Feverborn
Page 103

I winced and closed my eyes. I really hadn’t wanted to hear that. “Jada—”
“If you’re going to tell me you’re sorry again, stow it. It was my feet that took me where I went. That night and tonight. We make our own choices.”
“And there’s your responsibility dysmorphia showing again,” I said coolly.
“Responsibility dysmorphia is you being so arrogant you think your actions are the only ones that count. You chased me. I ran. That’s two people doing two things. We can split it fifty/fifty if you want. I planned on going Fae-side anyway. I was hungry for adventure. I never thought ahead. I lived in the moment. You weren’t responsible for that.”
I remembered her laughing as she’d leapt into the mirror, deep from the belly, no fear. “I should have come after you.”
“I would have darted into the nearest mirror in the hall. You know what those were? They showed pretty, happy places, sunny islands with white castles on sand. It took me a while to figure out what was on the other side wasn’t what they showed. Barrons was right. You following me would have killed me.”
“You know about that?”
“Lor told me. And once I’d gone through that first Silver, you had no chance of finding me. There are billions of portals in that hall, Mac. That’s not a needle in a haystack—that’s a billion needles in a gazillion haystacks.”
“But you lost so many years,” I whispered.
“There you go again. I didn’t lose them. I lived them. I wouldn’t undo a bit of it. It made me who I am. I like who I am.”
That hadn’t been how it looked at the abbey, and I told her that.
“It’s hard to be alone,” she said. “You do what makes survival possible. Otherwise you don’t make it.”
Like talking to the equivalent of a ball for five years? I didn’t say. However crazy it was, it had gotten her through. Who was I to judge?
And now here she was, strapped to a table, and the part of her the Sweeper wanted to work on was her heart—that amazing, luminous, live-out-loud in every possible color part of her that, given enough time, could heal and become luminous again.
But not once the Sweeper had worked on it.
I didn’t think for a moment it intended to make her more caring and emotional. I was pretty sure if either of us walked out of here after having been “fixed,” we wouldn’t be remotely the same, probably some Borg-like creature, a distant, collective automaton. I shuddered at the thought of losing my individuality, especially since I’d been altered to live a very long time, with my personality blotted out by the stamp of something that fancied itself an improver. How dare anything tamper with our innate structure? Who the hell was it to decide what was right and wrong with us?
And Dani—so unique, complex, and brilliant—what might it turn her into?
I closed my eyes. Tears seeped out the corners. “Can you forgive me?”
“I keep telling you, you didn’t do anything to forgive.” Then after a long pause she said, “Can you forgive me, Mac?” And I knew she meant Alina.
“I keep telling you—” I said.
We both sort of laughed then, and I cried harder, silently. We’d had to be tied up in the same room together to finally say what we’d needed to say.
The Sweeper was right. My brain was flawed. It couldn’t be relied upon. My heart would always overrule it. Like it had when I’d been determined to bring Barrons back from the dead. Like it quite possibly had in bringing Alina back. There was no way Dani was getting worked on. I would never let it happen. No matter the cost. Right or wrong, wise or foolish, liberating or damning, I wouldn’t allow the Sweeper to harm her.
“I don’t like how quiet you are, Mac,” she whispered. “What are you thinking in that messed up head of yours? It’s your brain, isn’t it?”
I must have made a sound of irritation because she sort of snickered.
“I knew it,” she said. “It’s planning to fix your brain!”
“It’s not funny.”
“It is, too. Admit it,” she said. “We’ve been analyzed by a pile of junk that looks like it’s going to fall apart if it takes one wrong step, and found lacking. My heart. Your head.”
I snorted. It was kind of funny in a really weird and not at all funny way.
“You’ll notice it thinks my brain is perfect,” she said smugly.
“Yeah, well, it thinks my heart is better than yours.”
“It is.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Well, my brain’s definitely better than yours,” she said lightly, and I was struck by the realization that cold, distant Jada was teasing.
“You do realize we’re in mortal danger right now,” I reminded.
“You know what Shazam did for me that was one of the best things of all? He kept it light no matter how dark it got.”
Again I winced. I didn’t know how to talk to her about her stuffed-animal delusion. I said nothing.
“So, what’s going on in that badly highlighted head of yours? Have you tried olive oil, by the way? You aren’t over there thinking about trying to do something with the Sinsar Dubh, are you?”
I wasn’t about to defend or argue. It wasn’t open to debate. Not with her. She was the reason I was going to do it. “Of course I tried olive oil. The paint penetrated the hair shaft,” I said irritably. “It’ll come out eventually.”