Page 7 of Son of a Witch

Emergency protocol kept us on a strict lockdown the last two days while members of the Sorcerers and high-ranking Guild members examined the damage from the gantii and prisoner breakout. Minor reprieves enabled the remaining prisoners freedom for an hour for training and exercise, release to eat three meals, and use of bathroom facilities.

Trapped in my cell, I went out of my mind and kept up a routine of Pilates, push-ups, sit-ups, and skipping to maintain my fitness and work off my frustrations. I could only imagine how stir-crazy Tor was going not being active like he usually was. The guy studied physiotherapy, jogged, went to the gym, and was the definition and model of fitness.

Time alone wasn’t my only barrier. Loneliness hit hard from losing the company of my men in my cell as well as not being able to see Raze and Tor in the brief training sessions.

Beyond the lockdowns, the warden gave our team special dispensation to visit Tor in the infirmary to keep up his spirits, which was how I managed to get down here in the first place. Knoxe and Pascal weren’t far behind, throwing their weight behind their brother. They let me go ahead first, giving me privacy with Tor.

Paper brushed my fingers as I traced the corners of the comics in my grasp. Special orders I’d placed weeks ago for Tor and Pascal as a special surprise. Arrived yesterday. Plastic stripped from them, paper rumpled, and edges creased thanks to the sentries reviewing all mail that came into the prison. My OCD side shuddered. The collector in me wanted to whack the offender over the head.

Bright side,I reminded myself.Bright fucking side.

The comics were supposed to come a week ago, but the delivery had been delayed a few days with emergency procedures taking precedence. Gloria, the warden’s secretary, bless her soul, sifted through the mail, determined to get it to us and spread cheer in this dark moment.

Pumping more oomph into my smile, I knocked on the door and threw it open.

Carmichael, the doctor, attended to Tor, tapping his knee and leg, testing for neurological responses.

Tor lay reclined on the bed in a blue medical gown, eyes distant, skin pale, features broody at what I assumed was the lack of reaction by his nerves and muscles.

My heart wound into a tight ball at seeing him give up. I sent up a prayer to whoever would listen to give him movement, repair his damaged nerves, and get him back on missions.

Carmichael greeted me with a smile as grim as mine. “Give us a minute, Astra.”

Lost in his thoughts, Tor didn’t notice me, and I didn’t want to interrupt the process.

The doctor tested Tor’s reflexes, tapping a rubber hammer on his knee, behind his knee, his calf, ankle, and foot. Each time asking, “Anything?”

“No.” Tor’s repeated croaks turned more hopeless than the last. His eyes crushed closed on the last test and my ribcage slammed from heartbreak.

Cramps in my arms from crushing the comics to my chest prompted me to relax my grip. Breathing hurt. His suffering hurt. My muscles twitched, ready for me to run to the prison’s library and research potions or medicine. Help in any way I could.

“It’s early days yet.” The doctor patted Tor’s knee and dragged his sheet and blanket over his legs. “The nerves are damaged and might take weeks to months to resume sensation.”

“If at all.” Tor let out a wounded grunt that kicked me in the gut.

I hated that he lost hope so quickly. That he let this defeat him. My man made plenty of mistakes in the past. Owned them. But he never let them hold him back. He charged on and got things done for his family and loved ones. I didn’t recognize the sunken man before me.

“Keep positive.” Carmichael rubbed Tor’s shoulder, smiled at him, then at me, and departed. “I’ve seen miracles in my time at the Guardians.”

Tor sighed and clawed his blanket higher up his body.

“I’ll be in the next room if you need anything.” Carmichael made himself scarce and moved to the door in the corner of the infirmary room.

“Thanks, Doc,” Tor murmured, staring at the cold, white stone of the wall.

They put him in a lower-risk room since he did have life-threatening injuries, and the layout lacked all the machinery I was used to seeing from previous visits after my men were stabbed or Raze dying from werewolf venom.

For a moment I couldn’t move. Frozen in time, the memory of Tor’s accident replayed in my mind, the sickening crunch of his broken bones echoing in my body. Pascal torn up and blaming himself. Knoxe struggling to keep it together for the team. Tor freaking out and shouting that he couldn’t feel his legs. My heart shattering into thousands of pieces.

Jolted from my thoughts, my legs stumbled forward several paces, and I braced myself on his bed. The squeak of my boots caught Tor’s attention and his gaze swung my way.

“Hey, Supergal.” Shadows framed his cheeks, eyes, and jaws. He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten, judging by the untouched food containers on his infirmary table.

With a little wave, I set the comics down on his side table and touched his arm. “Hi, handsome.” I almost blurted Superguy but wasn’t sure how he’d feel about that given his tendency for the pessimistic.

Instinctively, he arched his back to lean up and give me a kiss. His body shuddered and he flopped back on the pillow.

“Don’t exert yourself.” I stroked his pale face.

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