Page 141 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

I slip into a familiar headspace. I set aside who she is to me, for a few moments, and become a paramedic. This is just another code. I just need to do what I always do—everything I can to save this life.

“Wren, let her head down on the ground and tip her chin back. I’m going to start chest compressions. When I tell you, I need you to breathe for her,” I say. “You’re going to plug her nose and exhale as much air as you can into her lungs.”

“O-okay,” Wren warbles.

I place my hands where I know they should go. Lillith’s ribcage feels too delicate underneath my balled fists—like she really is a Little Bird with hollow bones. Even with the years of experience I have doing this, I’m afraid I’m going to crush her underneath me. I take a deep breath and start chest compressions, knowing every second counts right now. As little as four minutes without oxygen in her brain could be catastrophic.

I count to thirty, her heartbeat literally in my hands as I force it to continue circulating blood through her body. “Breathe,” I command.

Wren blows a sharp breath into Lillith’s mouth and I continue compressions. My awareness flags in and out. It’s like there are two of me occupying the same amount of skin. I feel like I’m going to implode or burst. Part of me focuses on pumping her heart at a rate of one hundred and twenty beats per minute—avoiding cracking her ribs—avoiding snapping off the tip of her sternum.

Another part of me panics as she lies there, her body surging with nightmarish violence every time I compress her chest.

At some point, Bastion catches the rhythm of what we’re doing. He takes over telling Wren when to breathe. I’m sure three minutes have passed. Wren starts to weep between breathing for Lillith. Another minutes goes by. Lillith still isn’t breathing. But I keep going. We’re going to keep going until I pass out from the exertion of trying to revive her.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?”

I know whose voice it is, so I don’t bother looking away from Lillith’s pale face. Her lips are turning blue.

“Fuck,” Aemon says. He kneels at Lillith’s side, right across from me. “What can I do?”

“Unless you have a defibrillator, nothing,” I grind out.

“Breathe,” Bastion commands.

“Is she dead?” Wren sobs. “Oh my gods, is she going to die?”

“Wren, I need you to stay focused. You need to breathe for her.”

“A defibrillator—that’s one of those electric machines, isn’t it?” Aemon asks as Wren bends over to blow air into Lillith’s lungs again.

I finally meet Aemon’s eyes and… Fuck, the guy is worse for wear. “Yes,” I say, feeling a pang of hope in my chest.

“I can produce electricity. How much?”

“Around two thousand volts, give or take?” I pant out, keeping contractions going.

Aemon nods, shaking out his hands and rolling up his sleeves. “Have no idea how much that is, really, but I’ll do my best,” he says. “I suggest you stop touching her.”

I nod once, but I lift the hem of Lillith’s shirt before backing away from Lillith just enough to technically not be touching her. Wren sobs softly as she clears away too. Aemon rubs the palms of both hands together. When he separates them, a flashing spark of power arcs between his fingertips before snaking around his both palms.

“Put one above her left breast and the other beneath her right,” I say.

Aemon nods touching her with clinical precision.

Her whole body arches off the ground, every muscle fiber being stimulated by that pulse. I check her pulse. Nothing.

“Fuck,” I say, starting compressions again. “Wren, one more big breath. Aemon, can you do that one more time?”

“I think I can manage it,” he says.

I nod, knowing that an AED usually runs about two minutes of analysis before administering another shock.

“Okay, we’re going to do eight more breaths, Wren, alright? And then Aemon, same thing again.”

“Right,” Aemon says, already rubbing his hands together.

Thirty compressions.