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“I see you’re feeling better.” Dr. Shea approached the bed and took my pulse manually, then gave the monitors connected to me a glance, as if simply wanting to confirm something he already knew. “Tallulah, I understand you were stabbed.”
“Did the big gaping knife wound give it away?”
Shea’s mouth formed a thin line, which I took to be his version of a smile. “You were incredibly lucky. The knife appears to have entered your lung, but something sealed the wound almost immediately. You managed to avoid a pneumothorax.”
“Pneumo…” I raised a brow at him.
“A collapsed lung,” he explained. “Typically a wound in the location where you were struck would result in a lung decompressing, and we would have needed to put in a chest tube to help get your lung back in functioning order. But as I mentioned, something we have never seen before kept the puncture wound from causing the damage it should have.”
Point one for Mormo’s enchanted blade.
Judging by the stern expression on Shea’s face, there was more. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes closed. For a moment he looked impossibly young, and then he put the glasses back on and his aura of authority was restored.
“What else?” I asked.
“The reason I requested your friend try to keep you calm is that I don’t know how long you will be able to keep your lung from collapsing. There’s a condition called spontaneous pneumothorax that can sometimes impact those who have previously had a lung collapse. My concern is that whatever protected you initially may wear off before your lung has a chance to heal, and you will suffer incredibly as a result.”
“Oh.” Was that all? Sure, okay. Suffering! Torturous pain! Must be a day ending in Y. “Respectfully, the pain I endured getting stabbed was probably worse than anything my lungs can do to me.”
As if to spite me for my hubris, I took a breath and my lungs pressed against the open wound. I let out a grunt, and Shea gave me his most doctorly I told you so face.
Yeah, yeah.
“So what are you saying?”
“Mr. Melpomene didn’t tell me the reasons that brought you both here, nor did the young man who brought you in, but I’ve seen your mark. I’ve looked at your eyes.”
I grimaced but didn’t say anything.
“I know what it is to serve a god, Miss Corentine. I know the compulsion to do their will.”
“In your case, your god’s will is a bit easier to swallow most of the time.”
“Yes and no. Not everyone is meant to live. Part of my duty is to accept that.” Reflexively his hand went to the stitched mark on his coat. “Just like you may need to accept that your job here is done.”
I narrowed my eyes, glaring at him with the closest thing I could muster to toughness. “You serve your god out of choice. I serve my god out of necessity. There’s a difference.”
“If you continue what you’re doing, you might die.”
“We’re all going to die eventually. You know that better than anyone.” I pushed myself up higher in the bed, pretending like it wasn’t absolute agony with every inch. “I have a job to do.”
“That little coughing fit of yours? That’s a sign of lung collapse. You’re toeing a fine line here. And what’s more, the substance that has sealed your lung…like a tar? It seems to have damaged many of the organs around it as it entered you. Even your skin shows marks of serious scarring beyond what we would typically see in that kind of an injury. What I’m saying, but you don’t seem to be hearing, is that you nearly died, and if you don’t go back to your temple, you will die. Is that clear?”
I grabbed hold of the IV tube and tugged it out. Shea looked like he wanted to protest, but instead he stepped back and let me swing my legs over the side of the bed.
“Death already has it in for me, Dr. Shea. I’d rather not wait here and see if she finds me.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Where’s Leo?” I was struggling to pull my shirt over my head as Cade re-entered the room.
Dr. Shea—gods bless him—had tried to talk me back into bed, but he didn’t force me, and when it became clear I wasn’t listening, he left. I thought perhaps he might rat me out to Cade, but given the look on Cade’s face right now it was safe to say this was coming as a surprise to him.
“Sparky, what the fuck are you doing?”
I succeeded in tugging the shirt down, eternally grateful he’d missed the abysmal ballet that had been the fight with my bra. When I bent over to pick up my pants, a wave of nausea hit me, and I had to brace myself against the doorframe, doubled over, trying to chase the niggling pain and lightheadedness away. Dr. Shea’s voice was in the back of my head telling me I wouldn’t make it out of the hospital if I kept this up.
Whatever. What did professional doctors know about health anyway?
