by H G Lynch
Gasping, she heaved him off, and stared around her. Sherry was standing in the open doorway with a half-stricken, half-astonished expression, her green eyes wet. Ricky was staring at Ember with something like awe, his arm slung around Reid. Reid looked like he was barely conscious, blood soaking the front of his shirt, the stake a horrible chunk of bloody wood, completely out of place in his chest. He coughed, a trickle of blood ran down his chin. He sucked in a rattling breath, his chest contracting as he made a sound of pain. Ember felt faint and dizzy and detached from everything. She heard Ricky say something in a distorted, thick voice, and then Sherry was tugging on Ember’s arm, pulling her into the house.
Ember barely noticed as Sherry took her to the guest room and sat her down on the bed. Her green-eyes floated in front of Ember, her lips moving as she said something Ember couldn’t quite hear. It was like she had water in her ears. Her heart was thumping a quick, harsh rhythm in her chest, her head throbbing in time to her rapid pulse. Gooseflesh rose along her arms and ice slid down her spine. She shivered. Sherry said something else, paused, and looked almost frantically worried. She waved a hand in front of Ember’s face, and Ember blinked, looked at her, not really seeing her.
Frowning, her green eyes shimmering, Sherry knelt and pulled off Ember’s soggy Vans. She stood again and asked Ember something. Ember looked back at her blankly. Sherry shook her head, and unzipped Ember’s wet hoodie. Looking at it as Sherry laid it out on the bed next to her, she saw there was a patch of blood over the left side. Where her heart was. Where the boy had stabbed her.
Distantly startled, Ember looked down at her chest, and saw, for the second time this week, a cut in her skin, right over her heart. But, while the old woman’s stake had only left a tiny cut, the boy’s knife had left a considerably larger, deeper wound. Now that she’d noticed it, she felt it burning —and not the good kind. Not the kind she controlled. This was, well, painful. Even though she was part-vampire, it hurt like a bitch. She couldn’t imagine what Reid was feeling right now, considering how painful even the tiny cut the woman’s stake had made had been. An injury caused by wood was like having your skin dipped in boiling acid to a full-blooded vampire. …
That thought jolted her, and she whimpered, helpless to stop the noise. Sherry looked at her with sympathy and distress. This time, when she spoke, Ember heard the words.
“Ember, you need to take your shirt off. You need to get that bandaged. Please. It won’t heal like that; you’ll get an infection. Please, Ember.”
She realised then that Sherry was holding a roll of white bandages, and antiseptic wipes. She didn’t remember seeing her leave to go get them. Obediently, no thought for her modesty —after all, this was Sherry, they were both girls, nothing on one that wasn’t on the other — she stripped off her bloody t-shirt and tossed it to the floor. Sherry approached her with the wipes, pulled one out of the packet, and began gingerly cleaning Ember’s wound. It stung, but Ember didn’t flinch, didn’t make a noise. Sherry had gone awfully pale, looked like she might be sick. Somehow, Ember found it vaguely amusing that Sherry had seen what she had, been through what she had, and yet, blood apparently made her queasy. Or maybe it was just Ember’s blood.
“This is worse than I thought,” Sherry whispered hoarsely.
Ember looked down. The wound was ragged, bleeding profusely, the crimson bright and gory against Ember’s pale skin and innocuous blue bra.
“I’m…I think I’m going to have to get Ricky. I can’t…” Sherry shook her head, her mouth twisting. “Stay here,” she instructed shakily, then got to her feet, and walked quickly out of the room.
Ember waited for some undefined amount of time —could’ve been seconds, could’ve been hours — and then there was a hesitant knock on the door. Someone behind it muttered something, and pushed the door open. Sherry strode in and then lingered by the door. Ricky looked in cautiously, and Ember just stared at him.
His eyes went wide, and he made a sympathetic noise, his gaze on the wound in her chest. “You were right; that is really nasty. I’ll need more gauze, if you could go—”
Sherry was out of the room before he finished asking. Ricky walked over to the bed slowly, palms up toward Ember as if he were frightened she might flee…or hurt him. At another time, she might’ve found it funny. Now, she didn’t really care.
“Ember? Ember, how do you feel?” he asked gently.
She didn’t reply. Couldn’t make her brain work. How did she feel? Um…sore? Scared for Reid? She thought both, but she wasn’t sure. Obviously seeing she wasn’t going to talk, and she wasn’t going to hurt him, Ricky reached out very hesitantly, and touched her chest, just next to the ragged, bloody wound. He muttered something to himself, and his friendly, worried face became serious, all business. He’d shifted into doctoring mode.
Sherry came back into the room, carrying a roll of gauze. She handed it to Ricky, then backed away toward the door. Ricky said to her over his shoulder, “She’s going to need blood. Could you get a glass? There should be blood bags in the fridge. And check on Reid; I don’t know what Raz plans on doing at this point, but…” Ricky frowned, his focused expression slipping for a moment, becoming pained and crumpled, like he might cry. He didn’t; He shook his head and took a breath.
“Yeah, I’ll just…go…” Sherry nodded slowly, backed out of the room, closing the door on her way out.
Ricky returned his attention to her, his serious doctor face back in place. “Ember, this is going to hurt a bit. But I have to do it. The wound won’t heal unless I clean it properly,” he said in a firm but soothing voice.
The effect was lost on Ember. Her mind was reconnecting itself to her body, and thoughts flipped in her head and emotions tumbled through her; worry and fear for Reid, fury at the dead boy outside. Then a spark of pain shot through her nerves, and she flinched, looking down at Ricky as he carefully wiped an antiseptic wipe over the wound.
He smiled weakly up at her. “Sorry. Has to be done,” he said apologetically.
She nodded, found her voice at last. “It’s okay. Just get it done,” she said, her voice quiet and distant.
Ricky nodded and returned to work.
It took what felt like a long time, but was probably only a handful of minutes, for Ricky to clean the wound thoroughly. When it was done, he sat back and sighed. “I think that’s it. The wound should start to heal now, but it’ll still need bandaged,” he said, reaching for the antiseptic wipes again.
He, very gently, brushed over the wound with one, and Ember gritted her teeth against the stinging. Then he hesitated, frowned, pink splotches forming high on his cheeks.
“Um…You’ll have to, eh, take off the bra to bandage the wound. I’ll, uh, just get Sherry…”
He stood up, and Ember felt her cheeks get hot. Oh. She was blushing. Huh. She hadn’t thought she’d be capable of being embarrassed right now, but whatever. She didn’t particularly want Ricky to see her braless, so she was glad to see him leave to get Sherry.
Sherry wandered in a minute later, carrying a glass of red liquid. She put the glass on the nightstand, and picked up the roll of bandages. “Let’s get you bandaged up, then you need to drink that—” she pointed to the glass, “And then…well, I think you should take a nap. Ricky says you probably lost a lot of blood and you need to rest.”
At that, Ember shook her head violently. “I’m not going to sleep! I’m not! I need to see Reid, I need to make sure he’s okay! I need to—”
Sherry put a gentle hand on her shoulder as she tried to stand. “You need to sit down and let me bandage you first. Then you can see Reid,” she said softly, understanding written on her face. Sherry wouldn’t argue with her, not now. She knew Ember needed to see Reid, more than she needed to take care of herself.
Reluctantly, Ember let Sherry wrap her up in bandages, and then pulled on a button-up shirt, wincing a little. She was thankful, though; if she’d been human, that wound would’ve needed stitches for sure. As a vamp
ire, it would be mostly healed by tomorrow.
She gulped down the blood without really tasting it, but instantly, everything looked clearer, and the wound in her chest didn’t hurt quite so much. She tentatively took a few steps, making sure everything else was in working order and she wasn’t going to get dizzy and fall over or anything —just how hard had she hit her head? Shouldn’t she have a concussion? But she couldn’t worry too much about that. Aside from a headache, her head didn’t really hurt. Magic vampire healing again. Gotta love it, she thought tiredly.
Then she was stumbling down the hall, Sherry following her, making sure she didn’t suddenly collapse or something, and swung open the door to the living room. She stopped in the doorway and sucked in a harsh breath that she nearly choked on, her chest aching, and not from the wound.
Reid was lying, stretched out, on the sofa, and he was clearly unconscious —whether he’d passed out or Ricky had given him something, she couldn’t be sure. His shirt was cut away, and the stake had been removed, leaving a tennis-ball sized hole, ragged and splintered and oozing dark blood out over already blood-stained skin. His whole chest was painted red with it, some of it already drying. Through the savage fissure in the flesh, Ember swore she could see bone. Her stomach turned over, along with her thrashing heart.
The bloody stake was lying on the coffee table, making a little red puddle on the glass top.
“The dead guy’s taken care of. Not sure what to do about the blood spatter on the wall outside though—” Hiro came in through the front door, ruffling his hair with one hand, and then stopped when he saw the look on Ember’s face. The Kitsune frowned. “You look like hell,” he said, none too gently.
Ember blinked, then just almost smiled. “Thanks. Getting stabbed does that to a person,” she said, but her voice was empty. She turned her eyes back to Reid, clutching the door frame in the off chance her shaky knees decided not to hold her up anymore.
Hiro moved to her side, put a hand very lightly on her arm. “He’ll be okay,” he murmured, too low for anyone else to hear.
Ember looked at him in surprise; it was such a…well, a kind thing for him to say. It was unusual for Hiro. His amber eyes were steady and gentle, and he shrugged, obviously noting her surprise. “If anyone can heal by just pure, stubborn will alone, it’s that guy,” Hiro commented.
Ember couldn’t disagree. She followed Hiro into the room, and wished she hadn’t.
The hole in Reid’s chest was worse up close. She closed her eyes, sucking in a calming breath. A flicker of her nightmare exploded behind her lids; Reid, lying in the snow, covered in gashes that wouldn’t heal. This was just like that. Only, now, their friends were around to help. If they could. But, really, what could you do for a wound like that? One that went half-way through his chest, ripping muscles and most certainly puncturing a lung —even if he didn’t need to breathe, it was still bad.
Ember dropped to her knees by the sofa, and saw someone had put towels under him to keep the blood off the sofa. She never would’ve thought of that. But really, her grandparents would’ve been kind of worried if they’d come home to a bloody sofa. It was a trivial thought, but she knew, deep in her mind, that she was trying to distract herself from what was right in front of her.
“Ember?” Sherry said softly, touching her shoulder.
Ember looked up at her with blurry vision, and only then realised she was crying. The realisation that there was something to cry about only made her cry harder, and Sherry pulled her into her arms, hugging her tightly, muttering soothing nonsense that could never help.
“Shh, he’ll be okay. He’ll be just fine, Emz. He’s a vampire, remember? Super healing. He’ll be alright.”
The problem was, as Ember was starting to grasp, that vampire healing wasn’t a sure thing. Not now. She continued to cry into Sherry’s shoulder for a long time, while Ricky and Raphael —she didn’t know where he’d come from, hadn’t even realised he was in the room until she started listening to everyone else in the room talking around her — worked on Reid. Hiro occasionally lent a hand, or made some comment.
Chapter Thirteen
Ember woke up in a dark room with no memory of falling asleep. She was disoriented, her brain telling her it was still daytime. Sure enough, when she glanced at the clock, it told her it was only four in the afternoon. It was dark because someone had closed the curtains, blocking out the already-fading winter light.
She sat up, gasped in pain as her chest flared hot in one place, and then remembered everything. Her heart rate shot up, and she lurched off the bed, nearly tripping over her own feet in her hurry. She didn’t even make it to the door before Sherry opened it and came in.
“Careful! Jeez, Emz, you’ll hurt yourself. Take it easy,” she scolded, but there were circles under the other girl’s eyes that told Ember there were bigger things to worry about than her hurting herself.
“Reid. Is he okay?” she breathed, her throat dry and sore.
Sherry looked away as she answered. “He will be. He’s still knocked out for now. We can’t wake him for a while; Ricky says he’d been in too much pain. The healing…it’s slow. Raz is trying to speed it up, but…” Sherry shrugged, “Reid probably won’t be back on his feet until tomorrow at the earliest,” she finished, her voice shaky.
Ember felt her legs give out and dropped onto the edge of the bed, tears stinging her eyes. Guilt flooded her, and her mouth trembled. “It’s my fault,” she whispered.
Sherry looked up quickly. “No, don’t be stupid! You couldn’t have known, you couldn’t have stopped—”
“Yes, it is! It’s my fault! I-I should’ve done something! Anything! But I just stood there! As soon as I saw the stake, I froze! I could’ve snapped that guy’s arm before the stake was in too deep! I have the reflexes and the strength, but I didn’t! It-it was just like my nightmare. I felt…weak and helpless. I felt human. I panicked. I got scared. It’s…it’s all my fault.” She slumped, a block of ice settling in her chest, just behind the aching wound. Her heart hurt more than the knife slash.
Then a random thought hit her sideways, out of nowhere, and she felt the urge to cry again. Tonight was Hogmanay. This was the 31st. What a miserable way to start the new year. The past five days —had it really only been five days? It felt like five months — had been utter hell, pure torture, but to start the new year with that…it felt…wrong, somehow. Too miserable, too foreboding. And she didn’t want to see in the new year without Reid.
While everyone else in Britain was counting down to the new year, drinking champagne and cheering and partying, she was going to be sitting clutching Reid’s hand, praying for him to wake up. And if he didn’t…if he didn’t wake up…
No. She couldn’t even think about it. Thinking about that possibility gave her the same feeling she got whenever she thought about Sherry dying, whenever the memory struck her, unbidden and unwanted.
“Ember?” Sherry asked tentatively, seeing that Ember wasn’t really here anymore.
Blinking, Ember came out of her chilling thoughts, and frowned. Unsure why it really mattered so much, she said the first thing that came to her mind. “It’s Hogmanay tonight.”
Sherry looked startled. The green-eyed girl frowned, too, and counted the days off on her fingers. A deep line formed between her furrowed brows, and met Ember’s eyes with sad green ones.
“You’re right,” she paused, then added, “this isn’t how we should be bringing in the new year.”
Ember nodded. “My thoughts exactly. I’m sure it’s bad luck to start a year like this. The start of the year is supposed to refresh everything, give everyone a clean slate. If we start it like this…Isn’t that like saying our whole year is going to be like this? Maybe I’m just superstitious, but after everything we’ve seen…” She shook her head, not quite sure how to explain it. Normally, Hogmanay wasn’t a big deal to her. She’d watch Jools Holland’s Hootenanny on TV, toast a glass —of Coke — with her parents, hug her cat, and go to
bed. This year though…it was different. With what they’d been through in the last five months, didn’t they deserve a fresh start? Oh, she wasn’t stupid; she knew the worst was yet to come. She could feel it. This war with The Society was going somewhere, and that somewhere was going to be ugly and bloody. But still…
“We should do something. Make the new year a little less…dismal, than its heading for,” Sherry said, her voice taking on a bit of life.
Ember nodded slowly, but guilt returned to gnaw at her.
It wasn’t right to celebrate while Reid was…Well, while the circumstances were what they were. But then again, it was precisely because things were the way they were that they needed to do this. They needed to celebrate while the rest of the world did, too. If they didn’t, it only set them further apart from it all. And if they couldn’t find an ounce of cheer on the biggest holiday of the year, there was no hope for them really.
So, putting aside all the heartache and pain and worry and anger and every other bad feeling and thought, she and Sherry began planning. And the whole time, Ember wished for Reid to wake up before midnight so that she could see in the new year with him, wounded or not.
A half hour later, they were pulling on their shoes and jumpers, getting ready to make a run to the shop for some supplies. Ember reached for her mobile on the nightstand and spotted a glint of metal. Her hand went instinctively to her throat, and she frowned. The gold necklace, with the sapphire firefly pendant, lay on the white surface of the nightstand, sparkling at her. She’d forgotten to put it on yesterday morning in all the fuss over Raphael’s arrival. Now it winked in the dim light, beckoning her to put it on. She did, fastening the clasp carefully. The cool stone settled at her collarbones, and she brushed her fingers over it almost absently.
