Find Me If You Dare (Dreamcatcher Book 2) (19 page)

ow come you’re always the one taking bullets?” Tabbi said when my eyes fluttered open.

I sat up, bare-chested, and groaned. My shoulder and leg were patched up, not healed. An IV was in my arm. Gauze covered my right shoulder where the bullet had entered, and stitching pulled underneath.

“That’s a very good question,” I finally answered. “I suppose they didn’t heal me because of my blood?”

Tabbi nodded. “I guess a lot of the healers got sick after the massive attack. Some even died. They have to have skin-to-skin contact to use their magic, you know? They’re only healing the really serious injuries right now to keep the disease from spreading as much as possible.”

A sour taste filled my mouth. How long would it be before people started dying right and left across the country? Damn, if only we’d stopped Richard.

I cleared my throat, pushing down the inferno in my chest. Now wasn’t the time for a pity party. I needed to make sure the rest of my friends were all right.

I swung my feet off the bed, pulling the IV from my arm. A trickle of blood seeped from the puncture wound. I grabbed gauze and tape off a small metal TV tray next to the bed and patched myself up. A breeze tickled my legs, and I glanced down. I wasn’t just bare-chested but in my boxers. Great. At least they’d remembered to toss a blanket over my bottom half. Just the thought of accidentally exposing myself warmed my cheeks.

Wrapping the sheet around my waist, I slowly put pressure on my injured leg. It burned with my muscle’s movement, like someone dug hot iron into my hamstring. I let out air between my teeth, trying not to cry out.

Tabbi held up a syringe full of green liquid. “I’m supposed to give this to you.”

“Oh, thank God.” Bartholomew still had some of his healing serum. Because of whatever was in that liquid, our wounds healed at an increased rate, and its pain management effects were fantastic. Granted, I’d be super drowsy for the majority of the day, but I’d have to live with that right now.

I took the medicine from Tabbi and popped the cover on the needle and stuck it in my arm. I pushed the liquid into my vein, shivering as the chill ran from head to toe. After recapping the needle, I tossed it in the trash.

“Where are the others?” I asked, waiting for the effects of the drug to kick in before putting my full weight on my injured leg.

Tabbi frowned. “Bartholomew has them quarantined in the banquet hall. I’m only in here ‘cause someone had to be with you when you woke, and I never touched an injured person.”

“Wait, is Kayla—”

“She’s fine. Just being monitored.”

I nodded, my heart heavy, and took a step forward. A strong ripple of nauseating pain ran from my thigh to my toes. Swearing, I sat on the edge of the bed and punched the mattress. I couldn’t walk.

“Here,” Tabbi said, handing me a cane.

I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got to be joking.”

She smiled, her green eyes playful. “Well, it’s about time you use one, old geezer.”

“Ha, ha. You’re hilarious.” With a sigh, I grabbed the metal device.

The first step was the hardest, but after a few winces, I got the hang of the cane. Walking would be awkward but doable. Now, if only I had a third hand, I could open the door to my hospital room. Before I could ask, Tabbi was at my side, pushing open the curtain.

“Thanks,” I said.

Tabbi wrapped her arms around my waist. “No more almost dying, ‘kay?”

For two hundred years, we’d known each other, and we’d become more than friends—we were family. I remembered the sick feeling that had stirred in my gut the night she’d been stabbed while Weaving for Kayla. I’d thought I was going to lose her. I imagined it was the same for her every time my life hung in the balance or she had to watch someone stitch me up.

I fought the urge to tousle her red hair. “I’ll try my best. See you at home later?”

She nodded. “Don’t drop your blanket.”

With a smile, I hobbled down the tunnel to the main corridor.

Caelum was quiet, unlike the night of the ball—the night before we’d separated to go into the field in search of Richard. It’d been a good plan. It still
was
a good plan. But no one could’ve predicted how many followers he’d had—and that they’d kill thousands of people with poison-laced bullets.

After a quick stop at my home to change into athletic shorts—jeans were way too painful—and a T-shirt, I wobbled to the banquet hall where Bartholomew had quarantined the sick. Inside, fifty beds lined the room, a person on each one, including Trishna. My stomach knotted. She was there because of me.

I flicked my eyes up and down each aisle of beds, searching for Kayla. When I found her, she was curled on her side beneath a blanket. Her face was so peaceful, relaxed. My breath caught as my love for her grew. She’d been so strong with Lian, with throwing up warding spells and calming me after I attacked Shawn. And she’d led the group through the woods without a second thought when I’d stayed behind to throw Richard’s coven off course. Pride bloomed warm in my chest. She deserved a good night of sleep.

Spotting Bartholomew working at a large chemistry table in the center of the room, I checked in with him, instead. A desk sat next to his chemistry equipment, forming an “L,” and on the table were piles of books. I glanced at the open pages. Some were spell books and handwritten alchemy books; others were science textbooks.

“Hello, Daniel,” he said within seconds of my arrival, his Middle Eastern accent more pronounced than ever before. “Tabbi give you the serum?”

“Yes, thank you. May I ask what you’re making?” I pointed to a dark purple liquid he carefully poured into a large beaker.

“An antidote.”

I scratched the back of my neck. Bartholomew
had
been around since the BC times, but I doubted he’d ever come across a demonic poison like this. Protectors were susceptible to injury; our eternal lives could be taken away by a bullet or a blade. But until now, we’d never fallen ill. He might’ve seen people get the flu or pneumonia, but he’d never had to treat it. “An antidote? Bartholomew, I don’t think—”

“I refuse to believe there’s no cure. There’s always a cure.” Deep circles framed his brown eyes, and the lines in his tan skin had grown since the last time I saw him. Dark stubble shadowed his angled face. He was running himself ragged.

“When’s the last time you slept?” I asked.

“I don’t remember.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“You need to sleep. This poison was made by Margaret, remember? We already know Richard manipulated her blood to make her more powerful. He admitted it to Kayla and me in that office building. In the cell, he told me the only reason I woke up was because I was strong enough to survive. And even now, my blood’s still tainted. I’m not sure there’s a cure for this in any book.”

Bartholomew stepped away from the tables, the lines in his face deepening further. He ran a hand through his black hair. “So, that’s it, then? Our friends either pull through, or they don’t?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. How did I answer that question? I’d already done a brilliant job of squashing his hope for a cure. And when it came down to it, my fear was the same as his: this was a game of chance, and many of our loved ones could be on the losing end. I pressed my lips together and sighed through my nose. I should’ve let it go.

Bartholomew’s eyes glistened, and his brows furrowed. He shook his head. “No, I refuse to believe there isn’t a way to cure this. I’m your Keeper, and I’ve been around for a very long time. I can figure this out.”

With a slow nod, I patted his back and left him in peace.

Kayla still slept when I reached her bed. Seth snored on the one beside her, his back facing us. I sat on the mattress in the crook Kayla’s body made and tucked hair behind her ear. Her skin was cool, which meant she wasn’t sick. Yet. She stirred at my touch, and her eyes fluttered open, catching mine.

“Daniel?” She twisted the top half of her body so she could see me better. “Oh no. I fell asleep. Tabbi was going to tell me when you woke, so I could try to talk Bartholomew into—”

“Hey”—I ran my thumb along her jawline—“we’re all exhausted. No harm in sleeping. In fact, you should keep resting. I only wanted to check to see you were still all right.”

“
I’m fine
. And I told Bartholomew that, too, but he still kept me here like a prisoner.”

“He’s being safe. We don’t know how long it takes for someone to show signs of poison after coming in connection with it. Besides, it’s not possible unless there’s blood-to-blood contact.”

Kayla maneuvered into a seated position and retied her ponytail. She bit her lip. “That’s… not true. Ivan’s sick. He hadn’t been injured beforehand—like, not even a scratch.”

My stomach dropped. Is that how Trishna had fallen ill, too?

The clap Seth placed to the back of my injured shoulder flashed through my mind. I jumped off the mattress and dug my hand into my hair—my blood had to have gotten on his hand.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

I pressed the back of my hand against Seth’s forehead. His skin was warm. Damn it.

“Seth.” I shook him gently.

His snoring waned, and his eyes opened to the size of slits. “‘Sup, man? You feeling good?”

“I’m fine. I’m worried about you. After you touched my shoulder, was there blood on your hand?”

He scratched his short, black hair. Black tendrils twisted down the back of his arm. I held my breath. Not good.

“Um, maybe?” he said. “I don’t—” He gripped his head with a scream.

Bloody hell.

Balancing on my good leg, I hopped back and pressed a fist to my forehead. Seth rolled onto his side, screaming into his pillow, and my heart leaped into my throat. First Samantha, then Lian and Ivan, and now Seth? After Kayla, they were all the family I had. I couldn’t lose them.

Kayla soared out from under her sheets, nudging me out of the way. She placed a hand on Seth’s forehead as his squirming ceased. He’d fallen into his coma. Kayla caught my gaze and frowned.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, swallowing hard. “How long since we’ve been back?”

“Five hours. I woke up around then,” Trishna replied, appearing out of nowhere. Her black hair had come loose from its bun, and strands framed her tan face like a lion’s mane.

A weight lifted off my chest. Damn, I was glad to see her.

Kayla hugged her. “I’m so happy you’re okay.”

Trishna returned the gesture, though the scrunching of her face told me she wasn’t used to the affection.

“Trishna, I’m so sorry—” I started.

She raised a hand. “It was going to happen at some point in time. Glad I got it over with.” She let go of Kayla and placed a palm on Seth’s forehead.

“So, incubation time is about five hours?” I asked.

Trishna nodded, removing her hand from Seth’s head. “When there’s not blood contact, yes. Samantha was shot twice protecting Nolan in Philadelphia, so within an hour, like you, she was unconscious. But five hours after fixing her, a healer fell into a coma. I just confirmed with Bartholomew that similar events happened: five hours when there’s no blood contact, but much sooner when there is.”

“Which means I’m fine,” Kayla jumped in. “Not to mention, I’ve come in contact with Daniel’s blood more than once and never gotten sick. Maybe because I’m—” She frowned.

A chill ran down the back of my neck. Nolan hadn’t fallen ill, either. Though I was overjoyed I’d never have to worry about her dying due to Margaret’s poison, it’d make sense that Richard wouldn’t want to lose either of his children—but especially Kayla. He hadn’t yet manipulated her. And
that
frightened me even more than this demonic poison.

“Anyway…” Kayla continued, her voice quiet. “I don’t think you guys have to worry about me.”

Trishna sighed. “All right. I could use your help keeping fevers under control, anyway.”

As if on cue, someone across the room screamed. Kayla sprinted to where one of the patients thrashed in his bed. A shudder ran through me. At least she knew what she was doing. She’d taken care of me for three days when I was under the poison’s spell.

“What can I do?” I asked.