My Brother’s Keeper

The night is troubled with awful dreams. Not the vague terror of her childhood just a few years ago. She doesn’t dream of the beating heart or the green. She doesn’t run for her life or feel the earth breaking.

She dreams of her once despised brother. The ‘real mage’ of the family. The ‘proper son’ who always did the right thing. Who had apologized and asked forgiveness. Who had pleaded to help, even though she knew he couldn’t. Who she had left with Orrin to watch over him. Who was gone now. Taken.

He was with them now. Not dead. He couldn’t be dead. Not after everything. Not with everyone else already gone. Taken. Not dead.

But that made the nightmares worse. She Did remember the pain, even if she teased Remy about it. Remembered the searing pain inside when that thing held her in the fountain. But she was used to pain. Gerald was not.

She dreamed of him being tortured as she had been. She dreamed of him being ripped open. She dreamed of him being bled while they laughed at his screams. She dreamed of many more horrible things.

And every time she woke in a cold sweat, reaching out for him. She concentrated on finding him. On going to him. On finding the magics that would take her to her brother so she could save him. She prayed to the Dawnmother for guidance.

On her watch at the end of the night, she pulled one of the bones out of the bag of bits Marybeth had gathered. She cleaned it up, and held it, concentrating on where it came from. On the nest the creature had spoken of. On how to get there. She could already go short distances. They had traveled between the fae and here. Surely there was a way. They were no mere mortal men. They were Gods, as Remy loved to point out. And even he had a fae in his head.

When the group was ready to go, she would take them. They would find her brother and no more of her family would die.

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