Page 46 of The Spell Caster

“Text me,” Costi growled at him.

“I did send a message,” Calamus countered mildly. “You don’t seem to read them. Do you have the gear you need? We’re running a bit late.”

“I’ll use this stuff,” Costi grumbled, grabbing his bag from the bench.

They both turned to me.

I dropped my eyes to the floor, unable to say any of the things I needed to.

“Be careful,” I settled on.

***

I knew—in theory—that there was a reason Costi did all that training. But it was a different thing altogether to think about him actually going on missions and facing down angels.

I tried to remind myself that the attack we’d encountered was singular, not something he’d have to face again. Normal guardian duties were routine. It was like exterminating pests—particularly nasty ones, but just pests.

The team would wait until evening when the angels roosted, and then several spell casters would coordinate to burn the nest. Guardians would knock back anything they missed while they powered up their second round of spells. It was rarely complicated.

Calamus was talented and thorough. He would do a good job, and Costi wouldn’t be in any danger.

I was aware of all of this, but I was still worried, unable to sleep. At half past midnight, my anxiety reached a fever pitch, causing me to tremble with adrenaline. It was taking too long. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

I’m worried. Let me know when you’re on the way back, I texted Costi.

Hours crawled by as I lay on my bed in turmoil, unable to calm myself. It was past four in the morning when my phone finally pinged: Outside.

I flew out of the apartment in my pajamas and bare feet, only releasing my breath when I had Costi in my sight. He moved with a torturous limp, trying to make it through the mostly dark garden.

Oh fate, he was not okay.

I dashed toward him. He tried to pull me to him, and we both nearly collapsed under his weight. With a grunt, he slammed a hand against the trunk of the tree to keep us upright.

“You need the infirmary!” I wailed.

“Just came from there.” He grimaced. “I’m a little worse off than I thought, though.”

“You shouldn’t have left!”

He choked out a laugh. “Want me to go back?”

“Stop it! What in Hell’s name happened? Can you make it inside?”

He leaned on me heavily as we awkwardly maneuvered him to my bed, where he dropped. I flipped on the side light and gasped.

The left leg of his uniform had been ripped off entirely, the thigh above his knee wrapped tightly in a serious-looking bandage. The rest of his clothing was in bad shape, and he had a nasty bruise on his jaw.

He grabbed at his ruined shirt and cursed. I helped him remove it and found yet another bandage, the older wound from the attack that he hadn’t let heal properly and had reopened in whatever skirmish he’d just been in.

“Costi,” I whispered through tears. “What on earth?”

“It was a fucking massacre,” he spat out through gritted teeth. “They knew we were coming.”

“What—how?” I began unlacing his left boot, picking at the complicated knot he’d made.

“I don’t know. It was like fighting people, Layla. They were lined up and ready. They were shooting light beam weapons—that’s how I got burned.”

I couldn’t form a response as I finally got his boots off. He lay back, looking relieved.

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