Page 73 of Torn Ivy
I drain the blood bag in seconds, feeling some of my strength return. But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.
“More,” I growl, tossing the empty bag aside.
Cathy hands me another without comment. I tear into it, drinking greedily. As the blood flows through me, I feel my body slowly start to repair itself. The gash on my wrist closes, though far more slowly than it should.
“How is she?” I ask between gulps. “Did it work?”
Cathy’s expression is grim. “She’s alive and whole, physically, at least. But her mind...” She trails off, shaking her head.
Cold dread settles in my stomach. “What do you mean?”
“She doesn’t remember anything,” Cathy says softly. “Not who she is, not who we are. It’s like her memories were scattered along with her essence. She can speak, she knows words and what things are, but the rest… is gone.”
“Fuck. How can we help her?”
“Right now, we need to focus on getting everyone stable. You three pushed yourselves to the brink with that ritual. There will be magickal consequences as well as official ones. What you did was illegal in every sense the Office of Magickal Law and Order has.”
“Who gives a shit about that? As long as Ivy is here, we will deal with anything else.”
Bram stirs with a pained groan. His eyes flutter open, revealing inky black orbs. “Fuck,” he rasps. “Did it work?”
I nod grimly. “She’s alive. But there are complications.”
Bram struggles to sit up, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. “What kind of complications?” he asks, his voice raw.
“She doesn’t remember anything,” I explain, feeling a hollow ache in my chest. “Not who she is, not who we are.”
“Shit,” Bram mutters. He looks down at his hands, flexing his fingers. “My magick is dead.”
“Dead dead or needs a recharge?”
He shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out.”
“The ritual exacted a heavy price from all of you,” Cathy says grimly. “It’ll take time to recover, if you ever fully do.”
I glance over at Tate, who’s still unconscious. “What about him?”
Cathy shakes her head. “I don’t know. The spirit sacrifice... without knowing what he gave up, it’s harder to say what the consequences will be until he wakes up.”
Tate stirs as if he knew we were talking about him. His eyes snap open, unfocused and glazed with pain. He tries to speak but only manages a strangled groan, his gaze darting around wildly. “Ivy?” he croaks.
“She’s inside. She’s alive.”
Relief floods his face, but it’s quickly replaced by a blank look that sends up about a hundred red flags. He staggers to his feet, swaying roughly and nods. “That’s good then.”
His usual intensity when it comes to Ivy is completely absent. There’s no desperate rush to her side, no flood of questions about her condition. Just that blank look and flat acknowledgement.
“Tate,” I say carefully, “are you all right?”
He blinks at me, his expression mildly confused. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Bram and I exchange a worried glance. This isn’t right.
“Do you remember what happened?” Bram asks. “The ritual?”
Tate nods slowly. “We brought Ivy back. It worked.”
“And how do you feel about that?” I press.
