I’m finally able to find my voice, even though it’s barely a whisper. “No.”
He closes his eyes briefly and kisses the back of my hand while Kellan stands up and pushes the chair back. “Are you sure?”
Huh?
“You don’t have to block us.” He stands next to his brother, arms crossed. “We just need to know if you’re okay.”
Again, huh? “I’m not.”
A look passes between them, one that leaves me uneasy.
“You can’t feel me?”
Another look passes; surely now they must feel my anxiety. My vision blurs, but before I can break down again, Jonah kisses my hand once more and says, “Don’t worry about this, honey. We just want to make sure you’re not in pain.”
It’s one thing to block the twins purposely. But ... if they’re not feeling me at all, what does that mean? “There’s no pain,” I whisper. Just fear. “What happened?”
There’s a long stretch of silence in which I am positive they are discussing what to say, if anything. As scared as I am, though, I want to know everything. “Tell me.”
Kellan scratches the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “Kate thinks you had a seizure, but she doesn’t know why.”
A seizure. Ha. Yes, I had a seizure, if that’s what you call somebody in my head torturing me with some godsawful sound that liquefies brains. I root around for the sensation I once was aware of, back when Caleb was my Conscience, but as far as I can tell, the only voice inside me is my own. “I’m all better now, right?”
When neither answers me, I squeeze Jonah’s hand as tightly as I can. “Please tell me.”
I hate how tortured he looks right now, how impossibly sad and frustrated he must feel. “We don’t know.” He looks up at his brother again; Kellan is motionless as he watches us. “Kate says nothing’s physically wrong with you. She can’t find a reason for anything that’s happened.”
This just doesn’t make sense to me. She’s the Council’s lead Shaman. Kate Blackthorn is the best of the best.
“What happened in the restaurant, C?” Kellan asks. “Do you remember who did this to you?”
Unfortunately, I remember it all too well. I’m unable to stop the waterworks from racing down my cheeks toward my chin when I nod yes.
Jonah wipes them away with his thumb. “Who did this, love?”
It’s the truth and yet a lie when I tell them, “Jens.”
They’re both incredulous. Kellan bursts out with, “Jens Belladonna?”
I nod again, ready to clarify, but Kellan rounds on Jonah, saying, “Jens is classified as missing. Has been missing for well over a year. Is there something the Council knows that the Guard doesn’t? Because as far as I’m aware, nobody’s been able to find that asshole in ages.”
I reach out and touch Jonah’s face. “Re-remember?”
He turns back toward me, clearly confused and wary at the same time.
“At the store.” I swallow, wishing I could just turn up the volume already without it feeling like nails are tearing the lining of my throat. “I saw Jens outside?”
“What is she talking about?” Kellan demands, but Jonah must remember, because his beautiful, tanned face goes white.
“You told me,” he says, words as soft as mine. “You said he was watching you. And I—”
I know what he’s about to do, so I cut him off at the pass. “Don’t you dare blame yourself.”
“You knew he was here and didn’t tell me?” Kellan hisses to his brother.
Jonah tries to stand up, but I refuse to let go of him with the little energy I have. He runs his free hand across his face; I don’t have to be an Emotional to know that he’s blaming himself right now. He’s probably thinking ridiculous thoughts to himself like had he just, I don’t know, listened? No—not listened, believed me, maybe ...? But I don’t blame him. I probably wouldn’t have believed me, either. If the best Trackers in the worlds couldn’t find the former head of the Guard, why would we have assumed he’s here, in Annar?
“You were so sure,” Jonah says, and it’s agony to hear just how tortured he sounds, “and ... I knew you felt certain, but ...”
He’s being so stupid. “No blame.” And then, more gently, “It’s not Jens.”
I’ve just confused them all the more, because they’re looking like they’re ready to call Kate in to have my head examined again. “I think ... somebody is in Jens.” Another swallow. “Or like Jens. But that wasn’t him.”
Neither seems to know what to say. And I get it, because what I’ve just said is pretty bonkers. So I clarify, “He could do Magic. Like me.”
“What do you mean, like you?” Jonah asks, and as much as I hate even thinking about it, I force myself to go straight back to that restaurant’s bathroom.