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We’d have to fight back and become the bad guys, after all.
Just like I am the bad guy right now. I know everyone in this little group is blaming me for past wrongs—Jason’s enslavement, Sindri’s mother. Not sure what Emrys might have against me, but I bet he can find something in a pinch.
Mia is lagging behind and I slow down to let her catch up. The others are following, glances darting here and there as we pass buildings, side streets, small parks. I have my knives in my belt but no guns are allowed at the Academy. I wonder if Sindri has any hidden on his person. I hadn’t known he traded in weapons as well as magical artifacts until Jason showed up with the enchanted stake.
So much I don’t know about these fuckers. And yet here I am, putting my faith in them, my life, trusting them to watch my back.
I still can’t believe they showed up.
Fighting the smile tugging at my mouth—because it’s stupid when I know they don’t really like me, but then why the hell are they here?—I take a shortcut between two buildings.
Mia hurries to keep up with me, her smaller hand squeezing mine. “You okay?” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
“Ash…”
“No, I’m not okay.” I sigh. “I’m not sure I’m ready to see my little brother in a hospital bed.”
Her small face is turned up toward me, her dark eyes warm and beautiful in the sputtering street lights. “We’ll be there with you.”
I almost say that it won’t make any difference, but I’m not so sure. Maybe it will. I squeeze her hand back. “I don’t even know if he’s awake yet.”
“I’m sure having you there will help. They say people in a coma can hear you.”
“Yeah. I also heard voices when I was in a coma after the accident.” I frown. “Father talking on the phone with his business associates, non-stop. Mother complaining she had better things to do. Aggie… My sister. She kept asking if she could have my guitar if I died.”
“Oh, Ash…” Her face twists with sadness and I try to fix what I said.
“She was young. I’m not holding it against her.”
“It’s your parents I’m thinking about,” Mia says.
I frown at her. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’d kick their asses if I saw them.”
That makes me laugh. “You would, huh?”
Her face turns serious. “I would. They should have been holding your hand and calling out your name, reading you stories, and praying for you to wake up. Especially since it seems to be their fault you ended up there. Wasn’t your father the one who gave you that motorcycle?”
“It was.” I’m quiet for a bit as we cross Cronigham Square and hurry toward the distinctive wheel-shaped building of the hospital.
“Will they be there?”
“Probably not.”
“Lucky for them,” she mutters darkly and more laughter rises in my throat. Not amused as much as grateful, fuckingrelievedthat someone, anyone, is angry on my behalf when for so many years I thought it was normal not to have that support, that it was my fault for being such a disappointment. That I never deserved my parents’ affection.
Mia seems to think the opposite and it thaws a piece of ice that has been lodged in my chest for a long time—a cold splinter, a jagged thorn. Hell knows how long I’ve been bleeding inside.
And hell also knows it will make no difference if my brother doesn’t wake up because it will fucking end me.
That much is for sure.
The entrance is familiar, and the sprawling net of corridors and rooms radiating out is a jolt to my system. I’d vowed never to come back in here, never to set foot on these gleaming marble floors again.
Yet here I am, and it’s like a fucking déjà vu of the worst kind.
