Mindhealer

  Her soft fingers dropped away. He didn’t dare move. If he moved so much as a muscle, he was going to take her face in his hands and do the unthinkable in front of everyone.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Are you all right?”

  Behind her, the other Lightbringers began talking in low voices, matching the thunderous murmurs of the Watchers.

  “Fine,” he managed through the obstruction in his throat. “Just fine. Bloody brill. What about you?”

  She used the cuff of her red sweater to dab at the blood under her nose. “Headache. Feel like I could sleep for a week.”

  You probably should. He dragged in another sharp breath, invoked thread-thin control. “I could carry you back to your room.”

  As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Levity was the wrong thing in this situation, it was rude and thoughtless.

  Amazingly, though, a ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Barbarian. And here I thought you were so English and civilized.”

  “It’s a thin veneer.” He watched her face, carefully. Her mouth trembled, firmed. There was a suspicious brightness in her eyes.

  Tears.

  “Caro.” Her brother appeared, put a protective arm over her shoulders. “Come on. The healers will take care of her. You did everything you could.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Her shoulders sagged, and she dropped her eyes. “I should have brought her out.”

  “Don’t. Don’t hurt yourself.” Trevor’s arm tightened, and Merrick was surprised by a thick green flash of jealousy. She leaned into her brother, accepting comfort, for just a moment. Lucky boy, he gets to touch her whenever he wants to.

  Then she straightened. “Go get some rest, Trev. You’re drained. Merrick, where’s the other Watcher?”

  What other Watcher? I’m the only one you have, witch, and it’s going to stay that way. He swallowed the words, wondering at the sudden flare of possessive anger. “Which one?”

  “The one that was on guard duty,” she said impatiently, all but tapping her foot. She swiped at the blood under her nose again, and her bloodshot eyes were so sad they threatened to stop his heart. Sad—but also determined, a steely glint to the indigo that warned him not to argue with her.

  “Dormitory, they said. First floor.” He took a deep breath. Duty. Honor. Obedience. “I’ll show you.”

  She nodded. “Let’s go.” And she brushed past him, leaving both him and her brother staring at each other, her brother’s face transparent with disbelief, Merrick hoping his own feelings weren’t showing.

  Caro’s brother examined him for a few seconds. “Better get going. She means business.”

  So do I, young one. “Sir.” He turned on his heel, ignoring the mutters and the whispers. Set off after his witch, whose shoulders hunched as if warding off a blow.

  She’s alive. She’s alive, that means I haven’t failed yet.

  But oh, God, he had almost broken. Almost done something unconscionable, and it hadn’t been the pain or the Seeker forcing him to it. It had been her.

  * * * *

  “He’s thrashing around. It isn’t pretty.” The Watcher on guard at the dormitory door shook his head. Merrick dug in his memory for the man’s name—Jasper. He was a scarecrow, lean where most Watchers were bulky with muscle, but with a tensile speed that made him very dangerous indeed. His dark eyes glittered as he looked down at Merrick’s witch, who barely seemed to notice.

  “Are you disobeying a direct order?” she asked, softly, and Merrick winced. One solitary Watcher was no match for her when she was this determined.

  Jasper’s eyes caught Merrick’s. An unspoken question crossed his face. Is she serious? And are you going to let her do this?

  “I’ll look after her.” Merrick’s hand curled loosely around a knife hilt. “There’s a dead Lightbringer upstairs. It’s an emergency.”

  The guard paled and stepped aside, his coat whispering. Merrick pushed the heavy iron-bound door open, reaching over Caro’s shoulder. She was so bloody small, it was a shock to realize she only reached his collarbone. The glittering anger and terrible sadness sparking through her aura made her seem much taller and indomitable. What are you going to do, Caro? Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s going to be a parade of heart-stopping excitement. I should tie you up and have your brother sit on you.

  That’s an excellent, wonderful idea. I wonder if he’d go for it.

  She stalked into the dormitory, sparing a single glance at the privacy-tinted windows. Night was well on its way to falling, helped along by heavy clouds coming in from the sea. More rain. A miserable night for the Watchers out on patrol, especially with this new danger to make things lively.

  It was immediately obvious where the wounded Watcher was. Several tall men in long black leather trenchcoats clustered around a bed halfway down the long room on the left side. The subsonic painful humming of Watcher magick rattled the air and the floorboards. Mithras stood at the far end, his gaze fixed into eternity; the shadows around the altar were full of thrumming force. It was like being under fire in the army again, the sense of camaraderie and high-octane adrenaline fear. One of their own was in jeopardy, and the others face-to-face with what could be their own fate.

  Caro swept down the aisle between the beds, head held high, Merrick drifting in her wake.

  A scream cut the air, an agonized howl of flesh pushed past endurance. Caro’s aura sparked, and the Watchers suddenly, collectively, became aware of her presence and parted automatically to let her through. Merrick caught up with her, his bootheels clicking on the floor. Closed his hand around her shoulder. “Let me take a look. Safer.”

  She nodded, peering through the screen of black leather-clad backs. Each of the Watchers was armed to the teeth. It wasn’t likely she would be harmed . . . but still.

  Merrick slid between Ellis and Tanner, took one glance down at the Watcher on the bed, and his gorge rose briefly, pointlessly. He pushed the sensation of nausea down. No. Don’t let her look at this. Dear God.

  The Lightbringer had been terribly beaten, the kind of beating meant to damage and disfigure. The Watcher had been ravaged. He would have been dead if not for the tanak smoking and pulling at all available Power to try to hold the shattered body to life. It looked like several of his bones had been reduced to almost-powder, blood boiling out from skin continually renewing itself as he convulsed, screaming again. They had taken his weapons and his coat, not that he could have used a weapon with hands so broken and twisted.

  Caro appeared next to him. “Oh, gods.” The soft thread of her voice cut through the sound of the Watcher’s screams.

  Amazingly, the Watcher fell silent. His battered body, barely recognizable as human, stilled as she approached. Merrick felt a shudder creep under his spine—to be that badly hurt, and feel the acid pain of a Lightbringer’s aura soaking into your wounds, didn’t bear thinking about.

  “Be careful,” Ellis managed. “He’s been thrashing, could do something without knowing it.”

  Merrick nodded and moved closer to the bed. How was this man still alive after all the damage done to him? Why couldn’t the tanak heal the injuries?

  Caro reached down, but didn’t take the Watcher’s hand. Instead, her fingers hovered just above his. “I’m going to go in,” she announced.

  Every Watcher present stilled. Merrick finally found his voice.

  “Caro, he’s a Watcher.” He sounded shocked even to himself. You can’t go inside his head, he’s a one of us. He probably has things in there that will drive you mad. It’s never been done before. Mindhealers don’t heal Watchers; they don’t go in when a tanak has been bonded. It’s too bloody dangerous.

  “Something’s re-injuring him so fast the tanak can’t heal him.” She looked up, and the tears spilling down her cheeks tore at his chest. “Do you know how to anchor a witch?”

  He nodded. His throat was full of sand, and blood still matted his shirt and jeans. It was drying rapidly, a crackling pulling sensation against newl
y-healed skin. Don’t. Don’t do this. You’re already exhausted. You can’t take this, Caro. He’s a Watcher, he’s tough. He’ll survive. Or not. It might be a mercy if you let him go. “I know how.”

  “Then anchor me. Don’t pull me out unless I go into cardiac arrest, is that clear?”

  His jaw set. Duty. Honor. Obedience. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She held out her other hand. Merrick’s pulse skyrocketed. His fingers slid through hers, sugared heat slamming up his arm and detonating in his chest. Christ, I can’t take much more of this, my heart’s going to give out. He couldn’t look away from the salt water on her cheeks, shining in the light from the overhead lamps. The edges of her aura meshed with his, a thin gossamer link that would allow him to monitor her heartbeat and theoretically allow him to draw her back if she lost her way in the wilds of another mind.

  Theoretically.

  “Don’t ma’am me.” She swallowed hard, her pretty throat moving, and he had the sudden intense urge to lean forward and press his lips to the soft spot where the pulse beat. Fear slammed through him, sharp and total, he might have done something unforgivable—like yanking her away and tossing her over his shoulder, carrying her up to her room—if she hadn’t hurriedly looked away, down at the bleeding, moaning shape on the bed. “What’s his name?”

  “Asher,” someone answered harshly. “Asher Green.”

  She nodded, and bent down. Tendrils of her hair fell forward, almost brushing the bloody mess. The shape on the bed twisted and moaned again, but didn’t scream. Caro’s presence seemed to tranquilize it, even though every Watcher in the room must be acutely aware of the pain of a Lightbringer so close and wincing in sympathy.

  She breathed out, and the smell of white copal and spice cut through the reeking air. Merrick watched. If the body on the bed started to thrash again, she could get hurt.

  “Asher,” she whispered, as if he was a lover. Another sharp twist of jealousy bit at Merrick’s chest. “Just hold on, I’m on my way.” Her fingers tensed, descended onto the blood-drenched piece of meat that was the wounded Watcher’s wrist.

  Then, again, she was gone, and a sharp collective gasp of wonder went through the assembled Watchers. They had never seen a Mindhealer do this before.

  “Dear gods,” Ellis whispered. “Have you ever—”

  “No.” This from Nevin, whose harsh bass voice was soft with wonder. “Look at that. She’s doing that for one of us.”

  “Watch.” Someone obviously didn’t trust the sudden tranquility. “Wait.”

  Seconds ticked by. Merrick was vaguely aware of more Watchers arriving, of a heated, whispered discussion. Someone objecting, or being brought up to speed on what was happening—

  Arcing through the contact of his fingers in hers, the agony was so sudden and intense Merrick let out a short, sharp sound, then clamped his teeth together and dug his heels in. No. Caro, you shouldn’t feel this. Don’t feel this.

  The pain rolled under the surface of his awareness, sinking in, bones shattered and muscles torn, his eyes burning. He took it, buried it in the same place he had buried every other dark emotion, the place of cold self-sufficiency that allowed him to track. Didn’t have time to wonder whose pain it was. Caro’s hand in his was the only thing that made the agony bearable, and he focused on the feel of her skin, the way her fingers tightened, the light of her aura brushing his—

  Caro stiffened. Her back arched, and her hand suddenly clamped down in his. His heart pulsed once, twice, stuttered under the strain, something black and supple rising with snakelike speed, a trap waiting to snap closed. For one blinding second Merrick felt the full brunt of agony from the body on the bed, an unfiltered raw jolt that peeled his skin back and doused him in fire. He strained to move, to tear her away from the danger rising from the shattered Watcher, to pull her back. Mental muscles tore as the tenuous link between their fingers slipped, strained . . . and, thank the gods, held.

  Confusion. Watchers shouting. Caro let out a short, horrible scream, her voice breaking. Merrick’s entire body turned to caustic sand, blind, only the pale shimmer that was part of her waking consciousness locked against his visible to his staring eyes. Time slowed, stretching like taffy, and snapped forward.

  He half-fell, his knees turned to mud. Someone caught him, strong hands at his shoulders; Caro’s fingers still tangled in his. More motion, a cacophony of yells and harsh oaths, the sound of steel sliding back into the sheath. A long, exhaled breath, and Merrick found his balance again, shaking away whoever had caught him. Caro. Where is she?

  His vision cleared, painful light striking his eyes. He pulled on her hand, and Caro fell against him, Ellis letting go of her arm as soon as Merrick had her. She was breathing, but her head lolled strangely and her eyes were closed. Her nose was bleeding again. Unconscious. Her pulse thundered; he could hear it even as his fingers found it beating in her slim wrist.

  The last vestige of hurt left, new strength roaring through him as the tanak converted pain to Power. He found himself holding the deadweight of his witch with an arm around her back, under her arms, her head cradled against his shoulder as if she was hiding her eyes.

  On the bed, the shattered Watcher lay sleeping now. His skin was knitting together, faint crackles pulsing underneath as the tanak mended shattered bones and burst organs. He’d taken a lot of damage, but he wasn’t being reinjured again and again. He would live.

  Something flopped weakly on the floor, emitting a faint, whistling psychic scream as three Watchers methodically set about ripping it to pieces with pure Power. It looked like a tattered snake, blunt teeth in an eyeless head snapping as it quested blindly, thrashing against the iron hold of the Watchers. Merrick’s skin prickled with recognition. No wonder Asher had been unable to heal himself. The Crusade had beaten him to a pulp and infected him with something. The tanak might have healed him, given enough time; after all, it was in him of his own volition. The Watcher’s consent gave the tanak a psychic hold greater than any other infestation.

  But it would have been very, very painful.

  Merrick let out a soft breath. His ribs creaked, settled. Caro was utterly unmoving except for the flicker of her breathing, the birdlike rattle of her pulse. She was still alive, and the contact between them saved him from the awful dragging agony of a Watcher whose witch was leaving. And yet, she was curiously absent.

  Nobody saw him ease back, handling her slight weight effortlessly. They were so focused on killing the snake-thing, and the sudden influx of other Lightbringers—how had he missed the amount of people suddenly crowding in here?—that he was able to make it out the door and past Jasper, who carefully looked away. Tactful as always, with the kind of politeness only another Watcher would think of. Caro’s sneakers brushed the floor until Merrick paused, tucked aside in a little-used hall, and picked her up like a child, her head against his shoulder, her hair springing out of its confinement and brushing his jaw, her legs dangling.

  She didn’t stir as he carried her into her room, his eyes adapting to the darkness as he laid her carefully on the bed, keeping the contact between them with a simple pressure against her aura. The edges of their minds still meshed, but it was like a live telephone line into an empty house; she was elsewhere. She breathed deeply, the fever-flush in her cheeks fading. He managed to unlace her sneakers and pull them off before the shakes hit him.

  Merrick paused, his head dropping, his fingers suddenly numb. She just went walking in a Watcher’s mind and triggered something. A trap? Likely. Possible. Probable. I could have lost her.

  The thought wouldn’t go away. He stayed nailed in place, barely noticing that he hadn’t closed her door. I could have lost her. Lost the only witch who can touch me.

  She was so heartbreakingly, misguidedly brave, flinging herself into danger. He would have thought her suicidal if he didn’t know it was pure determination. She was, like every Lightbringer, trying to save the world. But who was looking after her? She’d even convinced the High Counci
l to keep the Watchers away from her. To protect them.

  No more of this. Christ in Heaven, I almost bloody well lost her. If I hadn’t been anchoring her, that . . . thing . . . would have eaten her alive. No more. I swore obedience, not idiocy.

  He pulled the covers up over her and made his legs work, carrying him over to the door. Shut it, locked it, and leaned against it, his breath coming harsh and tearing. The echoes of agony from whatever had been done to Asher still scraped against his nerves. To think of her suffering that pain strained at his already battered control.

  “No more,” he whispered, bracing his back against the door and sliding down. He was going to sleep, couldn’t help himself. He was too tired, had stretched himself past the ends of even a Watcher’s endurance. Mindhealing was draining work. He had given everything he had and was grateful it was enough. She was still alive, his witch.

  And Merrick was going to see she stayed that way.

  Eleven

  It was not so surprising, really. Eleanor had warned her of this.

  Caro wandered through the labyrinth, featureless doors set in the stone, none of them looking familiar. This was the space-between, the place of boundaries between two minds. As always, here she wore a long white dress, its hem dragging the floor and its tattered sleeves bound with silk ribbons. She carried the small silver globe in her left hand, memory and light rolled into a compact form for carrying. Something had happened, but it was difficult to see clearly here. There was always the danger of becoming lost in another’s mind, of the heart stuttering if the healer pulled away too quickly, of catching the viral sickness some minds carried. It was a danger she had always accepted—after all, the world itself was a garden full of peril. She had learned early and well that there was no safety, not for someone with her gifts. If the insanity of a mortal mind didn’t get her, the Dark would.