Dripping from his temple, oozing between his fingers, staining his torn clothes. Red. So much red. Almost instantly, adrenaline snapped through her. She turned, yelling back into the apartment, "Taryn, get a hot towel and the first aid kit!"
The teenager briefly came out, a confused question poised on their lips. When they realized the state Maktov was in, they sprinted for the bathroom, doing as their mom ordered.
"What happened, Maktov?" Thalia spun back around to him, taking a step closer to him.
He winced, from the decibel of her words and the lights pulsing down on him. Everything hurt and his vision swam. Too much illumination, too much noise, too much...
He shook his head and held up a trembling hand, trying to focus. Thalia stopped, concern emanating from her like an aura all her own. Against gritted teeth, he hissed, "Need dark."
"My room, at the end of the hall." Thalia answered, almost immediate. She started for him, ready to help him stagger to her room. He shook his head, holding a hand up again as she stopped, yet again. He took a step forward, his foot stepping into the shadow she cast. He disappeared, swallowed up in shade.
The sound of squeaking springs echoed out from her bedroom. She turned, running to her door and flipping the light on.
Maktov yelped, the sudden brightness a shock.
"Sorry!" Thalia shut the light off, fumbling for her phone. Adjusting the brightness settings to low, yet useful, she approached him.
He laid on her bed on his uninjured side with his hand pressed tight to his wound. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths. Every so often, he'd hiss a little louder in pain and curl in on himself, as if pressure could make the pain go away.
"I don't know if a first aid kit will be enough, mom." Taryn's worried words echoed in from the doorway. Their eyes flicked to his form on the bed as they fidgeted with the towels and the kit in their hands. "We should call an ambulance."
"No," Maktov hissed, teeth clenched. "Hospitals. Too bright."
As her eyes adjusted, Thalia realized something. Little streams of light flickered beneath Maktov's dark surface, like tiny fish darting around his body. She took a step closer to him, eyes widening as her stomach sank further. What was this? Every time the light flashed within him, he'd grunt and shift in pain.
"I need a witch." In the dark of Thalia's bedroom, Maktov could think again. The pain still throbbed through him and his side, where he'd been stabbed, hurt like hell. Though he knew he'd gotten knocked good against his head, he couldn't feel the throb of pain there. Which may or may not have been a bad thing.
In the silence that followed, as Thalia wondered how to get hold of a witch, Taryn mumbled, "Cherie's aunt is a witch."
And just like that, a plan slotted into place in Thalia's mind. Turning to take the first aid kit and towels from Taryn, she instructed, "Call him. Tell him what we know and have him get his aunt."
Taryn's eyes flickered from Maktov's form to their mom, uncertainty paling their face. Thalia flashed a comforting, if strained, smile at Taryn, before gently motioning them out of the room. When she could hear Taryn's call begin, Thalia turned back to Maktov.
Steeling herself, she approached the bed and fumbled her phone - her only source of illumination - to her bedside table. In her mind, she had a list: evaluate the injuries, clean him up the best she could, tend to what she could, wait for help.
Maktov swallowed as she neared, but pried his fingers from his bleeding side. Copper acridity flooded the air, making Thalia's stomach hurt. She forced herself to focus and gently sop up the blood with the warm, wet towel.
As red stained more and more of the towel, Thalia began to worry her efforts might not be enough for him.
---
Magnolia 'Mag' Cross was not what Thalia expected of a witch. Though, she supposed, that was entirely her fault for having preconceived notions.
Six foot tall and muscular, with her short platinum blonde hair shaved on one side, Mag seemed like a warrior than a magic user. The scars - a long one that curved from cheek to jawline and many peppering her arms - just added to the 'wartorn warrior' vibe. Shrewd pale green eyes flicked over her surroundings as Cherie, a gangly boy with pitch black eyes and a rich red tone to his dark skin, went to Taryn. The teens wandered a bit farther into the living room, discussing the situation in hushed tones.
Thalia led Mag to her room, explaining what she knew. She had managed to get a little more information from Maktov, while waiting the fifteen minutes for the witch to arrive.
When he left, he'd been seeking out a suitable place to shadow walk from. Something happened and a group of people jumped him, roughing him up. They had obviously stabbed him at some point, but he didn't know what they used. Thalia still had no idea how he got away or where they struck him from. If he was home when it happened or still on the street or returning to her place. But all that seemed unnecessary, given his state.
Mag nodded and listened, quiet and stern, as she adjusted her hold on a large duffel bag. She didn't seem surprised, at all. It seemed as if this wasn't a new experience for her.
After a terse introduction to Maktov, Mag went about lighting candles at the far edges of the room. Far enough, the illumination wouldn't bother him, but close enough to see by. When finished, she approached the bed and surveyed the ailing shadow demon. Every so often, a light flared beneath his surface and he'd hiss or groan.
"Well, this is new," Mag stated as she dropped her duffel bag beside him. Whatever was in it made the bedsprings squeal under its weight. She waved a hand over him, fingers twitching as if she were feeling something out. Turning to her bag, she began withdrawing an array of bottles and placing them on the bedside table. "They poisoned you with light, but I'm sensing a low-level sentience in the forms. Perhaps will-o-wisps or light motes."
"Wonderful," snarled Maktov, as he watched the woman unload her tools of trade. Now, he felt as if the pain inside him were a squirming sort of pain. Filled with light parasites. It made his stomach churn. "Can you help?"
"Yes, but it will be complicated and painful." Mag had unrolled a carrying case and withdrawn a syringe. Jabbing the needle into a bottle, black liquid sucked up into the tube. "The light creatures will fight as they're dragged out, which will cause further damage. I will have to heal and detox you, at intervals."
Quiet fell in the room, punctuated by Mag's bottles clinking as she fiddled and squinted at them. A coldness seared into Maktov. He didn't know anything about this woman, this witch. He didn't know if he could trust her. Could he even trust Thalia? Or Taryn? The shadows clenched tightly around him, his heart throbbing. Even with adrenaline and pain flaring inside him, exhaustion tore at the edges of his consciousness.
Regardless of his paranoia, Maktov knew he couldn't fight their help. He was too tired and just wanted to remember how it felt to not be in continual pain.
Thalia lowered herself to the chair at the bedside. Before Mag had arrived, she'd dragged the chair from the dining room into her room. Earlier, she had clumsily managed to bandage his head earlier and continued to talk to him, not wanting him to drouse into unconsciousness.
"Take his hand," directed Mag as she held up the needle. Inside, sparkling darkness swirled. "This will help coax some of the light to leave his system, but not all of it."
Thalia dutifully took his hand in both hers, but couldn't help asking, "You don't have any painkillers or anything?"
"Nothing that will work on shadow demon physiology," the witch shook her head. Her words came out matter-of-fact and calm, as if she'd already thought of all possibilities. "With this nouveau magic, I don't want to risk injuring him further, either."
A groan of impatience and pain left Maktov as he minutely adjusted his position in bed.
A little softer than her other directions, Mag told Maktov, "I'll need you to drop your shadows."
"Why?" The word shot out with biting outrage. Already, his hand clenched at Thalia's, but out of anger rather than pain.
Mag remained unfazed, as if a shadow demon full of teeth and rage was nothing to be uncertain of. With the same soft tone, perhaps with a touch of iron to it, she replied, "If I can't clearly see where the magic is, I can't get it out."
He made a sound at the back of his throat, like he wanted to argue. A pain seized at him, causing him to jerk. Maktov glanced from the witch to Thalia. Pain pinched at his face. He could be forced to allow the witch to see him, "Close your eyes."
For once, Thalia didn't ask why. When she had firmly closed her eyes, Maktov dropped his shadows, feeling bare and naked before the witch, though he still wore torn and bloodied clothes. He couldn't bring himself to watch her, though he listened closely as she moved, preparing himself for the pain to come.
She had taken up a position on his side, opposite from Thalia, with a bag of salves and tinctures and gods' knew what else, placed on the bed beside him. He went rigid as she peeled away the bandages Thalia had placed. Already, they were bled through and needed to be changed anyway.
The tang of iron rose in the air. Blood dribbled from his wound, undoubtedly staining the comforter and bed sheets underneath him. Maybe even the mattress. Maktov felt dizzy just thinking about it.
Muscles in his jaw flexed as she injected him. A soothing sensation spread out from the site, cold and deep. Pain flashed in response, causing him to jerk and flinch, in irregular intervals all over his body. He could feel the pain move, flee, fight. The witch muttered under her breath, drawing the pain toward his open wound.
The witch's magic filtered into his bloodstream, tentative and gentle as it sought out the intruders. As soon as it met with its prey, the power turned hard and intent, coiling around the light and dragging it to the exit. Though the magic made him itch and squirm, it was the light's fight that pained him. It dug its claws in, raking along his veins, too stubborn to leave.
Turning his thoughts away from the little bastards in his body, Maktov focused on Thalia's face. She bit her lower lip and her eyebrows tented with empathetic worry. Even now, he could feel the nagging wish in her head; the wish to look at him.
Sudden pain sliced through him, yanking an expletive from his lips as his body seized. His hold on Thalia tightened, his breathing heavier. The magic had found the poison, melding and tugging it from his body. It was like barbs being pulled out from deep within his body.
Thalia jumped at the sudden commotion, but didn't open her eyes, didn't let go as his hold became painful on her hand. She swallowed, completely at a loss for what to do. Tears burned at the back of her eyes. All she could think to do was press her cheek against his hand, murmuring platitudes like a mantra. "It'll be okay. I'm here."
His thoughts, weak with pain, turned toward her words. She was there. What could she do, other than hold his hand and tell him everything would be fine? Thoughts, unbidden, trickled through his head. A wishful itch crawled over him.
"Please, Thalia," Maktov hissed, one hand clinging to hers while his free hand caught her by the back of the head. He pulled her close, breathing heavy as he buried his face against her shoulder. What he wanted wouldn't leave his throat. He nudged his nose against her jawline, his lips ghosting over her flesh as his eyes clenched shut. "Distract me."
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