Mike leaned in and his eyes went wide, but I didn't care what they looked like. The white shock of pain locked me down, trapping me in a world where absolutely nothing mattered.
“What are you doing?” Mike grabbed Arthur’s arm as he slipped them under me.
“I have some herbs that will help.”
“Help? How? Tell me what it is before I let you touch her.”
“Passion Flower.” Arthur rolled back on his heels, leaving me on the ground. “It’s used in humans for conditions of anxiety and tension. In vampires, it can help bridge the communications between electrodes in the brain.”
“I don't like it. No!” Mike shook his head, scooping my arm over his neck. “I’ll just—”
“Ah!” A jolt of heat shot from my head, through my arm and stabbed my shoulder. “Arthur! Please? Don't listen to him—just help me.”
Arthur looked at Mike, and Mike stepped away with a sigh. “Fine. Just do it.”
“It’s all right, princess.” He bundled me in his arms, warm and safe, and kissed my head. “I’ll see you well in no time.”
“Wait.” Mike blocked our path. “Anything happens to her, I’ll have you drawn and quartered.”
Arthur bowed his head and pushed past.
“And have her back before the Council meeting at four.”
Arthur stopped again, his whole body tensing, kind of trembling. “To hell with your Council meeting, Michael. The girl needs rest.”
I closed my eyes and snuggled into Arthur’s neck, seeing Mike drop his finger of caution before I buried my face.
As the fresh air of the countryside washed across my limbs, the screeching grate of claws in my head became knives—scratching, pulsing. White spots filled my eyes as they rolled back in my head.
“Amara? Stay with me,” Arthur said, panic lucid in his tone.
“I just want David, Arthur. I miss him so much.”
“I know, my dear. I know.”
The curtains were open, the sun brightening everything, but I was lost behind the pained circle of shadow shrouding my vision. “Arthur?” I gripped my head, rolling onto my side in his bed. “Why is it so much worse this time?”
“I don't know, my dear.” I heard the scratch of his curtains along the railing and felt the darkness close me in. “I’ll be back in a second. I'm just getting my kit.”
I didn’t even bother to answer, not even a nod. Arthur’s voice dissolved under the ringing in my ears, and I flinched when he landed beside me again, a few glass bottles clanking together.
He rolled me onto my back and laid my arms neatly by my sides, then lifted my head and wiped a wet, potent-smelling slime under my neck.
“What is that?” I asked.
“It’ll make you relax.”
“It stinks,” I said, but the deep breath I took made my heart slow, and a warm calm inched down my throat, my chest and along my arms—not reaching my curled toes. “Will it make me sleepy?”
“No,” he said from right above my face, his eyes concentrating on my forehead, his thumb smoothing dots of a cinnamon-scented powder across my hairline.
“My head feels tight now,” I noted, watching him sit back and crush something in his stone bowl.
“Tight is good.” He smiled and kept mashing. “Tight is better than sore.”
I nodded and closed my eyes, opening them again to his fingers unbuttoning my shirt. “What are you doing?”
“My darling girl.” He pushed my hands back down. “I'm not going to touch you. I just need to put this across the top of your chest.”
“What is it?” I looked at the black slime on his fingertip.
“It’s a Ginkgo extract; you breathe the vapour—it helps oxygen flow through your blood.”
“Why do I need more oxygen?”
“So you don't pass out.” He opened my shirt, stretching the collar apart enough to reveal my red bra, and smoothed a firm, cold hand over my sternum and collarbones—nowhere near my br**sts. Thank God. “There. See?” He closed my shirt. “All done.”
“Arthur?” I whispered, feeling a loose, spinning sensation in my head.
“Shh. Rest now, my dear.” He ran his fingertips over my eyes, making them close.
“I can't take much more,” I said sleepily.
“Of what, my dear?”
“Of life,” I whispered as my mind started to drift. “I need him to come back. I can’t go on much longer without him.”
He shifted my body and laid under me, his widespread fingers closing over the side of my face as he held me tight, his chest dropping as he exhaled. “Please don't say that, Amara. It hurts me deeply to think you would rather live for someone else, or be dead—”
“It’s not that simple,” I murmured, my words flaking away.
“It is, my sweet, young girl. It is.” He stroked my head. “And it’s very sad.”
I shut my eyes, opening them again to the morning light in my own bedroom—the headache gone, Arthur gone, my shirt buttoned back into place and the blankets pulled all the way up to my chin. Nowhere, in any of my thoughts, could I find the memory of how I got here.
I laid back and smiled, thinking, Thanks, Arthur.
“Ara.” Mike stopped me by the library door.
“Hey, what’re you doing in this wing of the manor,” I said playfully.
“Just wanted to let you know that we moved yesterday’s council meeting to tomorrow—so you can be there.”
“Oh, joy—er, I mean, thanks.” I flashed a fake smile.
“No worries,” he said, then ran off in the direction he’d come from. And that was that. Quick flashes of my old BFF were all I seemed to get these days.
Brushing off that pitiful gut wrench of loneliness, I pushed the heavy library door open; it made a fuss about being moved, and when I stepped into the nook of the little third floor balcony and turned around, I saw why. It was no door at all, but a passage concealed in a bookcase. As it closed, the exit disappeared, and I stood staring at it for a second, wondering how I’d get back out again.
“Open sesame.” I waved my hands around; the door stayed hidden. “Abracadabra?” My lips twisted, moving from side to side. I tried knocking, even tugging on the shelf, but it didn't open. “Looks like a one-way access.”
I turned on my heel then and leaned over the railing of the balcony, spotting another door down on the second floor underneath me, and smiled with relief. Hopefully that one opened without any mumbo-jumbo.