Merrick frowned. The tightness in his chest strengthened, but it was hot and acidic now, decidedly unpleasant. He stepped toward the humans.
The boy twisted to look at Merrick and frantically grabbed his knife off the floor, brandishing it in one hand while holding the woman’s shoulder up with the other. Worry and anger warred on his face. “Stay back!”
“Put the knife away, boy,” Merrick said.
Danny swung the blade. Merrick halted, and the clipped tip of the knife sliced through the air less than an inch from his leg. He couldn’t deny the boy’s bravery—nor his stupidity.
Merrick scowled. The long years had not granted him the patience to deal with this. “I said put your knife away. She’s in poor enough condition as it is; would you like to be in worse?”
The boy hesitated, but finally lowered his weapon. “Don’t hurt her.”
Moving forward another step, Merrick knelt on the floor beside Addy. Her convulsions continued, and foamy spittle trickled from her mouth. He didn’t understand his concern for her. He didn’t understand why he was about to try helping her when he should’ve cast them out—or killed them—the moment they’d broken the window.
“Who is she to you?” Merrick asked.
“Her name is Adalynn, and she’s my sister. She’s sick.”
Merrick frowned, glancing at the woman again. “What did you bring into my home?”
“She’s not contagious,” the boy replied, a sharp edge in his voice, “and she’s got it way worse than you right now. Sorry I touched your fucking peanut butter, dude, just…help her, please.”
The boy’s words shouldn’t have held any sway over Merrick. How many humans had died during his lifetime? Billions? The number had been unfathomable when Merrick was born, and it made little difference to him now. And yet something about this human female called to him. Something about her urged him to do anything he could to help her.
And her brother’s plea, however rude, had moved Merrick.
He knew this was another waste of his energy, another waste of his time, and he wasn’t even sure it would work. His magic could do a great many things, but healing mortals was not amongst its strengths. And yet he was compelled to try.
Danny tensed when Merrick reached toward Adalynn, but the boy simply pressed his lips together and said nothing.
Merrick settled his hand over her forehead. He could feel the faint tremors coursing through her body, could feel the tension brimming in her. He closed his eyes and focused, careful to keep his magic from manifesting visibly.
Humans had their own magical resonance; it was a melody common to their entire species, but each individual had their own spin to it, had a unique harmony laid over it. Such mana songs were complex and difficult to learn. Hers was no less complex than any other he’d encountered, but it was stronger—and its familiarity extended beyond him having sensed it when he first saw her.
He altered his magic to suit her resonance, and a thrumming path—bridged by magic—opened between them.
There was immense beauty within her, he could feel it, but there was a thick, oppressive darkness clouding her mana—her impending death. Merrick nearly reeled back when he brushed against it; it was malicious, aggressive, hungry, not unlike the dead who now walked the Earth. But this was no magic-fueled monster. It was a mutation, a defect. A human imperfection that he knew he could not cure despite the power at his disposal.
He clenched his jaw and drew upon the energies swirling deep inside him, channeling them through his arm and into her—still careful to keep the magic from appearing on his skin and alerting the boy to Merrick’s nature. He amassed that power in the shared space between their minds and souls, wishing that he were connected to her like this for a good reason, for the right reason, wishing he could enjoy the brightness of her beauty at his leisure.
And once the magic had swelled into a pulsating mass, he thrust it at her illness, turning his mana song—now mingled with Adalynn’s familiar, exquisite resonance—against the discordant notes of the disease eating away at her.
The darkness in her receded. As it did, overwhelming pressure built inside Merrick’s head—a throbbing, stabbing ache like he’d never felt. The heat of his magic intensified; it was not meant for this. So many texts warned against it, but all the texts concerning what he was and the magic he wielded were vague on such matters—the chroniclers who’d documented such things had, in accordance with their eras, often written in metaphors that welcomed a thousand conflicting interpretations.
Adalynn’s body eased, and her head lolled. Merrick severed his connection with her and withdrew his hand like it was on fire, lowering it to his side to hide its trembling from Danny.
Her skin was sickly pale but for the purplish bags beneath her eyes, and spittle trickled from her mouth, but her features were no longer strained with tension, and she was unmoving save for the rise and fall of her chest with her slow breaths.
The pain in Merrick’s head remained, each pulse of it filling his vision with star-like bursts. For the first time in a long while, he felt…spent.
Whatever illness had taken root inside of Adalynn, his efforts were meaningless. It was her end. Her doom. And that knowledge instilled in him a consuming sense of helplessness and despair he’d not felt in more years than he could count—if he’d ever felt their like at all.
Danny’s voice was small and awed when he asked, “What did you do to her?”
Frustration flared within Merrick again; he didn’t know what he’d done to her, only that he’d never attempted anything like it. She was relaxed now, was at rest, but he knew he hadn’t defeated the malevolent presence within her.
He reached up with his other hand—which was also shaking—and snatched a dish towel from the counter to gently wipe the foam from Adalynn’s mouth. He let it fall aside once he was done and shifted his position to slip his arms beneath her.
Danny tensed. His knuckles were white from his grip on the knife, but he didn’t raise the weapon again. “What are you doing?”
“Moving her.”
“To where?”
“To the dungeon,” Merrick replied dryly.
Danny’s brow furrowed, and his lips parted as though to speak, but it was a few seconds before he got any words out. “I don’t know if you’re serious or not. But…if you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”
The boy backed away warily as Merrick lifted Adalynn off the floor and stood. For an instant, the room spun around Merrick, but he locked his knees and settled his hip against the counter to keep himself steady. As soon as the dizziness had passed, he walked toward the door.
“Gather your belongings,” Merrick said.
There was a flurry of movement behind him—boots on the floor, rustling cloth, the sloshing of bottled water, and the click of a knife being folded closed.
Merrick stopped at the doorway and glanced over his shoulder as Danny zipped up one of the backpacks. “And put my damned peanut butter back before I change my mind about helping.”
Danny stilled, staring at Merrick with eyes as large and round as dinner plates. Slowly, he reached into the small opening of his bag and withdrew a red-lidded peanut butter jar. He set it on the counter without breaking eye contact.