RISEN || The Keepers of Astraela #2

9.2 || MYSTIA

|| CHAPTER 9.2 ||
|| MYSTIA ||

"SIT STILL. I TOLD YOU this would sting."

It was the fourth warning in five minutes, and Mystia knew Eva wouldn't listen, but the girl's incessant twitching was wrath-provoking nonetheless.

"You stabbed me in the hand!" Eva protested. "It does more than sting!"

Mystia pulled her cloth away from Eva's palm, and the wide-open wound seeped with crimson. "And you nearly killed everyone in this house. We're far from even."

Finally, Eva's mouth clamped shut. Between pained winces, her eyes softened and drooped to the master bedroom floor, fixated on splatters of the same red that dabbed her clothing—and the clothing of everyone else in the room. Despite moving away from the living room's demolition, the blood followed them as if every inch of the home had borne witness to the same battle.

Mystia took a deep breath. She should've had more sympathy for the wounded-eyed girl. It wasn't like Eva asked to be possessed by the Dark One.

She held out a hand to Bobbi, who had her trusty satchel open and ready before the goblin could utter a syllable. Mystia reached inside up to her shoulder, running her fingers along well-organized racks of bottles. As her fingers grazed the cork of the healing tonic she needed, she caught sight of Eva's ghastly face twisting in pain. Blood oozed continuously from her wound, trailing between Mysta's fingers and down her wrist as she gripped Eva's wounded hand in her own.

A sharp elbow jabbed her in the side. Mystia scowled, but Bobbi's dagger-firing glare was convincing.

"Just a moment, love," muttered Mystia. "Healing tonic must've gotten bumped out of place."

Mystia flashed a fang-toothed smile that was anything but comforting. Eva bit down on her lip, but the pain flared across her face, and her eyes welled with moisture.

Finally, Mystia plucked out the vial of pale green liquid. She popped the cork with her teeth and tipped the small container over Eva's hand. Shimmering droplets fell around the perimeter of the wound. As the tonic seeped in, the bleeding slowed, and a thin layer of skin emerged around the serrated flesh.

It would take days, maybe weeks, of consistent application for the hole to close, let alone to restore damage to the nerves and ligaments—if they would ever be the same. Healing was never entirely predictable.

As Mystia inspected the wound, the sensation of cloth against her bloodied arm sent her stare sailing to Bobbi, who wiped at her skin with an old, stained towel from the master bath. Mystia dropped Eva's hand, and the redheaded woman retreated backward onto the bed.

"What are you doing?" asked Mystia.

Bobbi lifted a brow. "Cleaning you up."

"That was a waste of perfectly fresh blood." Mystia tried to rip the towel from her hands, but Bobbi tugged it away with an eye roll.

"It's a safety hazard."

"We're necromancers," insisted Mystia. "What part of that screams 'safety,' love?"

A loud groan from Sage brought their bickering to a halt. The antlered woman flopped down on the bed beside Eva, who jumped and brought her knees to her chest. Eva's eyes immediately returned to her hand, however, as she peered through the hole where the dagger had penetrated.

"I swear," Sage said, "you two bicker more than sprites in a spore circle."

Mystia swore under her breath, but the laugh Sage directed at the ceiling told her that the antlered woman heard it loud and clear from her thoughts. Having a Faon for an ex-girlfriend was rather inconvenient when Sage's natural abilities allowed her to read minds without the constrictions of a tonic. Mystia had yet to figure out how to block out the intrusions, and while it had proved useful at times, it was mostly annoying.