From the Stars, to the Stars

From the Stars, to the Stars: Chapter Twenty-five

I land in a crumpled heap, struggling to untangle and raise myself from the flooded grass.

"Jocelyn"

Mulusine's surprised shout breaks over my head. She drops to her knees beside me and wraps me in a fierce hug. "Thank goodness you're alright. I came as soon as I felt something wrong, and then they told me you'd gone missing."

"It's okay," I say, my words muffled against her shoulder. "Sebastien would have found me."

Tristan kneels on his ankles in front of me. He's looking me over, his huge hands tracing over my edges and outlines, but at my declaration he stops. "No, sweet pea, he wouldn't," he says, stroking my hair, pushing it out of my face. He squeezes my shoulder, and shifts to the left, getting out of my line-of-sight.

Bronwyn, Delia, and Charles hunker over something on the ground. It glows so faintly, I think it must be an unconscious Dark. But no, the Collectors would have taken him away already. I wonder what else would hold their attention like that. What would keep them so riveted even though I'd just popped back into existence right next to them?

Delia chooses that moment to swipe the murk from her face, falling back from the object.

His skin barely breaks through the shadows around him.

I lunge, clipping Tristan's shoulder with my own. The impact jars me, rippling over my back, but doesn't stop me from crash landing over Sebastien's chest.

He doesn't respond to my touch, the kisses I press to his too-cool cheeks. His body barely tingles under my fingers.

Bronwyn has torn open his shirt, and her palms lay flat over his ribs, like a doctor with a defibrillator.

"What happened?" I gasp.

"We all felt it when you . . . vanished. This sudden void in your place. Everything about you was gone, like death. Sebastien had almost finished with the large blond, but fell still when you disappeared. The Dark took advantage, landing a kick right to Sebastien's chest. Once Seb dropped, the Dark escaped," Bronwyn explains.

"Tristan and I streamed across the cemetery immediately, getting here the same time as Mother, but Seb had already retreated within himself. I'm the only one strong enough to hear him, but even with all my power, I can't draw him out."

"If you can hear him, then he can hear you. Tell him to come back, that I'm okay."

"No, I'm afraid not. He's taken himself so far deep he'd slip away if I weren't funneling so much energy into him. He'd rather I let go so he can sink into oblivion."

As I think about this, the words of my mystery savior begin to make sense. If I want my soulmate back, I have to find a way to let him know I'm out here waiting for him.

"Okay, everyone, get a clue about this riddle. Since Sebastien isn't coming out, I have to go in. Obviously, my having no Dionadair energy puts a kink in this scenario, so you guys are going to have to lend me some power.

Bronwyn stares at me, startled by the suggestion. I could see the possible outcomes already running through her brain. "Joss, the risks . . ."

"Don't matter. I have to get her off the fence, even if it means being cruel. "Do you want your brother to die?"

She winces. For a brief moment her filter drops and I see the turmoil of her thoughts. It would be worse if I saved him, but they lost me in the process. My pain would seem like nothing next to his if he had to live without me. It wasn't easy to choose, wasn't easy to pick whose life, whose pain, mattered more to her; her brother's or his love's. Like Huckleby had said, either way, something died in all of us if my idea was a failure.

"I'll make it easy on you, Bryn," I say, sounding way more in command then I felt. You don't have a choice. I'm going to save Sebastien if it kills me, so skootch over."

It will take all of them, he'd said.

"All you others, give me a jump."

Melusine finally makes up Bronwyn's mind for her. "Bryn, I believe Jocelyn can do this. Show her."

"We should start out as small as we can," says Bronwyn, after replacing her hands with mine.

"I don't care if you give it all you have, and long as we get him back," I say.

"Yes, but if lesser energy gets a sense of you to him, the better. Let's do our best to not trade one for the other."

Tristan takes a turn trying to talk some sense into me. She's right, Joss. If it works with baby steps, that's better."

I take a deep breath and let it gust back out. "Whatever. Let's get on with it already."

Each of the Solis family lays a hand somewhere on my skin, their residual energies sweeping over me like air currents.

"What do I do, exactly?"

"Picture yourself planking against a wall." Bronwyn advises. Tense your muscles, but don't put any physical weight behind them, then sort of throw your will into. We want this to work with you as a conduit, and if we're lucky, something of you will join the energy flowing through you. Hopefully Sebastien will recognize it, and return on his own.

"Okay," I say, replaying the instructions in my head.

A gradual surge and pulse patters develops. First the energy builds up inside me, then it tumbles away, siphoned into Sebastien.

"Not enough," I mutter after a few unsuccessful cycles. The sensation intensifies, and then again, growing from tingly to awkward to painful, but I keep my mouth shut. Being a sissy won't get Sebastien back.

Three more increases later, still nothing. I hadn't dealt with this much energy before. Even when Bronwyn gave me everything she had, she'd still been only one Dionadair. Now I'm channeling the power from three of them, and it's beginning to take its toll.

"I hate to say it, but I think we have to stop holding back," Tristan admits. "Do you think you can handle it, Joss?"

"Do you think I'd tell you if I didn't?" I grunt, my voice sounding weird in my own ears.

Melusine's face crinkles with worry. "Are you sure, sweetheart?"

I nod wordlessly, not want to hear the torn-paper paper sound coming from my throat.

What follows hurts, to say the least. The greatest pressure yet fills me up, bursting my seams. I feel as if gravity has forgotten to apply to me. I could float away, except for the giant pokers shoved through my chest and shoulders. The one through my belly really stings.

"She's slipping under!" someone shouts from very, very far away.

And then I let go.

Chapter Twenty-six

You know that feeling, the one you get when you're having a freaky-vivid dream, and you can sense something bad is coming, but you have no idea what it'll be? Then there's a little more detail, some kind of foreshadowing, and your chest kind of sinks, because seeing what's about to happen hurts your heart. But there's nothing you can do about it, because it has to happen the way it's happening?

Time doesn't exactly stand still while you wait for the disaster; it turns your perspective all wonky, with all the important details in hi-def, 3-D focus, everything else haloing out to a blur.

I was watching someone I loved die.

Or at least, something I felt I should love.

Perfect winter wonderland, with big, puffy fluffs of snow practically suspended mid-air. Vintage Model-T pulled over on the side of a quaint dirt road bordered by a thick stand of evergreens.

Perfect scene, except the car's engine burns brighter than the light of the not-entirely human couple huddled in the narrow ditch separating the forest from the road.

She's screaming in pain,and he's swearing, and trying to console her by turns. Even though I can'treally hear them, I know in that way you know in dreams that they'd crashedtheir car, and while he'd suffered a few scrapes, she hadn't gotten off nearlyas lucky