A Matter of Forever (32 page)

He came for me.

He came.

He came for his brother, and he came for me. We’d broken his heart into tiny, painful fragments and he still came for us. And now, Jonah’s in a coma, Kellan, too, and I want so badly to do something, but I have no idea what that is. Outside of Sophie, there are no more bad guys for me to hunt down and slay. All I can do is wait.

One a.m. rolls around, and I’m knitting in bed—badly, because I don’t really know how to knit, but the book Astrid brought me is propped up against my knees so I can reference what to do with these needles. It’s hard work, and I’ve more than once screamed in frustration (well, silently screamed at any point), but it keeps me busy and focused when I fear I’m going to just dissolve.

Just to be clear, I’m making the worlds’ ugliest scarf.

Another ruined row has me ready to chuck the needle across the room when I hear, “Since ... when ... do you ... knit?”

The words are slow and scratchy, so unbearably soft I think for a single second I must have imagined them. But no. Jonah’s eyes are open, albeit sleepily, and he’s regarding my scarf like he also thinks it’s the worlds’ most hideous one.

I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

A hand reaches out to finger the misshapen scarf; it’s trembling just a little, but ... he’s moving. He’s awake. Oh my gods, Jonah’s awake.

I toss the scarf and needles anyway, kick the book off the bed. I’m straddling him, my hands cupping his face as I stare down at those sublime cerulean eyes. “Jonah?”

His smile is drowsy, too. Amused. He mimics my wonder, albeit slowly: “Chloe?”

Nonsensical words of relief and happiness fall out of me as I pepper his face with kisses.

He’s alarmed, immediately confused by what must be an overwhelming amount of extreme emotions tearing through me, but then little details all too soon start to sink in. This is not our bedroom. We are not in our bed. Neither of us are in our normal pajamas or lack thereof. We are in a strange room and I was knitting and now weeping happily as I can’t stop touching his face and he has no idea what is going on.

“Don’t worry,” I assure him when he struggles to ask his questions. “It’s okay now.” I lean down and kiss him again; he’s no longer cold. I’m ridiculously pleased by this.

“Are we in the hospital?”

I smooth stray hairs sticking up around his head before cupping his face again. “Yes.” He’s alarmed once more, his hands trailing across my face and arms in his search to see if anything is wrong with me. Guilt, oh so much guilt, fills my gut. He thinks this is yet another instance when I was hurt, except ... this time it was him.

“I’m fine,” I assure him.

He tries to sit up, but I won’t let him. Lines form along his forehead as he tries to fit all the pieces together. And then ...

He does.

I know the exact moment memories surface, because all the confusion melts into recognition. “What ...” He swallows, frustrated at how hard the words are for him. So I head him off at the pass, pressing my fingers across his lips.

“I will tell you everything, but right now, all I care about is making sure you’re okay.”

He shakes his head; frustration darkening his eyes. “Tell ... me.” Now his hand is on my face, searching for any lingering traces of battle I might have.

It breaks my heart.

So, I tell him. I let him know I destroyed Karnach when I saw what was happening to him, and of how I was forcibly dragged out by Enlilkian. How I woke up in a strange house and eventually fought my way out. I try not to get into too much detail, as I want him to remain calm, but I don’t want to hide things from him, either. So I tell him everything except how I was responsible for his twin brother dying, because how does one say that? I hate keeping anything from him, but ... all I can do is let him know Kellan is next door and that he was hurt rescuing me.

I hate the misplaced guilt that shines in his eyes, like he’s somehow responsible for his brother being injured. So I do my best to assure him that Kellan is going to be okay, that his brother is just sleeping, exactly like he had been just minutes before. That Astrid has ensured he’s been carefully monitored, and Kate has been doing everything possible to make sure he’s fine.

And then, he says the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard Jonah Whitecomb say in my entire life. He says, “I’m sorry I failed you. Him.”

I have to close my eyes for a moment so I don’t outright bawl. “Listen to me.” My face lowers to his, so there is no way he can misunderstand my meaning or words. “You did not fail me. Not even the tiniest bit. I failed you.”

“Didn’t ... keep ... you
safe.”

“Jonah—”

“Couldn’t ... even ...” He shakes his head, frustrated. Lets out a hard breath as his words struggle to come out. “He ...
saved
, not ... me.”

“Jonah, listen to me—”

A trembling finger points toward the doorway between the rooms. “He ... there! You ...” He grabs my face again. “So sorry, Chloe. Wish—”

No no no. He has nothing to be sorry for. I do. I’m the one who constantly put both him and his brother in harm’s way. “Jonah Whitecomb, I need you to hear what I’m saying, okay? Just hush and listen, please.”

His sigh hurts to hear, it’s so sad.

“You did not fail me. Or him. You stood by me when almost everyone else was too scared to fight back. You were there every step of the way. If anybody failed anyone here, it was me. I should have taken Enlilkian out the moment we saw him. Just ... lunged at him. Hell, I should have taken him out all the other times. Had I, none of this ... none of the people who got hurt or died would have suffered. This is on me, Jonah. Your brother is in there because of me.”

“No,” he whispers, hand on my cheek.

“When I thought you died ...” The thought, even now, is beyond agonizing. How do I let him know it was the worst feeling I’ve ever lived through? “I went crazy, Jonah. All I could think of was how I would do anything to have you back. And here you are. Here I am. Please ... let’s not allow blame or guilt own this moment.” Which is one of the biggest lies of all tonight, because here I am, drowning in it.

He tells me, “Okay,” even though I know he doesn’t mean it, before gently kissing me.

I call down to the desk and have Kate Blackthorn paged; I’m told she’s at home, so it will take a little bit for her to arrive. And then I call Astrid who finally went home to sleep in her own bed for the first night in over a week after I promised to watch over both boys. I put it on speakerphone, so Jonah can hear her, too. The phone rings a good five times before a groggy voice answers. “Hello?”

Only, it’s not Astrid. It’s Cameron.

I pull my phone away and check the screen. Did I misdial? But ... no. It clearly says
Astrid Home
.

What in the hell?

“Hello?”

I try so hard not to giggle. Are they having a, um, sleepover? I suddenly feel so twelve. “Um. Yes. Hi, Cameron.”

There’s a lengthy pause before, “Is everything okay? Are the boys okay? It’s ...”—shuffling noises sound in the background—“nearly two o’clock in the morning.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Jonah mutters.

I literally bite my tongue so I don’t laugh. Well, here’s our official confirmation that things are, indeed, getting serious between our parents.

Cameron says, “Hen? Was that ...?”

“Jonah’s awake,” I tell my father. I clear my throat. “I thought ... maybe Astrid would want to know?”

Muffled words fill the line. And then Astrid’s voice says excitedly, “Chloe? Cameron says Jonah woke up?”

I hold the phone closer to Jonah. “Hi, Mom.”

Astrid bursts into noisy, happy sobs. She says something else, but it’s too hard to understand, so Cameron informs us they’ll be here in about a half hour.

I toss the phone toward the end of the bed. “Well now.”

“Quick,” he says slowly, “call Will next.” I love that his dimple is finally showing.

I laugh, and oh gods, does it feel good to laugh right now. Like ... maybe everything is going to be okay after all. Jonah’s awake. I just know Kellan will be laughing here with us any moment now. “You’re awful.” And then, “I did see them in a compromising position when I got here, though.”

His eyebrows go up.

“But I’ve been a little distracted, so I haven’t dug deeper on that yet. Time and place, you know?”

His smile fades. “I want to see Kel.”

I won’t let him out of bed yet. It’s selfish and awful of me, but until Kate gets here and checks him out, Jonah is going nowhere. So I erase the wall between our rooms so that Kellan’s bed is in plain sight. Hi brother is in the same position as he was the last time I checked on him—head titled toward us, blanket tucked up nice and neat.

The way my husband’s eyes fill up as he studies his brother devastates me. So I slide down in the bed, curving my body around his. “He’s like you, Jonah. He’s strong. He’s going to wake up, too.”

I hope I’m right. Please, please let me be telling him the truth.

Jonah’s hand finds its way to my hair and gently tugs through the strands. “I know.” A tiny burst of frustration escapes his lips. “Can’t feel him, though.”

Tiny alarm bells go off inside me.

“Before.” He motions toward his brother. “When he was ...” Another frustrated sigh. “His coma. I could feel him. Surge. Not now.”

I’m too afraid to even pull air into my lungs. Still, I say carefully, “You just woke up. Maybe you’re tired. Can you feel me right now?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “Only a little.”

I try to consider this logically. Maybe it’s the distance—even without the wall, Kellan is still a good distance away from us. I switch the legs of his bed to have rollers on them and push him closer to where Jonah is.

I try not to think about the hole in his chest. How his eyes rolled back. What it was like to watch that monster murder him. How I felt, believing the worlds had lost both Whitecomb brothers.

So I don’t fight it when Jonah insists I help him the few steps over to his brother’s bed. My heart just hurts, just flat out breaks repeatedly as I watch him touch Kellan’s face, trying desperately to get some sense of how his twin is. Or even maybe say something to him, something only they can hear.

“I feel him,” he finally whispers.

All the muscles tensing in my body ease up a little.

While not completely one hundred percent back to where he was before the Battle of Karnach (at least, that’s what the media is calling it), Kate gives us the best of news two days later: Jonah’s got a clean bill of health; there is no lasting damage done. And I marvel, despite growing up with a Shaman, over how somebody whose body suffered so much could be perfect once more.

Raul’s isn’t, though. Raul died the night before, just a minute past midnight. I held my Cousin as she shivered and cried silently, but she never raged like I would have guessed she would.

Funny, charming Raul Mesaverde is gone.

I snuck into his room when Lizzie and Meg were consoling Cora. I thought, I brought Kellan back, I can surely bring Raul back, too, right? But no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I willed it, his heart never jumped to life again.

My power of reanimation is gone.

Jonah and I were both granted clearance to go home the day after Raul died, but when Jonah balked at leaving his brother for even an hour, Kate pulled some strings for us so we could stay. Outside of sleeping, the Lotuses and Danes are our constant companions; Kellan is never left alone.

Too many thoughts constantly race around my brain, too many what-ifs plague my conscience. What if the heart I made him was nothing more than a functioning placebo? What if
he
was already gone, but I forced his body to keep on going, like some kind of twisted life support machine nons use? What if, even with Enlilkian’s gift of reanimation, it just wasn’t enough from a person with no experience wielding such power? What if he does wake up, and he’s no longer Kellan, but Enlilkian? I used his life essences to bring Kellan back, after all.

Gods, that last what if scares me so much that sleep is elusive.

What if I am nothing better than the mad scientist who brought the dead back, only to raise a monster? What if I have to admit to Jonah and his family that, because I hesitated, Kellan died?

The funny thing is, when Jonah languished in a coma from all of his injuries, I
felt
his pain. I thought the agony I lived through was proof of his death, that it was some twisted offshoot of our Connection ... only, upon reflection, it truly was. But with Kellan? Okay, yes. I felt what that Elder did to him as if it had happened to me. Now? There’s no pain except that of missing him. And that’s a familiar pain for me, one I’ve learned to live with on a daily basis for a long time now.

So, along with the what-ifs, there’s a whole lot of hope, too.

I’m sitting by the window, watching golden and red leaves fall from the trees surrounding the hospital and knitting while everyone else but Astrid is playing a card game. Poor Cameron and Will got tricked into playing with Jonah and Callie hours back, and neither Astrid nor I had the heart to tell them just how vicious those two can get. It’s already turned ugly; Will is no stranger to trash talking, so he’s joined in merrily with Jonah and Callie as they fight for supremacy. Cameron is clearly outmatched and keeps glancing over at a knitting Astrid in some kind of misguided plea for help.