Perigee [bxb] | Bad Moon Book II

34: {Jaylin}; demon

Hell was the sound of Quentin's breathing.

His condition had deteriorated within a day. A fever of 103, Imani had said. The blood transfusions weren't working anymore and the last one had somehow induced a series of violent seizures that, thankfully, Jaylin wasn't around to see.

The medic with the glasses had been called back for help, and he paced around the room in a drought of silence, recording vitals, taking blood samples, examining the corroding wounds. When Jaylin was finally allowed to see Quentin, a ventilator had been strapped over his mouth, oxygen pumping through the endotracheal tube inserted into his windpipe.

Since then, his breathing had sounded almost mechanical. A breath taken, a breath given, each of them hissing through the tubing of his mask like an old, rotting engine.

There had been a deep fracture in Jaylin's chest from the moment he saw it. And for a long time, he sat there, listening to that awful sound, watching what small bit of Quentin's sleeping face he could see beyond the mask. Reality had been severed its ties with him and he lost his grip on the Earth, floating mindlessly in a desensitized pool of soft-spoken words as Imani and Lisa whispered hushed things in the next room over.

"I'm sure you wouldn't want to think about it."

"Think about it?" Lisa's frigid voice shivered. "Why would I want to think about it? I don't want to talk about this. We aren't there yet."

"I wouldn't be doing this if he didn't ask me to," whispered Imani. "You're the main recipient of his life insurance policy. His only request was that you use the money to buy the house."

"Fuck the house," said Lisa. "Fuck the money."

Jaylin felt deadened. Too numb to cry or feel the warmth of Quentin's still hand beneath his fingers. Something else built in him. Something he'd been feeding for three days now.

"He wants you to be prepared, Lisa. That's all."

"Well, I'm not," she said. "I'm not."

Jaylin lifted Quentin's hand and pressed his lips to the knuckles, and then laid it to rest gently on the bed. The whispers all but withered the moment he stepped into the living room; Imani watching him pass, Lisa staring down at her white knuckles—the both of them gone silent. He moved past them briskly, to the front door of the Watch.

"We don't turn in the front," said Imani. "Go to the back and stay within a three mile radius. The forest is smaller than it looks."

Jaylin paused only long enough for her words to come and pass. Then he shoved the door open and shed his shirt from his chest.

Becoming the lich was one of the most painful things he'd ever experienced. It was like cracking himself open and removing his skeleton, bone by bone. But each time he broke free from his flesh, that pain was less. He could turn quickly now—one fast, agonizing burst into a hulking black beast. The lichund. The reason Quentin was dying—the reason several wolves were already dead.

Jaylin hated the lichund in him. He hated it. But he knew that a distance gained between him and the beast was one less footstep in motion. If he was going to put an end to Ziya, he needed that monster in him.

"We are not wolves ourselves," Nicon had explained. "We don't share their DNA. We don't become them because we are them, do you understand what I'm saying?" Jaylin never understood what he was saying. "What we do share with the wolves is a shell. We share a space with their spirits, you see. You've dreamed of their heavens, surely. For me, it's a vast desert canyon at twilight. These are the places our wolves lived their lives. In times of need, they take us here. We respect them and they'll guide us in the direction we need to be guided."