Do no harm, p.22
Do No Harm, page 22
So she moved on. Evie turned to what she was assuming was another bedroom. She tried the handle and found it unlocked, as everything here seemed to be. She pushed in and stepped inside. A pang shot through her forehead, like the beginning of a headache but went away quickly.
The room before her was beautiful, but simply decorated—just the basics, and tons of shelving space for books. She moved into the room that faced the front of the house with two large windows. The desk drew her attention first. Most of the room was neat and tidy, bed made, nothing out of place. But the desk was covered with books and papers. There was a spilled inkwell, quill pens dotting the surface. Evie tilted her head, noticing the stacks of books. American law: Supreme Court cases, New York State law statutes, New York City welfare systems.
Fay gave a bark from somewhere down the hallway and Evie looked behind her. Her heart began to race, a sudden feeling of light-headedness taking over. Why would one of Dion’s colleagues be studying New York law? The same thing that her brother was studying?
Unless…
Her throat constricted.
That’s not possible.
Evie stumbled a step, anger and resentment flooding her veins. She turned, the world unfolding in slow motion. Her head throbbed as she stomped out of the bedroom and into the hallway.
“DION!” she screamed. Fay gave a bark of surprise. Evie’s head swung to her. “Where is he?”
Fay sat down, surprisingly calm.
Evie clenched her fists. “Fine.”
She took off down the steps. “Dion!”
She checked the dining room, a sitting room, a smoking room, an office of some kind that seemed to have an adjoining library. Perhaps the chef was in the kitchen. She turned, making her way into the hallway to the adjoining kitchen space when he appeared in the doorway to the mudroom.
He was in soot-covered slacks, working boots, and a tattered sweater. He put down the axe and pulled off one of his heavy-duty gloves with his teeth. He was sweating, his hair upset and upturned. His chest heaved slightly with effort. “Are you alright?” he asked. “I heard you calling from—”
“You know my brother.”
Dion froze and stared at her. He leaned against the doorframe, palming his gloves. “Of course I do, Evelyn. He volunteered at The Madam’s like you.”
She took a step forward, her face flaming red. “No. You know him. He’s been here.”
Dion narrowed his eyes. “Where is this coming from?”
“The room. The first door on the right at the top of the stairs. Immediately, as soon as I walked in, it was like I knew he’d been there. Then the books—the law books. Why would someone you work with have New York law books? It’s too coincidental.”
Dion’s jaw set firm. “Do you have a headache?”
“What!?” Evie hollered, growing so tired of his meaningless subject changes.
“Right now, do you have a headache?”
“Yes! Of course I do! Do you or do you not work with him?”
“Have you ever swung an axe before?”
Evie went silent. She was so stunned at his off-topic question that she didn’t know what to say next. So she took a page out of his book. “What were you doing?”
Dion looked down at his sweaty, disheveled appearance. “Chopping wood.”
“Why?”
He looked back at her. “I like it. And I want to make sure your room is warm.”
She swallowed.
He took another couple steps forward. “How bad is your headache?”
She waved her hand. “It’s nothing.”
“I want you to picture your brother.”
Evie stared at him. “What?”
“Samuel,” Dion said. “Imagine him. Here. In this kitchen. Can you see it?”
Evie’s head gave a throb. “Why?”
“Can you see him? What’s he doing?”
Evie’s head suddenly burned, the image of Sam conjuring in her mind. At the brothel. Having dinner at home. Then here, in this kitchen. His blue eyes filled with laughter and love. “Goddamn it,” Evie growled, stepping sideways to lean on a counter.
Dion was in front of her quickly, his arm around her, holding her up as her hand found her forehead. “Are you alright?”
“My head,” Evie gritted out.
“What do you see?”
Evelyn shook her head, trying to push away the pain. “My eyes are burning.”
Dion lifted her chin to meet his eyes. They were bright, too bright. “Rigel. You and Rigel spent so much time in this kitchen. He wanted to build it by hand and you made fun of him. Told him to just use his power to do it, but he said he needed to conserve it—in case Arc got worse someday.”
“Stop!” Evie begged, her hands digging into Dion’s arms as her legs gave out.
“Please, Cana,” Dion begged back.
“I can’t,” Evie smashed her eyes closed as a blinding light washed over her.
“Don’t leave me again,” was the last thing she heard before everything went dark.
She was warm. And the smell of something delicious struck her softly. Her body felt like it had actually been hit by a train.
Evie turned her head, which was still lightly throbbing, against the pillow. A quick scan of the room told her she was back in the original bedroom she’d arrived in.
In the corner, next to the bed, in an armchair, was Dion. He was asleep, or so it seemed. Evie took him in since she had the chance to. He’d changed and bathed since she’d last seen him with his axe. He was dressed in black slacks, one leg balanced over the knee of the other. His breathing was steady under his black dress shirt and black waistcoat. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, as usual, as he rested the side of his head on his propped fist. His hair was unstyled, newly washed, a blonde lock spilling onto his forehead. His size was always difficult to conceptualize–whether his height or his strength, they were always surprising. Even in a manor, he seemed to take up an unreasonable amount of space. She smiled slightly at poor Carina who had to carry both their asses. Would he even fit in the bed she was currently in?
Which brought her to her next thought: where was his room?
That thought was followed by a throb of her forehead. She groaned at the flash of pain which stirred her room-partner.
His gray eyes shot open and landed immediately on her with concern.
She groaned again, starting to sit up.
But he was next to her instantly. “Lay down.”
“No,” she argued, pushing herself into a sitting position.
Dion sat on the edge of the bed. “For a surgeon, you rarely take your own advice.”
“Insulting my medical skills, captor?” Evie teased back.
Dion paused for a moment. “You don’t seem to mind being my hostage right now.”
Evie looked up at him, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Well I like it when you take me on pony rides.”
He blinked, surprised by her snarky answer. And then, a beautiful, bright, but dangerous smile spread across his face. He ran his hand through his hair. His lips twitched. He shifted on the bed. Then he looked back up at her. “I’ll take you on all the rides you want.”
Evelyn swallowed involuntarily, heat gathering in her stomach. Something wanting and ancient bloomed inside her. She didn’t know if it was the warmth of the room, their closeness, or this indescribable need starting to pulse through her veins, but she whispered, “Touch me like you used to.”
Dion’s expression fell, his head tilting. His voice lowered to a matching whisper. “What did you just say?”
Something was swimming in Evie’s blood, dancing in her mind. She couldn’t touch it, couldn’t access it. “I don’t know.”
Dion’s tone became more desperate as he leaned forward. “How did I used to touch you?”
Evie’s eyes closed, her head giving a pound. She grasped her forehead. “I don’t know. I don’t really know why I said that.”
Dion’s jaw ticked and he sat up straighter, taking a deep breath, and then letting it out slowly. “I made you dinner. You haven’t eaten all day—I’m sure that’s not helping your head.” Dion alighted from the bed and reached onto a side table where he picked up a tray that held the explanation for the delicious smell.
In front of her, he set down a spread of French onion soup, various rolls, butter, tea, and pieces of chocolate. She looked up at him as she reached for the spoon. “You’re going to watch me eat?”
He blinked. “We can talk while you eat. I have a proposal for you.”
Evie broke the seal of Gruyère and smelled the aroma of the broth underneath. “Does your proposal involve me going home?”
“Eventually.”
Evie scowled at him as she lifted the soup to her mouth. She gave a hum of approval.
“Question for a question,” he said with amusement. “I ask you something, you answer. You ask me something, I answer.”
She broke a piece of bread and dipped it in the soup. “Fair enough,” she nodded, and Dion scooted further into the bed.
“I have a condition, though.”
Evie lifted an eyebrow along with her spoon.
“I determine when we stop.”
She swallowed and pointed the spoon at him. “I suppose you’re also going to say you determine what you’re going to share or not.”
Dion smirked. “Okay, I have two conditions then.”
Evelyn rolled her eyes and took a sip of tea. “I’ll start.” She beat Dion’s surprise by sliding right into her question. “Why am I having headaches?”
Dion sat in surprise for a moment longer. And then sighed. “Coming out of the gate galloping, are we?”
Evie just looked at him as she spread some butter on a roll.
He ran his hand through his hair again. “I wasn’t being smart when I said we needed to take this slow. You…you don’t remember a lot. Or you’re not…the same. And I don’t know what pushing you is going to do. The headaches are concerning—they’re telling me that you’re being pushed too far.”
“That’s why I passed out?”
“I believe so.”
“What is it about me that is not the same?”
“Uh, uh,” he scolded. “My turn.”
Evie folded her arms and waited.
“Ithas Gallatin.”
Evie lowered her eyes.
“Tell me about him.”
“What do you want to know?” She could feel her cheeks redden.
“Anything.”
Defensively, she tucked back into her meal. “He’s a physician with a group of other physicians who work to prevent people from getting hurt. They have highly skilled surgeons and doctors who are researching cures and treatments for ailments that affect millions. He was the reason I was on the bridge before I…you…before here.”
Dion was watching her closely. “How did you meet him?”
“Uh, uh,” she mocked.
He smirked.
She dabbed her mouth with the cloth napkin. “What is your name?”
Dion stared at her. His expression took on one of concern and sadness, but he breathed out and nodded. “My name is Aschere.”
Pang. Evie’s head gave a pinch, right between her eyes. She squinted but ignored it. “Aschere.” She tried it on her tongue.
“You…” Dion seemed to struggle for a moment, “you used to call me Asch.”
“Like…what’s left over from a fire?”
He gave a faint smile. “Yes, like that.”
Evie nodded but couldn’t bring herself to use it, to say it. She didn’t know if it was the fear of a headache or just because it seemed so sacred. “As to your question from before,” she went on while eating more soup, “I met Dr. Gallatin through mutual family friends, the Harknesses. He was a cousin who had come to teach at Columbia.”
“Had you ever met him before?”
Evie gave him a skeptical look as they both knew he’d broken the rules.
“I hardly think that’s an unreasonable follow-up.”
Evie relented. “No, I’d never met him before.”
“Had they ever spoken of him before?”
“The Harknesses?”
“Yes.” Evie took a moment to think. “No, actually, when Emily mentioned him at luncheon was the first I’d heard of him.”
“And that lunch was after your train crash?”
Evie really had to think about that one. “Yes, I’m pretty sure it was.”
Dion nodded, his fingers curling into a fist on the comforter.
“Speaking of train crashes, do you know anything about it?”
Dion took in a deep breath. “Yes, I know about it. I helped plan it.”
Evie froze, her eyes darting to his. “Excuse me?”
“Something happened on that train that changed you. You were on that train for a reason, for a mission that you were working on with me. With us. The crash was supposed to happen—–you becoming a different person was not.”
Evie narrowed her eyes, thinking back to that day. She opened her mouth but Dion held up a finger. His turn.
“Tell me more about Ithas.”
Evie tilted her head. “Why do you want to know about him?”
“That’s a question, and it’s not your turn.”
She swallowed. “Fine. He’s generous, and he’s playful. He doesn’t care that I’m a woman in medicine. He truly believes in me. He helped Madam Sophia with her insulin—it was a death sentence otherwise.”
Dion opened his mouth. Evie shut him down.
“He’s handsome and humorous. He’s brilliant. He trusts me. He doesn’t brood and he tells me the truth. Unlike some.”
Dion tried again. Evie didn’t let him. She didn’t like his questions. So she would make him not like her answers.
“Oh, and when he kisses me, it lights my body on fire.”
Dion ground his jaw so tightly she thought it would snap. “He kissed you?” he gritted.
“Oh, he did more than that.” A lie, but this line of conversation seemed to be—
The tray in front of her flew across the room and smashed into the wall. Evie jumped back into the headboard. Dion hadn’t moved.
The being in front of her looked as if he was about to rip her to shreds. His voice was low, deadly. His gray eyes shone unnaturally. “What else did he do?”
Her heart twisted again. That heat, that combative, confident piece of her that she could not touch, lit up her soul. The fear of someone throwing something across a room without lifting a finger dissipated. It was him. And her. “You want details?”
Asch’s eyes glowed like stars, his fingers twitched as he leaned towards her. “I want you.”
“That wasn’t part of the proposal,” she purred back, the tone of her voice dropping. “What do you remember about me?”
Asch didn’t even blink. “You were taller. Your hair was black as night. Your eyes were blue as ice. You embodied your star and your mission and put everyone before yourself. You gave them too many chances and taught me to care about humanity because of it. You could be a bitch when you wanted to be, needed to be. You missed no detail. You spared no spark of power. And worst of all, you’ve had my heart through all of time.”
Evie’s voice was her own but her words were not. They slid up her throat like wildfire spreading, lighting every nerve. “Remind me. Remind me who I was to you.”
Asch grimaced. “I want nothing more in the cosmos, but not at the expense of breaking your mind. You’re not ready.”
Evie sneered. “I’ve always been ready for you.”
Asch growled at her seduction. “I said no.”
“Your body isn’t saying that.”
“My body wants you; my mind knows you. I failed your safety once; the train was my fault. I’ll not risk you again.”
“Please,” she begged.
“No,” he snarled. There were tears in the bedding where he’d burned small holes in the set. His restraint was on a hair trigger.
Evie reached up, her body not her own, watching him flinch but unable to pull away from her. Her hand splayed across his cheek, feeling his scorching skin under hers. “My name, Aschere. What’s my name?”
Asch’s eyes squeezed shut, tears gathering in the corners. His hands twitched to touch her, his body fighting not to take her. “I want you to remember it.”
“Help me,” she soothed, drawing her fingers down his face. He was trembling.
His voice shook as he answered. “Canopus.”
“Canopus,” she repeated.
“You are the second brightest star in Earth’s sky.”
“And who is—?”
“Me,” he answered in a whisper, lifting his shaking hand to finally touch hers. “You and I are the two brightest stars Earth sees.” A small upturn in his mouth. “But you have always outshone me regardless.”
“How long have we been in love, Asch?”
She swore, swore, a whimper fell from his lips. He moved his hand to her hair and brushed some behind her ear. “Millennia.”
They stared at each other for what seemed like eons. She studied the pain etched in his face. And he seemed to study the features about her that were apparently different.
Finally, he broke the silence only accompanied by the crackling fire. “Do you remember anything?”
To be in love with him for millennia? To even have been alive at all for that amount of time was incomprehensible to her. She had no idea why she wasn’t so freaked out and hyperventilating on the floor. She didn’t know why she was concerned with wanting him and challenging him rather than apologizing for asking so many questions and saying such lewd things. But she also knew, or at least it was all she really knew, that she was Evelyn Waldron, student at Columbia Surgeons College from New York City. She was twenty-four years old, not centuries. And although she could feel the presence of something, another part of herself yearning to be free, she did not know it any more than she knew Dion.
And so she answered as such. “No, no I don’t remember the person you speak of. I…I am not who you think I am.”
