Magic Bleeds

 

DOOLITTLE WIPED HIS HANDS WITH A TOWEL. “HE’S comatose. His body is human, but whether his mind returns is the question. However, he spoke. We heard him through the door and it was clear and coherent. That gives us hope.”

 

“When will he wake up?”

 

Doolittle looked at me, his eyes troubled. “I don’t know.”

 

“Can you do anything? Can’t you fix him?”

 

He shook his head again and pulled back from me. “I’m out of cures. It’s up to his body and time now.”

 

Jim thrust himself into my view. “You need to let him fix you.”

 

I stared at him.

 

“Let the doctor fix you,” Jim said, as if to a small child. “You’re hurt. It’s not good for you to be hurt.”

 

I wanted them to leave me the hell alone. “Since when did you turn into my nursemaid?”

 

Jim crouched by me. “By now the whole Keep knows the Beast Lord is in a coma. They’re scared and pissed off and they want blood. What they need right now is the Beast Lord’s mate standing on her own two feet. You need to be up and running, so I can walk you through the Keep to keep people from panicking.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere while he’s like this.”

 

Jim shook his head. “You’re going to pick yourself up and take up right where he left off. That’s your job now.”

 

“Leave me the hell alone, or I’ll hurt you,” I growled at him.

 

“That’s real nice,” Jim said. “But first we’ll need to fix you.”

 

Doolittle put his finger on my jeans a couple of inches above the knee. “Cut from here to the ankle.”

 

Jim flashed a knife, slicing my jeans along my right leg. Doolittle pointed down. “Look here.”

 

My knee had developed a large bump on the left side. The muscle around it had swelled, disfiguring the leg.

 

“You know what this is,” Doolittle said.

 

“Dislocated kneecap.”

 

“Good girl. You have two broken ribs, severe bruising, a wound in the stomach, and at least four deep cuts that I can see, and all of them are filthy. Your wound did seal itself, but if we don’t take care of it now, you won’t be here if he wakes up.”

 

He said “if,” not “when.” If he wakes up.

 

Doolittle grasped my ankle. “Hold under her knee.”

 

Jim caught the underside of my knee in his hand.

 

Doolittle’s eyes found mine. “You know how this goes.”

 

I clenched the armrests of the chair. “Do it.”

 

He twisted my leg. A red-hot shaft of pain shot through me, tearing a scream.

 

Doolittle peered into my eyes. “That ought to bring you back to earth. Are you with us now?”

 

I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain.

 

“Good,” Doolittle said. “Now let’s see to those ribs.”

 

 

 

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