Captain Somerset got into the car. When she looked back at me, I saw a very different expression than the one the Pilgrims had given me. It was a look that warned me I’d gotten in the way of Nero doing his job—and that there would be consequences.
I fell asleep during the drive back. Whatever was in that potion Nero had given me, it had not only dulled my pain, it also knocked me right out. The next thing I knew, I was back in New York, blinking up at the ceiling from one of the beds in the medical ward.
I looked around. I wasn’t the only one here. In fact, the medical ward was busier than I’d ever seen it. In addition to my wounded team mates, there were another two dozen soldiers warming the beds in here tonight.
“How are you feeling?”
I turned at the sound of Nero’s voice. He was sitting beside my bed, and when I looked at him, he took my hand.
“Fine.” I rubbed my head.
His eyes traced my body, cataloging the cuts and bruises. “You aren’t lying to me, are you?”
“I thought you liked your soldiers to be tough.”
“Yes, but I want you to be healed. And for that, I need you to be honest about your injuries.”
“My hands feel like they’ve had an unfortunate encounter with an angry sandpaper monster, my head feels like it’s going to explode, and from where I am, there appear to be two of you sitting next to my bed. And I’m not sure how I feel about that. On the one hand, I’m glad you care enough to stay, but on the other, I’m not sure I have the energy to talk to one of you right now, let alone two of you.”
Nero sat there in silence.
“You wanted me to be honest.”
“Indeed.” He set his hand over my ribs. A warmth flashed through me, driving out the pain.
“What was in that potion you gave me before?”
“As I told you, something to help you sleep. Its healing effects were minimal. I wanted to heal you like this.”
“Why?”
Before he could answer, Dr. Hallows stopped beside my bed.
“Colonel,” she said. “We need to look at her injuries.”
“I’m taking care of it.”
“If you would—”
“I said I’m taking care of it,” he said coldly. “Now go check on Valiant. He seems to be on the verge of another panic attack.”
Dr. Hallows looked from the cold fire in Nero’s eyes, to the warm glow of his healing hand, to the soft touch of his other hand holding mine. Though he sat there perfectly still, I could sense the tension in his body. Everything about him was broadcasting danger, telling everyone to stay back because he was on a short fuse right now. The doctor turned, hurrying toward Valiant, who was screaming about hooded thieves and man-eating plants.
“Will he be all right?” I asked Nero.
“With time.”
“Will you be all right?”
“I am perfectly fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re wound up more tightly than I’ve ever seen you.”
“It’s been a long day.” He gave me a small smile. “I’m fine.”
“Nero—”
“I said I’m fine,” he said, his voice a low growl. He took a deep breath, then lifted the hand from my ribs. “How do you feel?”
“All healed,” I said.
“Leda, stop watching me like I’m going to explode at any moment.”
“Then stop looking like you’re going to explode at any moment,” I countered.
“After your experience, I expected at least a short respite from your insubordination.”
“Then you expected wrong,” I replied, smirking.
He handed me a bar of chocolate, and my mind flitted back to those two dead cowboy gangsters hanging from the temple chimney, swinging in the wind.
Nero has it bad for you. I thought a little fun could cure him, but it seems he only wants one cure. You. And now he’s stringing up dead criminals to let you know. Why couldn’t he have gone with chocolate?
Because he’s an angel, that’s why. And you know chocolate isn’t the same. Not at all.
Chocolate is less complicated.
“What’s this?” I asked Nero.
“It’s chocolate. I thought you’d recognize it,” he replied, a hint of irreverence in his voice.
“I meant, why are you giving me chocolate?”
“Your body just healed some very substantial injuries. Chocolate is one of the best substances on Earth for replenishing your magic and energy.”
“Oh, good. That gives me yet another reason to love chocolate.”
Nero’s eyes darted to the door. A man in a bright white tunic stepped inside the room and headed right for us.
“Expecting trouble?” I asked Nero.
“Always.”
The man stopped in front of Nero. “Colonel Windstriker, I have a message for you from the First Angel.” He handed Nero the envelope, then left.
Nero turned the envelope over in his hand once before opening it. His eyes panned down the page. Then he folded it back into the envelope and looked at me.
“Nyx wishes to speak to us,” he said.
“Both of us?”
“Yes.”
“Good news or bad news?”
“The First Angel is not in the habit of spoiling the dramatic impact by dropping hints.”
“Of course not.”
“How are you feeling now?” he asked.