Maximus - The Key to Heaven

Chapter 24 - To heal and regroup

"Darius, clear the table."

With a wave of his arm, Darius swept its contents to the floor, sending ancient tomes and mystical artifacts crashing to the ground. Christoph's brows furrowed as Cecelia went limp in his arms, her weight an anchor dragging down his heart. He couldn't fathom how things had escalated so quickly. Gratitude mixed with fear as he acknowledged her fragile pulse—she was alive, but barely. His palms grew sweatier by the minute, each second ticking away in grim anticipation of what they had to do.

"I don't know how much longer this sleeping spell will hold," he said, his eyes tracing the bruises and cuts marring her once-radiant face. "We have to move fast."

"Right," Darius dashed from the room, returning with a medical kit.

Christoph gently laid Cecelia across the table, his movements slow and deliberate, terrified that any sudden jolt might worsen her condition. The sight of her broken body, with sad purple splotches on her golden skin and her arm bent at an unnatural angle, made his stomach churn. Her left leg hung limply, broken in three places, sagging like a wet noodle.

He worked diligently, setting her bones with care. Each time he realigned an appendage, he scrawled a healing symbol in his golden blood over the injury. Her body glowed faintly with magic, but it was evident that the worst damage lay within. Her breaths came short and strained, her ribs shattered by Abaddon's brutal assault. Christoph feared a punctured lung.

"Ugh," she moaned softly.

"Darius, syringe," Christoph held out his hand.

"Syringe," Darius replied, placing it into Christoph's palm.

"When magic fails, let there be science," Christoph muttered, injecting her with an anesthetic.

For the next hour, Christoph cut her open and performed delicate surgery. One of her ribs had indeed pierced a lung. He removed the splintered bone and mended the wound with his blood. Years of matriculating as a college student had endowed him with a vast array of knowledge and skills. He'd received his medical degree in 1980 from Columbia, and Erik had followed in 1995. Damn, he flinched. Erik.

They'd finished. She was still out cold.

"D, I think we need to get out of the city for a few days. In case they come back. I'm not ashamed to admit, I'm pretty beat up, big guy. It's going to take some time to recover. If they come back for Cecelia again, or worse, the relics, we wouldn't stand a chance."

"Call Sam and tell him he needs to take Erik, drive Icarus, and get here. When he does, we're loading all the relics into the trunk and escorting them to the house in Montauk."

Darius took out his phone and dialed.

She awoke in the car, running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to brush away the remnants of sleep. It was a tangled mess, like a bird's nest atop her head. She looked down. Someone had changed her clothes. She was wearing a familiar gray sweatshirt that smelled of cucumbers and men's cologne. It was comforting. It was Max's.

Max! She looked up to see him right next to her, his eyes closed, a serene calm washing over his features. Beside him, Erik was asleep too.

The memories came rushing back like a relentless current, sweeping her mind. She remembered the demons breaking into the library, Azazel, and Erik—oh god, Erik. He was okay. She breathed a sigh of relief, but then remembered Abaddon. The pain that had once been all-consuming was now a distant memory. And then Max... a blur of black and gold spinning and slashing his way to her. She looked up. Sam was driving, and Darius was in the passenger seat, asleep. Darius had killed Abaddon. At least, she thought so. She glanced over to Max for confirmation.