Page 44 of Vanish Into Light

Rose dug in harder with the knife, and wanted to do more, a sudden surge of violence so acrid she could taste it boiling up inside her.

But these weren’t conduits, and this wasn’t her area of expertise.

As if reading her thoughts, Beck said, “Let her go.”

Rose did, reluctantly, then both slithered off the bed and scurried away.

Beck turned, and dropped down to kneel at Gavin’s hip, searching his body with a light, deft touch.

There was a lot of blood.

“Perforated the intestine and the liver,” he said, claws plucking at wet fabric. “Heart’s not good, either. I think they nicked the left ventricle.”

Gavin’s eyes rolled back, and his body went stiff; it shuddered, and heaved.

“He’s having a seizure,” Rose said, stupidly, more than a little numb.

“Yes,” Beck said, and he had this, he could handle this. She didn’t have to panic, and she didn’t have to check out like she had the night Gallo lost his arm: when she’d shoved everything but triage ruthlessly aside, and worried only about first aid.

Now, she could scan the faces of the rest of her Company, and see the shock, the fear – in Lance’s case, the guilt. He was already beating himself up, she knew. If he hadn’t let Damien lead him away, if he’d been here with his men…

Rose was already composing her counterargument. Her reassurances.

Beck gathered Gavin up in his arms, bridal-style, stood, and spread his wings. “Meet me at the bodega.” He lifted into the air, and Rose jumped down and gripped Lance’s sleeve.

“Come on, he’ll be alright.”

Lance shook his head, and murmured, “Oh my God. Oh my God…what’s wrong with me?” The last was said with clear anguish.

Rose hooked her arm through his, and tugged. “Come on. Guys, come on,” she said to Tris, and Gallo.

They followed her.

EIGHT

Lightning flashed blue beyond the window, its sharp light flickering over Gavin’s lax features, highlighting the sunken look of his closed eyes, the deep shadows beginning to form beneath them. Thunder followed a moment later, rolling and ominous. Rain pounded the glass and dripped off the eaves: a relentless susurrus sealing the mansion in against the night.

Morgan stepped back from the table, swaying with exhaustion. Rose caught her by the shoulder and steadied her. “The bleeding is – stopped,” she said, voice blurred around the edges, lids fluttering over duller blue eyes. “I repaired – repaired the organ damage. Now to – to seal the flesh–”

Beck laid a hand on her other shoulder and steered her gently back from the table. “If someone will get me a med kit, I can handle the stitching.”

“Right.” Gallo headed off at a trot.

Rose put an arm around Morgan – she slumped against her side – and said, “Let’s get you to bed. With a big piece of chocolate cake, hm?”

Morgan mumbled something indeterminate as Rose led her slowly from the room.

“I can see in the dark, but perhaps a bit more light?” Beck asked, turning to Tris.

As stone-faced and uncharmable as ever, Tris fetched candles down off the mantle and set them up on the table, around Gavin’s still form; lit them with the lighter from his pocket.

Gallo returned with the kit.

“Thank you, Frankie.” Beck opened it, sorted through its contents, and then dragged a chair up to the table; sat, and set about threading the needle and dipping it in disinfectant. Despite the black, sharp claws on the end of each, his fingers moved with delicacy and grace.

The candle flames swelled, and swayed, brilliant red-gold in the gloom, outshined only by the next flash of lightning – and by Beck’s eyes, as he paused, hands hovering above Gavin’s bared torso, and glanced up to meet Lance’s gaze. “Sit.” He made it sound like a suggestion.

Lance gave himself a mental shake, and realized that Tris and Gallo had gone; that it was only the two of them, now.

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