CarnalHealing (10 page)

Z-z-zing!
A third cable, one of the two she’d been
holding, snapped, and Leonore pulled her hand back, fast. Not fast enough—the
razor-sharp end of the broken cable sliced the back of her wrist, and she
shrieked at the sudden pain. She grabbed another cable—
only four left now
—and
pressed her face against her hand, the coppery scent of her own blood sharp in
her nostrils.

Without the upper cables securing the barrier, her weight on
the lower cables acted like a lever to stretch them across the end of the slab,
and it slid again, so that a few inches now hung out, away from the parking
garage and over the empty space below. Leonore tried to push herself closer to
the building, but the ledge was too narrow to be of help, and the slab moved
another inch. Her hands were starting to feel slippery, as perspiration greased
her palms. “
Shit
.”

Again, the cold laugh sounded above her. “What’s the matter,
Leonore? Running out of handholds?” With a loud
twang
, a fourth cable
came apart and there was a sickening, split second of falling as the concrete
barrier slid and then tilted a few degrees outward. The three remaining cables
now supported only the bottom few inches of the slab. One more, and it looked
as if the whole thing would topple into space. Taking Leonore with it.

Screw it.
Whatever her enemy was going to do to her,
Leonore was going to go down fighting. Summoning every last bit of adrenaline left
in her system, she pushed off with her toes and sprang, if such a short motion
could be called a spring, releasing her right hand from the cable and reaching
toward the edge of the teetering slab of the barrier. It moved and, for a
stomach-turning moment, Leonore thought it would fall over the edge. Then, she
was on it, bent at the waist and pulling herself forward, even as it tilted
back and forth, as if deciding which way to fall.

Jeff eased around the misshapen wreck of his car, sure that
the man would turn toward him and toss him away as easily as he had the
vehicle. Jeff wondered why he didn’t come over to see if he was alive—maybe he
didn’t care right now. Jeff certainly hadn’t been much of a threat to him so
far.

At the edge of the garage, a heart-stopping sight arrested
Jeff’s attention. Leonore, her red hair flying around her like the mane of a
jungle cat, was clinging to the concrete barrier, which was now almost
completely torn loose from its supporting cables. Jeff held his breath as the
slab wobbled and fell with a crash, slamming onto the garage floor. Leonore lay
flat on top of it, then lifted herself up on her knees and forearms and glared
at her attacker.

The last time Jeff had launched himself directly at
this—this whatever he was, it had turned out to be a bad idea. He looked around
for cover. About twenty feet to his right, four or five white utility vans
emblazoned with Mass General’s familiar blue-and-white logo were parked in a
row, probably for the night. Glancing once again to make sure that the man was
still turned away, he ran a few crouching steps to the shadows behind the
closest one.

Jeff was sure the man would hear or see him, but his running
shoes were quiet against the concrete floor. He skirted the back of the first
van. The row sat perpendicular to where the man, his back now nearly turned
fully toward Jeff, stood about forty feet away. He quickly moved to the other
end of the row, then stood with his back against the van closest to the wall
and inched toward the front of the vehicle.

When he reached the passenger window, Jeff peered through it
and the windshield. From this angle, the man stood almost directly between him
and Leonore. Could he rush him from behind? If the man heard him, and had time
to turn and send another of those weird gusts of power his way, Jeff would
never stand a chance. He had to get closer.

The shedlike structure that housed the emergency stairs
would provide little cover, but it was better than nothing. The dim light that
illuminated the few steps between seemed as revealing as the blazing sun, but
the man seemed fully occupied. Jeff dashed to the shelter, put his back against
it, and then peered around the corner.

He could see Leonore’s face clearly and, although her
attention on her captor never wavered, Jeff sensed some flicker of change. He
was sure she had seen him. Would the man notice? Jeff pulled his head back into
the shadows and stood there, listening to the rushing of the blood in his ears.

As Jeff’s face disappeared into the shadows beyond the exit
sign, Leonore struggled to keep her gaze locked on that of the
Draíodóir
.
She’d seen the motion in her peripheral vision only, and it had taken every
ounce of resolve Leonore had not to focus on the movement, but even that blur
had been enough. It was Jeff, and he was alive and moving, not trapped in the
twisted heap of metal that had been his car.

The man’s eye’s narrowed—had he seen something in her
expression? Leonore needed to keep his attention.

“How,” she asked, her voice coming out as a croak, “do you
know so much about me? And why are you so much stronger than I am?” That last
bit was intended to stroke his ego. She didn’t know if he’d take the bait or
not. With the concrete barrier down, Leonore figured he could probably send her
over the edge with no more effort than swatting a fly. She was hoping that,
given the opportunity to gloat, he might start swaggering like the villain in a
James Bond novel and buy her the time to—what? She hadn’t thought that far
ahead.

“It’s my business to know about you,” he said, and Leonore
felt a tiny mote of relief.
Just keep talking, asshole.

“Your business?” she asked, trying to put a pathetic note
into her tone. It didn’t take much effort.

“The business of all
Draíodóir
. Our sworn business.”

“Are there…a lot of you?” Again, Leonore caught movement in
her peripheral vision. To keep herself from glancing toward it, she looked down
at her hands, hoping it looked like she was cowering.

“There are enough,” he replied, scorn plain in his tone.
“And we don’t stumble over one another by accident, like you and your so-called
sisters. No wonder your powers are so diminished. Your blood has been diluted
by centuries.”

“And yours isn’t?” she asked, looking up again. “Are there
female
Draíodóir
, then?”

“No!” he spat, and Leonore feared she had gone too far. She
wanted him to feel superior, not angry. “Our women are vessels, nothing more.
They carry the blood, not the power.”

Leonore sensed his impatience, and sought desperately for
another question. “Do you each have different powers? Or are you all the same?”

He laughed, and Leonore felt whatever interest he had in
taunting her evaporate. “They won’t do you any good, you know, all these
questions. You’re going to be dead before you have a chance to tell anyone what
you’ve learned.”

“But—”

“
Enough
!” he thundered. “You’ve been enough trouble,
and taken enough of my time, witch.” He pulled himself up to his full height
and, at this proximity, Leonore could feel the power crackling off him like the
mild buzz of electricity one felt when standing too close to a transformer. As
she watched, he seemed to gather power from the very air, and she could see a
shimmer forming around him like an aura. She knew that, in moments, he would
send that power toward her in a wave that she would be helpless to fight.

The hair on Jeff’s arms rose as the very air around him
filled with a charge that was horribly, tangibly malevolent. As he once again
peered around the corner, the same sparkling, wavering light that he’d seen
holding Leonore suspended was now gathered around the man. As Jeff watched, it
seemed to pull inward, to coalesce into something solid. It was as if it was
being gathered and formed into something compact and lethal.

With no further thought, Jeff ran toward the pair. As he drew
closer, the man drew back as if to throw something, and the concentrated energy
flowed and coiled into a glowing ball of pure evil, and seemed to roll itself
into the upraised hand.

He’s going to throw it at Leonore.

The thought gave wings to Jeff’s feet and, at that split
second, he knew that he didn’t have time to stop the missile from being hurled.
Instead of launching himself at the man, he threw his body into the narrow
space between the juggernaut and its target, the still-kneeling Leonore.

Chapter Eight

This can’t be happening.

The
Draíodóir’s
magic was like nothing Leonore had
ever seen or imagined—more powerful than anything mentioned in any of the
writings she’d studied. She had no defenses against it. Her own magic buzzed
around her helplessly. Even if she had known how to force it to coalesce into
some sort of shield, it would have been like holding up tissue paper to block a
bullet.

As the dark orb flew from the man’s hand, there was little
Lenore could do but throw up her hands and brace herself for the blow that
would probably kill her.

Then, a blur of motion rushed at Leonore from her right and
an impact made her fall back. Her elbows and the back of her head connected
with concrete, just as a deep, visceral scream rent the air.

For a moment, Leonore thought the scream had been her
own—that this was the moment of her death—but something wasn’t right. She was
breathing, and a weight lay across her knees. She was looking up at stars.
Leonore lifted herself up onto her elbows and saw, with horror, that the weight
that pinned her legs was Jeff.

Or his body.

“
Jeff!
” Leonore pushed Jeff’s legs to one side and
got onto her knees, then tried to reach for his face. Something was wrong with
his chest. Leonore tried to make sense of what she was seeing in the dim light,
then froze at the sound of the
Draíodóir’s
voice, colder than ever. She
looked up, and gasped at the way hate had twisted the handsome face into a
ghastly mask.

“How touching.” The scorn was so palpable that it seemed to
burn Leonore’s skin, like liquid nitrogen. “Another fool sacrifices himself for
his witch whore. Useless—all he’s done is buy you a few seconds of life.”

Fear left Leonore—there was no room for it, she was so
filled with rage. She looked down at where Jeff lay on his back, awkwardly
supported by the edge of the barrier, and saw that something protruded from his
chest. It was the gleaming end of one of the broken cables—in throwing himself
between Leonore and the
Draíodóir’s
missile, he had been impaled. She
looked up at her enemy, who was already gathering another of those deadly,
shimmering globes of power, and, as she stared, Leonore’s magic…changed.

The familiar, sensual buzz she wore as casually as her own
skin reared up, seeming to pull Leonore along with it. It was as if a calm sea
was suddenly invaded by a tidal wave, and she rose to her feet as effortlessly
as flotsam on the ocean’s surface. As the dark orb sped toward her, Leonore—or
the magic, she couldn’t tell—reached for it and…
caught
it, as easily as
if she were catching a lightly tossed ball.

Time seemed to stretch and the world moved in slow motion.
As Leonore held the
Draíodóir’s
projectile in her hands, she realized
she could perceive his power. It was dark and bitter, and, although Leonore’s
magic recoiled in distaste, it also surrounded and absorbed it. She looked up
at the man’s white face and suddenly knew—
knew
—that she could use his
power against him. As if the knowledge itself had incited the action, the orb
began to glow with a new, brighter light in Leonore’s hand, asking her to hurl
it.

Leonore saw the moment that the
Draíodóir
understood
what was happening. His hate turned to terror and, with a glance behind him, he
turned and fled.

Leonore hurled the malevolent ball toward him, but her aim
was wild, and it exploded against one of the parked vans, just as the
Draíodóir
dove behind it.

Leonore laughed and, to her ears, the tone sounded
hysterical, insane. Maybe she was crazy. She didn’t care. She stalked toward
the point where the man had disappeared and started gathering her own missile.
It was easy, as if she’d done it a thousand times, and somehow she knew she was
channeling the
Draíodóir
’s power and experience. The evil was palpable,
and she still didn’t care. This bastard had killed Jeff.

“Not as much fun when you’re the target, is it?” she said,
marveling at the sound of her own voice. It was hers and yet…not. “Come on out
and die like a good little sorcerer.” Leonore reveled in the cruel tone, even
as part of her shrank from it.

As she rounded the first van in the row, Leonore saw
movement at the opposite end of the garage. The man, running. He was heading
for the barriers at the edge. Did he think he could fly? Laughing, Leonore
tossed the orb toward him.

Her aim had improved, but she still missed her target. One
of the concrete barriers exploded into shards and powder and he swerved away
from it.

“There’s nowhere to go,” Leonore taunted, forming yet
another power globe. She paused, realizing this one was more difficult. It was
as if she were reaching into a well and finding it almost empty. The foreign
magic was still there, but she had to work harder to pull what remained into
her hand, to make it stick together.

She returned her concentration to her foe and saw he had
reached the edge of the garage and stood, panting, one hand on the top edge of
the barrier.

He must have been able to see, or sense, Lenore’s
hesitation, because he spoke.

“This isn’t over, witch,” he said, but his voice no longer
held menace, only peevishness. Finally, the magic ball felt solid in Leonore’s
hand, and she prepared to throw another missile, confident that her aim would
be true this time.

It was, but too late. Agile as a cat, the man vaulted up and
over the edge and into the blackness beyond, moments before the barrier exploded
into fist-sized chunks of concrete and a cloud of gray dust.

She ran toward the spot where the man had disappeared and
looked down, fully expecting to see a dark and broken form on the ground eight
stories below. But the sidewalk, illuminated by streetlights, was empty. Her
gaze raked the side of the building, looking for some ledge or outcropping that
might have snagged the body, but there was nothing. Then there was movement on
the ground below, and she just had time to see something dark and fast
disappear around a corner of the building on the opposite site of the street,
like a black cat running away from a pack of wild dogs.

Leonore screamed in wordless frustration. She realized she
knew how he had escaped—in that split second when her own magic had risen to
deflect and then envelop the
Draíodóir’s
missile, she had understood his
power. He would have used his ability to move objects to slow his own fall,
just enough to land on his feet without injury.

She turned away from the rubble of the barrier and,
suddenly, her gaze was riveted on the dark figure on the opposite side of the
garage floor. Jeff.

The knowledge that he was dead, and that he’d died to save
her, and that, in her lust for revenge, she’d momentarily forgotten about him,
hit Leonore like a blow.

“Jeff!” A sob caught her, hard, and she ran toward his
lifeless form, the last of the
Draíodóir’s
loathsome magic draining
away.

As she got closer, something was different. Leonore still
saw the bright end of the cable coming through the chest, but now one of Jeff’s
hands was wrapped around the protruding wire.

It wasn’t like that before.

An enormous bubble of something—hope, she realized—pushed
its way up through her despair as she skidded to his side and fell to her
knees.

Impossibly, Jeff’s eyes were open and he looked at her,
blinking.

“Le-Lenore,” he said. “Need…emergency.”

“Hush, Jeff. Let me see.” She put both hands on him, palms
pressed against his chest on either side of the protruding cable.

“Call the E.R.,” he gasped.

“No time,” Leonore told him, and it was true. As her
magic—hers, not the foul, borrowed magic of the
Draíodóir
—flowed down
and into the wound, Leonore could see the cable’s path. It had missed his heart
by a fraction of an inch, but had nicked some sort of tube or artery—Leonore
didn’t know its name—and was partially plugging the tear it had made. Jeff’s
life blood was leaking around it, filling his chest cavity.

As if reading her mind, Jeff said, “It’s the subclavian
artery. Got…the lung too, I think.” There was blood on his lips and Leonore saw
that he was right—one lung had been nicked as well, but that wasn’t what was
killing him.

Leonore had never tried to repair a rapidly bleeding wound
before—had never had to, even if her magic had been strong enough. But she knew
with absolute certainty that she could do it now. Her magic simmered around the
ragged edges of the wound, eager to stitch flesh together, to build cells, to
join severed ends. The nick in the lung seemed to almost patch itself, and
Leonore saw the rise of Jeff’s chest and the surprise in his eyes as the lung
suddenly reinflated.

But she couldn’t repair the artery with the cable in the
way.

“Jeff, I’m going to lift you off the cable,” she said, and
he immediately started to protest.

“No, Leonore, I’ll bleed out,” he gasped, trying feebly to
push her hands away. “You have to call the emergency room.” Even though Leonore
could feel the strength leaving his body along with that precious blood, his
voice was stronger now that both lungs worked.

“
You have to trust me!”
she said, willing him to
understand, and she felt the magic flare around her, surrounding her in a
glamour, giving her words authority. Jeff’s hands, which had moved from the
cable to Leonore’s wrists, relaxed, and she read and felt the absolute trust in
his eyes. He nodded.

She moved her hands under his arms and rested one beneath
each shoulder blade. He was heavier than she was, and her normal strength would
never be enough to lift him, but she reached for the last of the
Draíodóir’s
magic, which she now realized had been leaking away like fog under a hot sun.
But there was still enough of that power to bolster her strong muscles and, in
one smooth movement, she lifted Jeff up and off the twisted coil that had
impaled him, then laid him carefully on the floor of the garage, so that his
head rested on the fallen barrier. She knelt next to him and laid her hands
back on his chest, close to the wound.

The moment the obstruction was removed, the flow of blood
leapt from a trickle to a gush, and Leonore hurried to plug the leak with her
power. After a heart-stopping moment of hesitation, the blood and tissue bent
to her will, and the torn edges of the artery began to knit and reform. The
blood stopped leaking out and began to pulse strongly through the artery and
into the network of veins beyond.

She turned her attention outward, along the channel that the
cable had cut, first through the skin and strong muscles of Jeff’s upper back,
scoring the top of one rib and the bottom of another, along the edge of the lung
and out between the same two ribs in the front. It had then traveled through
two layers of chest muscle and come out on the skin above and to the right of
his nipple. Inch by inch, Leonore repaired skin, bone, muscle and sinew, as the
magic whirled and flashed and shimmered around her.

She took the blood that had leaked into Jeff’s chest cavity,
cleansed it, energized it, and pushed it through the walls of the organs and
back into the veins where it belonged, and it seemed to sing with joy at
regaining its home. As Leonore’s magic answered, it was as if
she
were
running through Jeff’s veins, floating along the blood like a raft over rapids,
spinning and bouncing and splashing in exhilaration. She entered his heart, and
felt the rush as the huge throb of that muscle propelled her along, even
faster. Then she wasn’t just in his veins, she was everywhere—in his muscles
and organs and skin. She heard his gasp—or was it
her
gasp, articulated
through Jeff?—and then finally burst free, back in her own body.

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She was still on
her knees on the concrete, her palms against Jeff’s chest. The last shimmers of
magic seemed to fall around them, like the dying sparks that fell to earth
after the last burst of a fireworks display.

* * * * *

Jeff opened his eyes, then closed them again when the light
streaming through the window blinds hit him full in the face. Something was odd
about the light. The bedroom of Jeff’s condo faced west, which was why he
seldom bothered to pull the curtains. The morning light in the room was gentle,
which meant—

He looked at the clock. Four fifteen. How long had he been
asleep?

Jeff sat up and immediately looked down at his chest. Had he
dreamed it all? No, there was something on the right side, near the top of his
pectoral muscle. He got up and went into the bathroom, hitting the switch that
turned on the fluorescents on either side of the mirror.

It was faint, but it was real—a line, about two inches in
length, slightly lighter than the surrounding flesh. It looked like a
long-healed scar.

He positioned the bathroom door so that its full-length
mirror was behind him, then turned to face it, so that he could see the
reflection of his upper back in the more brightly lit mirror over the sink.
There was a scar there, too, shaped like a crooked asterisk. He stretched,
expecting soreness. There was none.

He turned and faced the mirror again, almost expecting
someone else to look back. But, no, it was just his own familiar face—a little
more tired than usual, perhaps, and in need of a shave.

“So, Jeff. Anything new with you?” he asked his reflection.

Well, Jeff, old buddy, I got skewered by this evil
sorcerer on the roof of the hospital parking garage. Luckily, this witch I’ve
been fucking was there at the time, or we’d be having this conversation
somewhere in the vicinity of the pearly gates. Other than that, no, nothing new
here. How about you?