"I swear, if I'm dying tonight because of you, I'm gonna haunt your ass so hard, Harrington!"
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah! I'm gonna go full Poltergeist and shit!"
"Then bring it, Graveswood."
"Challenge accepted."
***
In which after years of suppressing their...
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Chapter One-Hundred-And-Twenty-Six: Aftermath
(The Battle Of Starcourt Mall, Pt. 8)
***
The night was filled with the cacophony of sirens.
Rowan sat in an ambulance, a shock blanket wrapped around her. Next to her was Alistair, hunched over and face pale, brown eyes haunted, trying his best to hide his blood-soaked shirt and the large hole in it, right over his chest. Rowan stuck by her brother's side, as had Mike, Lucas, Will, Cami, Max and El—none of the Party wanted to abandon Alistair, had given the paramedics death glares along with Rowan before they were reluctantly separated. Rowan remained—she wasn't leaving Alistair's side for the rest of the night, not for one second—keeping a protective arm around Alistair's shoulders, letting him use her shoulder as a pillow as she gave a lethal glare to any paramedic who came too close and saw the blood. Earlier, they'd lied that it was Billy's blood, that Alistair had been soaked by his blood when Hargrove had died in front of them. Rowan didn't want any of them to look closer and see the lie unravel, see the hole and the skin beneath unmarked except for a star-burst scar in the centre of Alistair's chest, a matching one on his back.
She didn't want them to get any idea that something much worse had happened to have her brother be drenched in so much blood.
Along with paramedics were firefighters, shouting and rushing as they tried to extinguish the blaze consuming Starcourt Mall—turns out, fireworks didn't mix well with a mall and the flammable objects inside it. Rowan didn't care if it burned down—in fact, she hoped it did and it would take the Russian base underneath with it. She wanted to hope it would burn the pain and horror away, incinerate it into ashes, but Rowan knew it wouldn't. It was sticking to them—to Rowan, to Alistair, to Max—too much for it to be burned away in a cleansing fire, was scorched into their memories, into their souls.
It would never let them forget the bittersweet victory of tonight.
Rowan moved her hand up, running her fingers through Alistair's sweat-and-blood-soaked curls as she watched her brother's eyes stare out into space, like he had been since he resurrected—since he told them in a clipped voice that he had died, that he'd been dead until he was brought back to life by a power he never knew he had.
That he had seen their mother, who tried to tell him before Alistair resurrected that he could. Who told him she was proud of him and Rowan, and that she loved them. It made Rowan's heart crack and tears burn in her eyes again.
But that had been a half hour ago, and Alistair had not said a word since.
The sound of sneakers on asphalt came and Rowan looked up to see Steve there, his own shock blanket still around his shoulders.
"Hey," he murmured.
"Hey," Rowan croaked out. Alistair looked at Steve, before looking away.
Steve gestured to the space next to Rowan. "You mind if... Can I—"
