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“You aren’t sleeping,” she says simply. “You’re grouchy with everyone, and you’re barely holding yourself together. Am I right?”
I shrug, carelessly taking off my shoes and throwing them in the closet. There’s no Abigail here to impress.
“They don’t understand,” I grumble. “They aren’t sacrificing everything for an enemy they can’t see. Hex can see the fucking thing, he’s just too big of an oaf to find it.”
“You don’t mean that,” she chastises. “Hex is doing the best he can. Probably better than his best. He can’t control what he can’t control, and neither can you. Stop blaming everyone for your misery.”
“My daughter is gone.” My voice is strangled as the anger rises inside me. “She should be asleep in her crib, but she’s not here.”
I walk to the crib and cling to the railing like it’s a life vest. Its emptiness matches the ache in my chest. Nesce sighs heavily behind me, frustrated.
“Would you feel better if I went to stay with them? I’ll call you every night and you can let Daisy hear your voice.”
I shake my head despite how much I want to know they’re with someone I trust. Evanesce has proven her ability to take care of herself a million times over, and she and Abigail are close. It would be good for them, but she would be making another sacrifice for me.
“I really don’t mind,” she says, as if she’s reading my mind. “And you’ll sleep better at night knowing we’re together. You need sleep, Pocus.”
I nod and swallow hard, unable to tear my eyes away from Daisy’s mattress. “Go tomorrow. Call me as soon as you’re there.”
She steps up behind me and places her hands on my forearms. She leans up on her toes to kiss my cheek before resting hers on my shoulder blade.
“It will get better,” she promises. “It always does.”
Another wave of nausea rolls over me, but I’m too tired to get out of bed. I lie there, curled in the fetal position, and wait for it to pass. The nausea comes and goes constantly now. There’s no rhyme or reason. Sometimes it hits out of nowhere.
Nicholas has noticed how much I’ve been puking, and he’s a wreck. He thinks the rituals are making me sick. Such a man. Now he lies next to me, rubbing my back through the covers wrapped around me.
“Can I get you anything, mon amour?” he asks, a hint of desperation in his voice. He needs to feel useful, but there’s nothing he can do to take away the pain. It will eventually pass on its own.
“I’m fine,” I whisper weakly, concentrating on keeping the room in one place. Nausea brings dizziness, and dizziness makes the room feel like it’s upside down. As long as I squeeze my eyes shut, I can keep it in place.
“What about an herbal remedy? Is there anything you can make to take the pain away? I’m worried about you.”
“It’s stress,” I lie. “Everyone is stressed right now, I’m surprised this house hasn’t imploded from the weight of it all.”
I want him to laugh, to chuckle at my joke, but he doesn’t. He sighs heavily and collapses against his side of the bed. His stress is directed at me and my well-being. He won’t be happy until I’m well, but he’ll be waiting a long time.
“Maybe it would be a good idea for you to get out of town like Abigail did,” he whispers in the dark. “It would be good for you to take a load off and relax.”
I squeeze my eyes tighter because that’s the last thing I want right now. He’s trying his best, but it’s a horrible idea. Pocus and Abigail had to consider Daisy’s safety. I have to consider everyone else’s.
“It’s fine,” I tell him, though at this moment I feel like I might die if I move my body an inch. The nausea will pass. It’s what comes later that scares me. “Besides, who’s going to take care of you if I’m gone?”
The bed shifts, and I’m sure he’s staring down at me.
“I can take care of myself. But I won’t feel better until you’re better.”
I sigh and carefully turn so to look at him. I weakly reach up my hand to touch his face and feel his eyes close at the contact.
“I’m needed here,” I whisper. “The Ruthless Kings need me right now, I can’t run away and hide. Abigail doesn’t have a gift and she has Daisy to think about. But these spirits have been reaching out to me. I have to help them.”
“That’s bullshit,” he growls, moving off the bed and pacing around the dark room. “You can’t put yourself at risk to help some damn spirits who won’t thank you. Your life is worth more than that.”
His anger blinds him. He forgets that a year ago I was sent to help him. If I abandoned the people who needed my help, I never would have ended up here.
“My decision is final,” I tell him, my voice weak but firm. “I won’t abandon the people who need me. Now come back to bed and stop being so stubborn.”
He curses again, but the mattress dips as he sits back down.
