The Misadventures of Anna Cabbot

Recovery

It was hotter than the desert — not that he'd ever been to one — and he panted, his mouth unbearably dry. Somewhere, very far away, a familiar voice called his name. Jamie tried to turn toward it and every muscle in his body screamed, his joints aching fiercely. God, he was so tired but he couldn't seem to sleep.

The familiar voice came again.

Jamie's pulse pounded in his ears, loud enough to drown out anything else. There was something he had to do, wasn't there? Some reason his magic felt too big for his body to contain. Was there danger? There had to be — he was primed for a fight.

Thom...that was Thom's voice. Was it Thom in trouble?

He fought his way upright, burning alive from the inside out, only to promptly collapse back onto whatever he'd been lying on. Thom said his name again, agitated, and Jamie did the only thing that made sense right then. He kept fighting.


Demi Lovato's "Sorry Not Sorry" blared from Anna's nightstand.

She rolled over and fumbled blindly for her phone, answering it without looking to see who called.

"I need help."

Anna sat up. "What? Thom?"

"Yeah, it's Thom. I need you over at Jamie's — I need help. It's bad."

Jesus Christ, talk about a wake-up call. Her heart rate doubled, and she threw the covers back to free her legs. "Is he — do you need to call an ambulance?"

"He's breathing but I don't think he knows where he is. He keeps — he's not fighting me, but he's not letting me help him, either."

"Thomas. Do you need to call for an ambulance?"

"I can't. They'll want to take him to ECMC and that's not a good idea right now."

She put him on speaker in order to shimmy out of her pajamas and into her jeans again. "If he needs medical attention..."

"That's why I'm calling you."

"I'm not a doctor." She pulled a worn t-shirt over her head, and grabbed her favorite hoodie — it had survived her trip onto the lake and a subsequent three rounds in the washing machine.

"Please just get over here. I don't care if you drive or fly, but you need to be here. Please."

"I'll be there in ten minutes, okay? At least unlock the damn door so I don't have to blow it off the hinges to get in." She wouldn't, but Thom didn't know that.

Anna cut the connection without waiting for him to respond and thundered down the stairs. She grabbed her keys and wallet, and remembered to lock the front door only after she'd made it halfway to the car.

It took her eight and a half minutes to get to Jamie's building, and the front door was propped open with a brick. Jamie's apartment was unlocked; she plowed through his wards and didn't bother to take her shoes off once inside.

"His fever is really fucking high," Thom said.

She went to breeze by him up the stairs to the loft and stopped — there was a fresh bruise forming on the left side of his jaw. "Did he hit you?"

"He flailed. I didn't duck fast enough."

Anna pushed her sleeves away from her wrists and continued up to Jamie's bedroom. "Put some ice on that so it doesn't swell." She hesitated at the top of the stairs, then inched forward cautiously. Someone had managed to turn the lamp on the bedside table on, and she could see the sweat beading Jamie's forehead, neck, and chest from all the way back there.