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I’m still screaming, but I can barely hear myself. Like the time Gabriel unleashed the Greenfire on me, I’m fighting my own magic and will as much as the original spell and the pain. Like the Greenfire, it won’t do me any real harm until I lose concentration.
A cry towards the back of the room cuts through my disembodied state. It shows the first lots of magic have made it right round the circle. I release another few blasts. My pain starts to lessen, but it’s still more than I can reasonably stand.
Cries are coming from all directions. I shunt two more blasts around the circle, then release my control, letting the remnants of the magic either soak into me or disperse into the air. The pain lessens, which is ironic, because before, it was only really tearing at my psyche, and now it’s burning my skin. But it’s at a level I can manage.
I take one more deep breath, then break everything, including the circle spell. I drop my hands, lift my forehead off Gabriel’s, then collapse onto the bed.
Behind me, the rest of the circle breaks apart. There are a few moans and whimpers, but these are good, solid northerners and they seem to be remaining stoic. Still, if I’d lost control, they’d be passed out or screaming no matter how high their pain threshold.
“Is everyone okay?” I whisper, after what feels like hours, pushing myself to a standing position.
General murmurs of agreement run through the room. I manage to turn and look at them. Where their skin is exposed, it looks badly sunburnt. The sort of sunburn that blisters and needs steroid cream rather than the sort that turns into a glowing tan, but nothing worse than that. Everyone’s eyes are bloodshot and their hair is wild. There’s a general air of exhaustion.
“Nikki passed out,” someone says. “She should have sat this one out. Cath’s healing her. We’ll all heal each other later.”
I nod. My own body doesn’t look great. Despite my best efforts to filter it, I still took more than my fair share of the fire. But whether because of adrenaline, triumph, or just because there’s only so much your mind and body will let you endure, I’m beyond pain.
“You’ll need to heal him first,” I say, preaching to the converted. “Reversing the spell won’t do it all. There’s still tissue damage and general depletion. I’d do it myself, but I’m burnt out.”
Everyone crowds round like they want to be the first to touch Gabriel, the one to work the healing magic.
It’s clear something’s changed. I can’t see much of him under the bandages, but where it’s possible to catch glimpses, his skin is reddened rather than charred. His breathing and heart rate have stabilised. The hospital monitors tell the same story as my heightened senses. He’s still unconscious, but it’s more like a deep sleep than a coma. At my best guess, he’ll be up and about within twelve hours. What he’ll do then—to me, to my family—is anyone’s guess. I don’t know whether to feel guiltier about attacking him or about healing him.
“In fifteen minutes, I’m going to leave this hospital and return to my family.” I speak deliberately formally. “For that fifteen minutes, I want you to leave me alone with him. Hopefully I’ve shown I can be trusted. If I do anything to hurt him, I guess you can all kill me on the way out.”
I suspect Nikki would have led the resistance to my arguments, but she’s still out cold. I can’t help but admire both her bravery and her learnt grasp of magic. After a few pointed looks and what I can only assume is some telepathy on a frequency I can’t access, the others seem to reach an accord.
Jamie, who’s seemingly entered while the spell was under way, speaks for the group. “Fifteen minutes then. We’ll be outside. Don’t make us regret this.”
I don’t know what they think I’m going to do, but once they leave, I simply collapse back over the bed, resting my head on Gabriel’s chest and feeling the increasingly steady rise and fall of his breath and beat of his heart.
I’m sobbing within seconds. If only he were awake. If only we could speak. If only I could apologise for hurting him. If only he could apologise for hurting me and those I loved. If only he could thank me for healing him and promise me there’ll be no repercussions. If only we could kiss like we had before.
I think I liked it better when I felt nothing for anyone.
I kiss his cheek and let the tears flow. God help me. He’s the worst person I’ve ever met, and I love him with more force than I could ever have imagined.
TWENTY-THREE
The next day, I’m due back in court yet again. I could quite happily sleep all day, and probably should. But this is it. It’s time for my closing arguments—my last chance to strike a blow for Bren.
I’m praying both that he’ll get out and that what he’s sworn about enlarging the Dome isn’t a lie.
I down three cups of the awful instant coffee that the courthouse has to offer. I’d normally never touch the stuff, but right now, the priority is staying awake, not appreciating the aroma and the taste.
Once I get into the courtroom, Bren can’t stop grinning at me from the dock. He clearly heard what happened. The bit where I blasted Gabriel, anyway. Maybe not the fact I subsequently revived him. If he’s feeling any sadness about Connor’s death, his thoughts on his fallen friend are clearly outweighed by joy at his fallen foe.
On the subject of whom, there’s no sign of Gabriel. It’s always easier to focus when he’s not attracting my attention, but his absence is worrying. What condition is he in now?
I thrive on the thrill of examination and cross-examination, but when it comes down to it, the closing statement is probably my favourite part of a trial and my greatest strength. At this stage, I’m entirely in control, and I can take all the loose threads of evidence and weave them into my own story.
The second I start to speak, all the exhaustion falls away. I stand up straight, smile at the judge and jury, and underline my key points with expansive hand gestures. There’s no magic to contend with today. No witnesses who might be lying or bewitched, and no one I’m forcing to speak. There’s just me and my words.
There’s nothing new to say. It’s an exercise in ensuring the jury understand how everything they’ve heard comes together to lead them to the unavoidable conclusion that Bren’s not guilty.
I remind them of the basics of Bren’s story, and why it makes sense. I bring in Leah’s testimony—the parts that give Bren an alibi and corroborate his account, and the parts that explain that it was a set-up. I take apart the prosecution case bit by bit, painting Gabriel as an entirely biased and unreliable witness and the others as some combination of lying on his orders and confused. Without being able to explain the magical disguise angle, it’s not the most compelling explanation, but hopefully it’s enough to cast the necessary seeds of doubt in the jury’s mind. They don’t need to believe he’s innocent, just that they can’t be sure beyond reasonable doubt that he’s guilty.
I exhale as I draw my speech to a close. I’ve done the best I could. No one could have done it better.
