They stayed in the living room for a while, talking about what their next step should be in regard to John and the pestilents, but not much could be decided. Grey wasn’t surprised that they all agreed that the bastard’s truce couldn’t be trusted, but they didn’t know what to do beyond that. They hadn’t tried to find where the pestilents were hiding now because they weren’t at full strength to launch yet another offensive. Calder was still learning his powers, and Grey had no sight. If they were going to take on John, they needed a way to free any humans from his spells.
“I know this sounds like a shit answer, but I say for now, we wait,” Clay said. The floor creaked, and Grey could imagine him shifting from one foot to the other as he scowled in thought. “Wiley has the last ingredients for the healing spell on the way, and we’ve got yet another Weaver to add power to the spell. We wait to see if we can get Grey’s sight back, and with it his powers.”
“And if I don’t get my powers back?” Grey asked.
“We’ll figure out a solution when we come to that crossing,” Clay replied in a hard voice.
“Wiley, what if you start looking through the Soul Weaver journals for ways to maybe access my powers without my sight?” Grey suggested.
It sounded like a little gasp escaped the young artist. “You want me to stop looking for ways to heal you.”
“I’m not going to turn down a solution if you find it, but maybe we need to consider that I might be permanently blind. The Circle still needs a Soul Weaver, and right now, I’m fucking useless. Waiting around for my next incarnation isn’t the best option—”
“It’s not a fucking option at all!” Cort snapped from beside him. It was easily the angriest he’d ever heard the man. He was practically vibrating with anger and fear.
Grey picked up the hand clamped on his thigh and brought his knuckles to his lips. “No, it’s not an option. I’m not leaving you. I’m just saying that my powers are currently trapped in me. We need to find a way to access them, whether by fixing my eyes or finding another way.”
Cort scooted a little closer, his fingers threading with Grey’s to tightly hold his hand. “Not a fucking option,” Cort mumbled under his breath, and Grey could only smile like an idiot.
“So…first we try the healing spell. Wiley, when are the last of the ingredients due to arrive?” Clay said, and Grey swore there was barely suppressed laughter in his voice.
Wiley made an annoyed little moan. “I don’t know. The shipping is all screwy right now. They were supposed to arrive yesterday, but now it’s saying that they’ll be here in three days. So anytime between yesterday and three days from now.”
“Got it.”
“If we’re going to start doing these spells more often, then I vote to build a greenhouse in the backyard, so we can start growing some of this weird stuff on our own,” Wiley said.
“You gonna be the official keeper of the weird stuff?” Lucien teased.
“Sure. But I’ll let the Earth Weaver help too.”
“So kind of you,” Clay muttered. He cleared his throat and started again. “Spell and then we come up with a new plan.”
The Circle was in agreement, and they lingered in the family room for a little while longer, talking and speculating. When his head started to throb again, Grey excused himself. He and Cort shuffled back to his apartment. He was tempted to take another pill, but just being alone with Cort seemed to ease the pressure in his head. They silently undressed and climbed into bed, wearing only their briefs.
While just the touch of Cort’s skin and the brush of his fingers usually lit a fire within him, things were different this time. He only wanted to be held. And there was something heavy in Cort’s silence that said he needed the same thing.
Tangled in each other’s arms, chests pressed together so Grey could feel the beat of Cort’s heart, he finally felt at peace. The anguish over the death of his brothers and the failure of the last Soul Weaver still weighed heavily on him, but he could breathe when he was holding Cort and blanketed by the silence of their cozy apartment.
And he had started to think of it as theirs. It didn’t make a damn bit of sense. Cort hadn’t moved in. He’d slept in there only a couple of times, but the man’s personal scent lingered in all the rooms. He wanted this space to be theirs. Not his alone.
“What are you thinking?” Grey murmured.
He could feel Cort’s lips spread into a smile where they were pressed against his shoulder. “You don’t know, Mr. Mind Reader? I’m beginning to wonder exactly how many thoughts you can hear and don’t mention.”