Lethal Game (GhostWalkers 16)

The phone rang in some program she wasn’t familiar with, but she answered it and immediately realized it was one much like Face-Time, but probably a secure one. Even though she wanted this more than anything, she felt all the color draining from her face. Her hand trembled as she answered.

On his side, the picture was shadowy, but she could make him out, just not his facial features that clearly. Just as she didn’t want Whitney to know about her, neither did the man who at the moment was her lifeline. She was just grateful that he was willing to do this for her.

“Amaryllis here.” Her heart pounded. She had zero confidence in herself when it came to using this particular gift. One had to learn. To practice. Especially before attempting on a human being.

“Your diagram was particularly helpful. Are you ready? Ezekiel and the others have been conferenced in, but they will stay absolutely silent.”

“They told you I have never done this, right?” She wanted him to know.

“Yes, but you can follow my instructions. I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Joe’s voice was calm and steady, but more than anything filled with confidence. “Your instincts will kick in.”

She started to protest but Malichai unexpectedly reached out and enveloped her hand with his. Just his touch gave her a level of composure she hadn’t had before. Deliberately she looked at him, let her gaze drift over his face, taking in his tough features. She leaned into him and brushed his lips with hers. Her stomach did a slow somersault.

“I’m counting on you talking me through this,” she said aloud to the healer. She forced a smile at Malichai and whispered to him, “We’ve got this, don’t worry.”

“I know you do, baby,” he murmured.

She hoped so for his sake. She could live with him having one leg, but she knew he would still continue to be sent on missions whether he had one leg or two—and he’d go. She brushed one more kiss on his lips and then she moved down to his calf once more.

She laid her hands right over his skin, not quite touching, but she could feel the hairs there rising up to meet the energy emanating from her palms. Once again, she expanded her vision outside normal human sight. It was easier now, she was familiar with the way it felt, and she didn’t fight it. Her eyes went opaque again, that dense cloudiness, a foggy barrier between her and the outside world.

Her stomach lurched as her vision moved through his skin and muscle until she could see the bone. It was much clearer to her this time. The entire bone, from thigh to calf, was riddled with tiny spiderwebbing cracks. At first the cracks appeared a dull pink behind a gray veil, but then they became clearer and clearer, turning into a deep crimson. She took her time, breathing in and out, making herself conscious of doing so. With each breath, she focused on the scorching heat rising in her, seeking an outlet, seeking the stench of illness.

Immediately, her body tuned itself to his. She felt that too, the way every cell in her body reached for the cells in his. Merged with them. Those tiny spidery lines dissecting his bone, weakening it, glittered and danced like tiny flames, ran through the crevasses. She saw the droplets of infection seeping out, looking like veins of yellow.

Her heat rushed over those small streams. Steam rose, obscuring her vision. She nearly jerked away.

“No, no, you’re perfect right where you are. Don’t be afraid. You’re doing everything correctly. Let your body heal his.”

The voice steadied her. It was soft, gentle even. Encouraging. Even admiring. So calm. She didn’t understand how the other healer could be so calm in the face of such a huge disaster. She wanted him there. To do this himself. He was experienced. She was . . .

“The power you have is enormous,” the voice continued, as if she weren’t crumbling in the way Malichai’s bone was.

That steadied her even more. Even she could feel her power. It was impossible not to. She told herself she was born for this. She’d been born with that gift. She was supposed to use it for good. Malichai was not only good—he was the best. The best part of her. She kept her hands moving very slowly up his leg, watching the steam rise as the scorching heat boiled away those long yellow tracks, all that infection seeping out of the spiderwebbing.

It was exhilarating, terrifying and exhausting. Her body seemed to be burning out the infection, cauterizing the tracks, so the infection couldn’t return and then processing it through her own cells. She felt ill. Dizzy. She wanted to vomit. Fever made her grow hot and turned her hair damp, matting it to her head. She felt very weak, her body swaying and her legs threatening to give out on her.