Sterling opens his mouth, but the words die on his tongue as the door to Evangeline’s room bursts open. Zeke stalks in, bloody and disheveled, with two guns holstered under hisshoulders and a machete secured at his hip. There's a wild look in his eye as his chest heaves with ragged breaths.
“Here.” He slams a fist down on the top of the dresser by the door, knocking over the contents spread on top of it and leaving behind a bundle of crushed and withered plant material. It takes a second for me to recognize them, but as the leaves unfurl, the shades of green fall away to reveal golden-cup flower petals.
Angel’s Trumpet.
“Now fucking fix the girl and let's get on with our lives.”
Quinn, Aamon, and I watch with bated breath as Laurel handles the Angel’s Trumpet, delicately working the herb over an open flame.
Aamon called for her as soon as Zeke stormed out, leaving me to pace as I looked nervously from the plant on the dresser to Evangeline, hoping this would be enough to save her.
Laurel adds the petals of the golden flower, one by one, to a black cast iron pot poised directly above a candle on some sort of wire rack. Then she grabs a handful of bottles from the small collection she brought with her, popping the tops off and sprinkling a myriad of contents into the pot. I don’t recognize any of them, but the smell they emit is a powerful one, something about it setting my teeth on edge.
“Will this work?” I ask, antsy to do anything to reassure myself this is the right decision.
“It should,” Laurel answers after a beat. “I cannot guarantee anything, though. We don’t know how this plant will affect her kind nor do we know what concoction of drugs they were likely giving her before to achieve what we are attempting now.”
“I don’t like those odds,” Aamon bites out. And while I agree with the sentiment, my lips can’t help but tip up as I recognize the concern etched into his features from where he leans over the bedpost.
“As far as I have ever heard," Laurel explains, "Angel’s Trumpet has only been used on our kind. To suppress the Arcane. Never on the Watchers, since there was no need. But much of their anatomy and healing methods mimic our own, so, in theory, it shouldn’t matter.”
Laurel leans in, whispering an incantation into the pot as she stirs the liquid. Aamon watches her with fierce concentration and I have to tear my gaze away before I puke from the nerves twining in my gut. “I need some air,” I mutter, standing from my chair beside Evangeline’s bed and pushing my way through the room.
I let out a breath of relief when I’m safely on the other side of the door. The hallway is dark, quiet, and putting some distance between me and that plant seems to do wonders for my nausea. I give myself a moment, closing my eyes as I lean back against the door.
I whisper an apology to Evangeline. My hands are shaking, my body ravaged with nerves I can no longer suppress. I need to remove myself for the time being, to get a grip on these emotions. I wish I was stronger, wish I could be there for her while she undergoes this journey. But Quinn and Aamon are with her, and for now, I need that to be enough.
I push off the door, heading towards the common area in search of Zeke. Sure enough, he’s standing in the corner of the room, staring out the window when I enter. I silence my steps as I approach him, not wanting to disrupt his peace.
I join him at the window, watching as a soft rain dampens the glass and snuffs out the sun rising behind the clouds. We stay like that for several moments, watching the water droplets slide down the glass, converging together and forging path after path before they disappear entirely.
“Thank you,” I whisper at last.
He doesn’t respond, but I can tell by the way his jaw tightens that he hears me.
“I mean it. You very well may have just saved her life, Zeke.”
“I didn’t do it for her.” His voice is low, angry.
I dip my head, swallowing hard. “I know.”
“Whatever you see in her, I don’t get it.” He sighs, shaking his head and running a hand over his jaw. “But I made myself a promise a long time ago that you would always be free to love how and when you wanted. So if this is whatyou need, ifshe’swhat you need. Then I’m going to make sure you have it.”
“She’s what webothneed, Zeke.” I lift a hand to his forearm, stepping into his space.
“No.” Zeke pulls back, refusing to let me touch him. “Don’t misconstrue this as me accepting her. I want nothing to do with the girl. I just—” His words cut off as emotion leaks into his voice. “I want you to be happy, Sterling.”
I furrow my brow, trying to step into him again. “I am happy, Zeke.Youmake me happy.”
He lets out a breathy laugh, one laced with sadness. “I haven’t made you happy in a long ass time. We both know that.”
I wrap my arms around him, resting my forehead against his. “Hey,” I whisper in the small space left between us. “Check in.”
Zeke wrestles with the command, and for a moment I’m sure he’s going to ignore it. “I don’t have a place here, Sterling,” he says at last. “You fit well with Aamon and Quinn. With the Blood Order. But this doesn’t feel like home to me. Nowhere does.”
I take Zeke’s face in my hands, making his icy blue eyes meet mine. “Zeke. This is your home. This clubhouse, the Blood Order.” I let one hand drop to find his own, lifting it to my chest and resting it against where my heart would be beating if the Arcane hadn’t claimed it all those yearsago. “Me. You have to stop punishing yourself for shit that wasn’t even your fault to begin with.”
Zeke pulls his hand away, “I’m not getting into this argument again.”
