Page 127 of De-Witched

“Help,” he shouted back, falling to his knees. He stared at her face, tracing every inch as panic swarmed his cells. “She’s not breathing,” he told Bastian as the other warlock dropped down next to them.

Bastian tore off his jacket. “Lay her on the ground. You know CPR?”

Gabriel shook his head.

“I need you to blow in her mouth when I say.” Bastian positioned Leah, moving her chin, her arms, her legs, before laying his hands on her chest. Then he pressed down hard, once, twice, three times, again and again. “When I say, tilt her chin back, pinch her nose and seal your mouth over hers. Breathe into her. Now. Stop. Again. Stop. Good.” He resumed his compressions, stopping after thirty. “Again.”

Gabriel wanted to beat his fists on the ground, scream. Magic could do a lot of things, but it couldn’t bring someone back to life.

Not that she was dead. He held that thought like he held her hand, like he could keep her here by force, the depth of his will strong enough to beat back the Goddess and anyone who’d dare take her from him. He had to tell her what she must know: that she was in every beat of the heart that now labored for both of them.

“Breathe,” he demanded, vaguely aware of Henry still battling to keep the blaze from consuming the building. Unaware of him, thanks to Bastian’s shield, groups of people gathered, gawking, distressed as sirens rent the air.

Gabriel barely noticed. His entire focus was on the woman lying so still, too still, when everything she was was energy. “Breathe, Leah.” He clutched her as Bastian counted off the compressions. His face was ashen, the expression there close to grief. He slowed, chin tilting to Gabriel.

Something broke inside him, just crumbled, slid away.

“No,” he managed, a broken syllable for a broken man. “No.” He squeezed her hand tight.

And her eyes flew open.

Instantly she turned, gagging, coughing a raw, painful sound. Gabriel’s chest tensed until it hurt as he dragged in a breath.

“Leah.” His voice was stricken. “Leah.” It was all he could say. But not all he could do. He conjured a vial of Goodnight’s Remedies’ tonic to soothe a burn patient’s innards. As she tried to sit up, he supported her head, then her body as he angled himself to sit behind her.

“Drink this,” he urged, wrapping her hands around the pretty blue bottle as his own trembled. “It’ll help.”

He allowed himself to stroke the hair off her face, focusing on the faintest scent of coconut beneath the acrid smoke. He felt her heart beat, felt his settle into a slower, less jerky rhythm.

Except it didn’t feel whole anymore, not completely. The other half was cradled in his arms.

He skimmed his lips over her forehead as she drank the potion with only a wrinkling of her nose. His eyes met Bastian’s. “Thank you.” He would be forever in his debt.

The warlock inclined his head and patted Leah’s knee. “Glad you’re back with us, Leah.” His words were casual but the raw note in them revealed how close it had been. Saying nothing about that, he hiked a thumb. “I’m going to go help Henry.”

“I’ll come. Rest here for a minute,” Gabriel said to Leah and eased away.

“What’s...?” She turned her gaze onto the building and panic leaped to her eyes. “The animals.” She struggled to rise.

“They’re not in there.” He soothed her back to sitting. “Rest. I’ll be back.”

He found it hard to keep his gaze off her, how she breathed, that she breathed, as he walked backward for a few steps. Then he turned and helped Bastian and Henry beat the mystical fire into submission.

Leah’s mind was still foggy hours later as she curled up in her bed. Next to her, Rosie sprawled, snoozing, while Delilah and Louie lay together at the footboard. Sylvie had abandoned her for Peggy, who’d fluttered around Leah until she’d finally been ordered away. Yet she hadn’t been the worst offender.

Emma had gripped her hard in a hug that wouldn’t end, while Tia had paced the bedroom floor, ranting about how when she found out who’d done this, she’d hex their insides to be their outsides and force them to eat every slimy inch. Just...ew.

Leah hadn’t seen Gabriel once her friends had descended.

She couldn’t blame him. He must be...was there even a word for what he must be feeling?

He’d voided his contract, or word, or whatever was the right term. On the final day, when he’d made it three months, he’d been forced to throw away all of his dreams, his chance at redeeming himself—in his head, anyway—because of her.

She knew it wasn’t her fault that she’d been knocked out and locked up. But she’d promised him she’d never be an obstacle.

Well, congratulations, Leah, she told herself as she stared at the figures moving around on the TV. You weren’t an obstacle, you were a dead end.

The expression made her wince. Dead end.

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