Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
───────────────────
CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
❝ Mea Culpa ❞
The double doors were open, and through them, she could see Alec's still figure, motionless on one of the white beds. Outside, Clary had stopped by Jace who leaned against the wall. Giving them their privacy, she soundlessly slipped inside the infirmary.
Hodge was bent over Alec; Isabelle, beside the older man, held a silver tray in her hands. Nico knelt on the opposite side, clutching his brother's hand with his own bloody knuckled ones in a delicate yet deathly grip. He'd abandoned his jacket and his wound looked alive.
Somber, she drifted and perched herself on one of the beds beside. Hodge straightened. His neat suit was stained with patches of rust. He nodded to Isabelle who kept the silver tray in her hands down and screwed her face in pain, anguish. Esme realized she was trying not to cry. Nico was up on his feet lunging for his leaving tutor with his lips parted, no doubt something vile ready to roll off his tongue but Isabelle stopped him, pushing him back. Hodge exited, leaving to tell Jace.
Alec was sedated. Though not in pain, this was something Hodge couldn't heal. He had to contact the Silent Brothers.
"He's going to die," Nico said not lightly and Isabelle, even Esme, flinched. Isabelle gave her brother a murderous look before settling down at the feet of Alec's bed and taking his other hand in hers.
Esme knew she shouldn't have, yet she said, "You're bleeding." They seemed to just now realize she was in the room. Isabelle gave her a surprised glance but it was quickly eclipsed by sorrow. When Nico turned to look at her, he was unable to look away. The front of her periwinkle blue shirt was stained with blood - Alec's - and her damp bedraggled hair stuck to her skin, wounding around curves and valleys like a snake. With her nervous blue eyes, she gestured to his right upper arm where he could still feel the sting of the claws of Abbadon. Fortunately, he wasn't poisoned. Unfortunately, the gash ran pretty deep.
Isabelle sniffled and stood. "Draw an iratze," she told her conscious brother, then looked at her unconscious one. "I'm going to get some water for him." She left.
Nico fetched his stele and looked at it unsettlingly. He examined the instrument as if he were asking it a question: Am I worthy of a healing rune if I let my brother die?
Esme said, "Do you need help?" She knew he was right-hand, or assumed at least.
"No," he said with conviction, decidedly not looking at her. She sat and watched as he struggled to twist and draw the Mark on his skin. His hand kept wobbling or he kept touching the wound and hissing when it stung. She swung her legs back and forth, staring. He made an annoyed grumble and held out the stele for Esme without looking at her. She rolled her eyes.
