Boreal and John Grey Season 1 by Chrystalla Thoma

place.”
    “Cold. Huh.” She grabbed a book from her cluttered coffee table, a guide to pagan magic she’d borrowed from the library. She hadn’t had a chance to read it yet. “Can’t remember anything about it being cold.”
    Finn grunted and shifted on the sofa, face scrunching up. Dammit, where was her head? She snapped the book closed and got up. “Hold on, I’ve got some painkillers.”
    She paused while placing the book on the table. On its spine was a white label with letters and numbers. Letters and numbers... With a curse, she pulled the paper she’d found at Simon’s place from her hip pocket. Compared the code. Bingo . “I’ll be damned.” It was a library code. A book!
    “Ella?”
    She looked up. “Sorry. I’ll get those painkillers for you.”
    Missy winding between her legs, she trudged to the bathroom cabinet and took out the strongest pills she had, leftover from the time she’d broken her leg. Grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and returned to Finn.
    Thoughts whirled in her head while Finn reached out for the pills, then the water. A book. Might be nothing. Might be important. Library was closed now. Tomorrow she’d go have a look. Just in case. Maybe it’d give her a clue as to what Simon had been doing the day he disappeared, a clue where to find him.
    Taking the empty glass, she pushed Finn back against the cushions and covered him again. His skin was icy cold where her fingertips brushed his throat.
    “Sleep,” she told him. “You need to rest.”
    “Are you sure the charms—”
    “The charms are in place, and I’m here. I’ll look out for any Shades. I won’t be going to bed any time soon.”
    The line of his shoulders relaxed, and he nodded. Warmth rushed through her. He trusted her to protect him. Hell, she’d gotten him out of trouble once already today, hadn’t she?
    He closed his eyes and dropped into sleep instantly, head lolling to the side, his hand relaxing its grip on the blanket.
    Grabbing a cup of sweet black tea and the pagan magic book, she settled down in the armchair, alternatively leafing through the illustrated pages and gazing at Finn’s relaxed face. A bruise was blooming on his cheek and strands of ash-colored hair fell across the other. That bandana was filthy and greasy, hiding most of his forehead. A hand rested on top of the blanket, the silvery designs she’d seen before all but invisible now. Were they somehow reflective? Well, the lamp light didn’t seem to do the trick; the only thing showing was reddened, chafed skin. One fingernail was broken and encrusted with blood.
    Another sip of tea gone cold and she smoothed out the paper with Simon’s drawing. All those images flashing in her mind... Dreaming about spirals. What did that mean?
    On tiptoe, she went to her shelves and pulled out a guide to dream symbolism, Simon’s present for her birthday a year back. As if he’d known she’d need it. She found the entry and read the following: ‘Spiral: do you feel that things are spiraling out of your control?’
    Ella snorted and smothered the sound with her hand, not to wake Finn. It made perfect sense. The psychologist she’d visited a couple of times at the HQ had said she was still working things out, about her parents’ messy divorce, but also other events she couldn’t quite remember. The first eight years of her life were a dark blur. Sometimes she thought she didn’t want to know what her mind was hiding from her. If it was that bad, it’d better stay hidden.
    Putting the book back, she walked to the window and looked out into the dark. Faint lights glowed in the apartments across the street. It was quiet.
    Finn gave a soft snore from the sofa. Missy wandered over and rubbed against Ella’s leg, purring. She patted the kitten’s head. Contentment fell over her. She looked down at Missy, then sideways at Finn’s sprawled form, her mug of tea on the table, and it occurred to her that, for the first time since she could