Page 53 of Foresyth Conservatory
“No way, I can do it,” I said.
“It’ll take too long,” he echoed each word slowly, gritting through his teeth. He had lost any sense of his teasing self.
I stepped away from the door with my hands up in the air. He backed away as well, and the next thing I registered was him flying the length of the room and bolting straight through the bathroom door. He aimed with his shoulder, and the door burst open, sending a wave of water with it.
“I guess that was faster,” I admitted.
I treaded in after him, my feet soaked up to my ankles. When I saw Sequoia in the bath my heart lurched to my throat. She was completely submerged, the faucet running open by her feet.
Aspen dove for her, raising her head to break the surface of the water. The way her body limped made my dinner curdle in my stomach. While Aspen raised her out of the bath, I prepared room for her on the bathroom floor and laid down a towel.
“Bring her out here,” I said. My instincts kicked in and I immediately readied myself to resuscitate her.
“I can do it . . .” he trailed off as he groaned under the effort of picking her up from the tub. Her hair was completely drenched and matted to the side, her skin ghastly white. Aspen’s hands were shaking as he set her down.
“And break her ribcage in the process? Move out of the way,” I said.
“Fine,” he said. His tone was so faint that my animosity for him momentarily subsided. Despite the trees’ tumultuous relationship, something in his tone and the way he gently laid her down by my knees made me believe he really cared for her. His eyes knit together in a fear-stricken way that made my heart lurch.
I got to work immediately, brushing off Sequoia’s hair from her face. I stacked my two hands on top of one another, aiming at the center of her chest. I pushed, over and over again, until sweat beaded on my temples and I was panting.
When that wasn’t enough, I pinched her nose and pressed my lips to hers. They were cold—unnaturally so—and the chill sent a sharp twist through my gut.
I moved back to her chest and pushed down again, harder this time, willing her heart to remember how to beat.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at Aspen. He was perched on the edge of the tub, his clothes drenched and clinging to him like a second skin. At some point, he must have turned off the faucet—the roar of water had stopped.
Now, there was only silence. And the relentless pounding of blood behind my ears.
After a few more desperate compressions, her body lurched—Sequoia coughed violently, water spilling from her lips. It was the most welcome sight I’d seen in months. A ragged breath tore through my chest, half relief, half disbelief. She was alive.
I guided her to her side, so she didn’t choke on any more of the water. She coughed and spat out more liquid, finally catching her breath. I held her hair, but most of it had slicked down her back.
She shivered and I finally noticed that she was naked. Her breasts swelled into teardrops as she hunched over, coughing up the rest of the water. I hesitated only a moment before reaching for the towel hanging up by the sink and handed it to her.
“You’re going to be okay,” I said, wrapping the towel around her. She shivered and nodded.
I stole a glance at Aspen. His hands were covering his face, his hair sticking out between his fingertips. He didn’t look up for a long time.
“What happened?” I asked once Sequoia caught her breath. Her eyes were big and wild, and she was staring off at a fixed point in space.
“It was beautiful, Dahlia. I sawher,” she croaked.
“Saw who? You almost died,” I said incredulously.
“I know. I was meant to,” she said. She got up to her knees. Aspen finally unshielded his face and looked at her.
“You promised you wouldn’t try it.” His grief was replaced with anger as he seethed the words behind his clenched jaw.
“I know . . . but I couldn’t help it. It was the only way I could tap into the Druidic power. Since you and the group didn’t think ritual hymns had anything to do with soul flight, I had to try it myself—Dahlia gave me the idea,” Sequoia said. My heart dropped at the assertion.
“I did what?”
“You said that the only good evidence for soul flight would have come from a Druid herself,” Sequoia said, wrapping the towel tighter. It took me a moment to recall the words from my first Research Circle.
“Yes but . . . I meant it metaphorically . . .” I said, exasperation fully claiming me.
“The only way to initiate soul flight is, well, to die. I sang underwater until my lungs burned, and then I don’t remember. But I had a plan to revive myself,” she said, pointing to a string on the faucet. “Once the tub was full, it was supposed to bring me up to the surface. But the knot must have gotten untied while I was down.”
