up.”

It’s no good, though. As desperate as I am to give these two men what they want, what I want, I can no longer hang on. Darkness reclaims me.

Soft light streams through the windows, and it’s so sharp and painful I can barely keep my eyes open. There are beautiful paintings on cool, white walls and a warm body curled next to me, my hand enveloped in his.

It’s Jonah. His head rests against mine, his breath heavy yet steady against my cheek. My eyes trace the long lines of chest to arm to hand, and it strikes me that his rumpled clothes are different than the crisp button-down and slacks I last saw him in. As for me, I’m in pale blue scrubs. Oh gods. I’m in the hospital. We’re in the hospital.

The sting of tears, born of relief, nearly overwhelms me. I’m alive. He’s alive. I want to squeeze his hand, wake him up, but I feel like a newborn kitten, all trembling and weak in my efforts.

Quiet voices nearby send my focus to the other end of the large room. I make out Kellan and Will, matching in cross-armed, tense stances as they talk with Astrid Lotus and Kate Blackthorn. They’re not alone; at a table nearby sit Cameron and Callie, exhaustion coloring them almost as strongly as that I feel here in this bed.

“This is unacceptable,” Kellan is saying, his voice low, like he doesn’t want to wake his brother or me up, but it’s angry, too. “You’re the Council’s lead Shaman!”

“Sweetling,” Astrid murmurs, reaching out for her son’s arm, but he yanks out of her grasp.

“No. I’m sorry, but
no
. This is not acceptable.”

She tries again. “Kellan—”

He’s livid. “We’re going on five days, Astrid.
Five. Days
. How is it, with all of the worlds’ best Shamans working on her, nobody can wake Chloe up? Or at least figure out what the fuck happened to her?”

Five whole days?
I’ve been ... asleep, or whatever it is I’ve been, for nearly a week? What did that Jens-like person do to me?

I’m desperate to let Kellan—let them all—know I’m okay, that I’m finally awake, but only a tiny rasp escapes me, like somebody has stolen my voice. Speaking shouldn’t be so difficult. Curling my fingers around Jonah’s hand shouldn’t be so tiring.

Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.

“I’m going to have to concur with Kellan,” Will is quietly saying, yet his words are just as harsh as Kellan’s. “I know I’m only a Métis, but I’m pretty sure that with all the Magic you all can do, something should have worked by now. I mean, you are Magicals. Isn’t this the bloody point?”

Cameron stands up, a hand going to his son’s shoulder. “William—”

“Dad, don’t even try to excuse this. Weren’t you raving to Erik just this morning how somebody better bloody do something or heads were going to roll?”

Cameron doesn’t deny this in the least, nor does he look chastised.

“We’re trying our best, but Kellan,” Kate says, “maybe it’s time to prepare yourself.”

“Prepare myself?” he sputters. “What, like ... you mean accept that she’s gone and not coming back?”

Try as I might, no words escape my lips. I’m here, I want to shout. I’m alive and awake. Turn around. See me
.

“Or,” he continues bitterly, “prepare myself that you’re going to keep her on some kind of Magical life support until some new Creator is born? Because that’s what you’re thinking, right?”

Astrid says his name again, all heartbreak and sympathy in her syllables.

Kate turns white in the face of his quiet fury. “This is ... I’ve never seen anything like this. If we only knew about the circumstances leading up to what happened—”

“How many times do you need to hear it?” Kellan seethes. “Chloe and Jonah were having dinner in a crowded restaurant. She ate food off of both of their plates. He ate off of hers, so there can’t be any poisoning issues—but you all should know that, considering the food was all tested. Chloe went to the restroom. She never returned. Ten minutes later, when it felt like somebody was literally gutting us—” He stops, hands yanking at his hair. “When it felt like somebody was tearing
him
apart, Jonah went and found her on the floor of the bathroom, bleeding and unconscious. He tried to wake her up. He failed. Cora Carregreen tried to work on her, but failed. I tried to wake her up, but failed. Kiah Redrock was sent in to see if she could reach Chloe through her dreams, but she failed, too, as Chloe’s brain wasn’t ...” He takes an unsteady breath. “
Isn’t
even functioning enough to have dreams. Shall I continue, Kate? Because, I mean, you’re the Shaman and all.”

“Enough, Kellan,” Astrid snaps. And then, more gently, “I know you’re upset—”

Um, that makes two of us. Because WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING HERE? What does he mean, my brain isn’t functioning?

“Damn right, I’m upset. You guys want me to—” He’s shaking. “No! There is no fucking way I am going to tell my brother that he’s just going to have to accept that she’s gone. Do you hear me?
No. Fucking. Way
. You are just going to have to get your ass back over there and try again, Kate. Because I am not prepared to lose my brother, either. Do you understand that?”

His name is nothing but a shade of a whisper from my mouth, even as desperation and words clamor to find their way out. Why can’t I talk?

“You forget that I know what’s it like when somebody loses their Connection. I watched my father disappear, and then my aunt, thanks to Connections,” he’s saying. “I will not watch that happen to my brother. So I’m going to just have to call bullshit on all of your
you better prepare yourselves for the worst
, okay?”

I’m a dog with a bone in my efforts to call out to him, reassure him that I’m here, I’m okay, that he hasn’t lost me, but I’m so tired. It’s so hard to even keep my eyes open. Why can’t he feel me? Know I’m awake? He’s not that far away.

“I’m sorry.” Kate sounds as broken as the rest of them. “So sorry. I wish I knew what to tell you. What to do. Her body is healed—it’s just her mind. And I can’t get in there; none of us can.”

Why do they keep insisting something is wrong with my mind? I’m ... I have thoughts. I’m tired, yes, but I can think and remember. I’m cognizant.

Aren’t I?

“Sweetling,” Astrid is murmuring, once more reaching out for her son, “let’s go and get some tea. You’ve finally gotten Jonah to get some sleep; you don’t want to wake him, do you? Of course Kate will try again. They all will do their best for Chloe. Kate just wanted to ...” But she chokes off in a sob, too, her hands covering her face. Cameron steps forward, his arms going around her, and the next thing I know, Callie bites out something about this all being bullshit and what the point of being a Magical is if you can’t even fix a person, before she bolts from the room. Will lets loose a string of nearly indecipherable curses and then goes out after her.