Salve

This book follows Tourniquet but can be read as a stand-alone. It will begin updating in April.

Xavier knew that he was going to die. He had Grade 3 brain cancer, and he was surprised that he could still think properly. He did have to quit the job that he had dedicated most of his life to. Thirty-five years old and nothing to show for it, but what? All those diplomas and medals. His cars. His mansion.

In the end, they would do nothing to comfort him. They could cram the coffin in his grave with his belongings, but he wouldn’t be able to bring them to where he should be going.

Where exactly was he going? He wasn’t quite sure heaven or hell was where half-breeds like him go. His mother was a witch-shifter and his father a scientist. But they couldn’t possibly help him now. They had just died a few months before he was diagnosed. It was a plane crash of all things. Some people found it strange and unfair that a couple who had been known to have saved possibly thousands of people from a plague-like disease decades before could die just like that.

It was a stormy night, they said.

Of course, it should be.

There was something strange about that day, how the world looked like it was being ripped apart. In other parts of the country, there were other crashes, buildings imploding, and trains derailing. The death toll was high, but even the top scientists couldn’t point out one single reason. Despite these disasters, he had other things on his dying mind.

Dr. Xavier Arden was an oncologist, but he couldn’t even heal himself. His most trusted colleague. Dr. Robert Sheridan was at least there for him. Through everything. There was something very wrong with his life and his terrible luck. Two years before, he lost his fiancée Rita to suicide, and of course, she had to be pregnant. Two months. They weren’t really checking because they were willing to welcome every child that would come.

The grieving doctor racked his brains for whatever reason Rita would have to take her life and couldn’t find any. They were so happy. She was a nutritionist who knew how to take care of herself. She had a sunny disposition. After the deaths came the diagnosis. It was a goddamn Rube Goldberg machine or domino effect. Once one thing had been set off, the rest would topple down. There was no stopping it.

Xavier Arden knew that he was going to die. So, he thought he should do something about it. Take control. He took out his black BMW and thought that gassing himself to death was not the answer. That would be too pathetic and lame. All his life, people thought that just because he was smart and wore glasses and dress shirts, he was a pushover. Okay, maybe he was. He had been too happy in his life that he thought it was the least he could do. He was luckier than most people.

Not anymore.

He was going to fucking kill himself by driving his favorite car and crashing it into a large truck. He had done some calculations on the momentum he needed to die while not killing the other person.

“Who is he?” a child’s voice echoed in his ear.

He could swear he had made contact with the other side, the place where his mother’s family lived, but it was probably his damn head making up stories as his brain slowly died. If Rita were here, he could have probably held on. He could have probably found brain cancer experts and endured the painful treatments. He would do anything, especially for Rita and their unborn child.

Sometimes, the giggling would be too much. His eyes could even discern a beautiful garden across a watery wall.

“Hallucinations,” his friend Robert had said.

“But my tumors are not pressing on my temporal lobe,” Xavier protested, but gave up as he saw his friend’s piercing look.

“Take care of yourself, Xavi. I mean it.”

Xavier was annoyed at how Robert thought the fact he wore shirts more and grew his beard was a sign he wasn’t taking care of himself anymore.

“Okay,” he raised his hands up in surrender.

Now, there were other ways to raise your hands in surrender. Like right now. Xavier revved the engine of his BMW as soon as he saw a truck on the other lane. Then, he moved more to the left so that he could place himself right in the way of danger, right in the way of death.

Then, he felt that expected momentum, his longish blond hair flying to the back. A piece of paper tucked in the sun visor for some reason hit his face. He braced for the excruciating pain, but only saw black.

Bliss.

Somebody was shaking Xavier’s arm.

“Mmm?”

“Are you alright, my lord?”

“Excuse me?” he asked.

He opened his bleary eyes and saw a young woman peering at him through his side window. She had a light caramel complexion and curly black hair held in one ponytail. Hazel eyes peered at him curiously.

“Your head is bleeding,” she said, pointing at him.

Xavier reached out to touch his head and felt the damp. It wasn’t a lot. He wished he should have just died quickly rather than worry if he was dying an even more excruciating death.

“Let me die,” he begged the young woman, who was perhaps in her early twenties. He felt a pang when he remembered how optimistic and innocent he was at that age. “Fast, please.”

“I can’t do that,” the young woman said in a melodious, calm voice that belied her age. The young women he knew would be screaming or calling for help. This one didn’t. Instead, she tentatively opened the car door, fussing a bit as if she didn’t know how to. Finally, she managed, and she placed her hand on his head. She muttered some strange words in a different language.

“What are you?” he asked in wonder as some of the pain subsided.

“I’m a healer. My name is Althea.”

The doctor looked at what seemed to be a woman practicing an earlier version of his profession and wondered if she could take him to Magda, Simon, or Ardere - or if he had completely lost his mind.