Feverborn (Fever #8) - Karen Marie Moning Page 0,128
for five years? I didn’t say. However crazy it was, it had gotten her through. Who was I to judge?
And now here she was, strapped to a table, and the part of her the Sweeper wanted to work on was her heart—that amazing, luminous, live-out-loud in every possible color part of her that, given enough time, could heal and become luminous again.
But not once the Sweeper had worked on it.
I didn’t think for a moment it intended to make her more caring and emotional. I was pretty sure if either of us walked out of here after having been “fixed,” we wouldn’t be remotely the same, probably some Borg-like creature, a distant, collective automaton. I shuddered at the thought of losing my individuality, especially since I’d been altered to live a very long time, with my personality blotted out by the stamp of something that fancied itself an improver. How dare anything tamper with our innate structure? Who the hell was it to decide what was right and wrong with us?
And Dani—so unique, complex, and brilliant—what might it turn her into?
I closed my eyes. Tears seeped out the corners. “Can you forgive me?”
“I keep telling you, you didn’t do anything to forgive.” Then after a long pause she said, “Can you forgive me, Mac?” And I knew she meant Alina.
“I keep telling you—” I said.
We both sort of laughed then, and I cried harder, silently. We’d had to be tied up in the same room together to finally say what we’d needed to say.
The Sweeper was right. My brain was flawed. It couldn’t be relied upon. My heart would always overrule it. Like it had when I’d been determined to bring Barrons back from the dead. Like it quite possibly had in bringing Alina back. There was no way Dani was getting worked on. I would never let it happen. No matter the cost. Right or wrong, wise or foolish, liberating or damning, I wouldn’t allow the Sweeper to harm her.
“I don’t like how quiet you are, Mac,” she whispered. “What are you thinking in that messed up head of yours? It’s your brain, isn’t it?”
I must have made a sound of irritation because she sort of snickered.
“I knew it,” she said. “It’s planning to fix your brain!”
“It’s not funny.”
“It is, too. Admit it,” she said. “We’ve been analyzed by a pile of junk that looks like it’s going to fall apart if it takes one wrong step, and found lacking. My heart. Your head.”
I snorted. It was kind of funny in a really weird and not at all funny way.
“You’ll notice it thinks my brain is perfect,” she said smugly.
“Yeah, well, it thinks my heart is better than yours.”
“It is.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Well, my brain’s definitely better than yours,” she said lightly, and I was struck by the realization that cold, distant Jada was teasing.
“You do realize we’re in mortal danger right now,” I reminded.
“You know what Shazam did for me that was one of the best things of all? He kept it light no matter how dark it got.”
Again I winced. I didn’t know how to talk to her about her stuffed-animal delusion. I said nothing.
“So, what’s going on in that badly highlighted head of yours? Have you tried olive oil, by the way? You aren’t over there thinking about trying to do something with the Sinsar Dubh, are you?”
I wasn’t about to defend or argue. It wasn’t open to debate. Not with her. She was the reason I was going to do it. “Of course I tried olive oil. The paint penetrated the hair shaft,” I said irritably. “It’ll come out eventually.”
“You think you can use its power without it destroying you?”
“What do you think?” I evaded.
“I think the odds are high that’s a great big no.”
“Dani would have risked it.”
“There was a time when I”—she emphasized the pronoun—“didn’t understand the price you can end up paying.”
“You mean going through the Silvers,” I said.
“Coming back,” she whispered. “That was the highest price of all.”
“Got any better ideas?” I said flatly.
Long pause, then, “No.”
I closed my eyes and reached for my inner lake. She was never paying another price. Not if I could help it, and I could. And maybe I’d be just fine.
“Mac, I need you to promise me something,” she whispered urgently.
“Anything,” I said, walking out to greet the still black waters in my mind. They didn’t try to rush up and drown me this time. The surface was serene, placid, inviting, no hint of an undertow.