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“Why the hell would you take a knife for me?” Ashton grumbles.
“Don’t worry, I’m regretting it already. Hurts like a bitch.” Jason stares down at himself, his eyes crossing a little. “Hell.”
“The hospital,” Ashton says. “We’re close, aren’t we?”
“It’s too risky,” Emrys replies.
“Then the Academy. Come on.”
“Umf.” Jason’s eyes glaze over as Ashton ducks under one of his arms, draping it over his shoulders, taking his weight. “What the hell…”
“Gave so much blood for the spell already, and now you’re losing what you had left,” Emrys says, taking his other side. “Goddammit.”
No wonder Jason looks like he’s about to pass out. And as I turn, I find Sindri stumbling toward us, his face white. “Are you hurt, too?”
“Nah, I’m fine. Come on.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, nods at the others. “We shouldn’t hang around any longer.”
He’s holding himself up stiffly but I don’t see any blood on him, apart from the cuff of his shirt where he cut his wrist earlier for the spell. He doesn’t reach for my hand and I feel strangely bereft as I trudge after the others with a silent Sindri, wondering what else I’ve missed and why it feels as if everything is spiraling out of control.
Sindri was right about how easy it would be getting back into the Academy. They let a drop of blood fall and the Academy appears around us—all except Jason who’s hanging off Ashton and Emrys, eyes barely open, lips white.
He’s scaring me. It’s all I can do not to bury my face in his neck, hold on to him.
We stagger onto the Academy grounds, roughly at the same spot we exited from, close to the great oak. The eastern sky is turning to pink and gold, and white clouds sail over the horizon. The Academy buildings seem to be stirring, awakening like crouched giants, their outlines gilded.
“He’ll be all right,” Ashton is saying and I realize Emrys was the one asking. “We stop the bleeding and feed him steaks until he’s back on his feet.”
“He’ll need a transfusion,” I say, “he’s lost so much blood—”
“Finding a compatible donor is hard,” Ashton mutters, starting to haul Jason toward the dormitories. “Our blood is particular about mixing with others. But we’re resilient. Remember that.”
“Even the most resilient of beings can be brought down,” I whisper.
But if what he says is true, and I trust Ashton with facts, then there’s nothing else to do. Trust their strength to get them through this, like it did before.
They half-carry Jason to the infirmary and Emrys bangs his fist on the door until a bleary-eyed paramedic opens it.
“What is it?” She squints at us. “Oh, it’s you guys again. Do you know what time it is?”
“No,” Ashton says with a sigh, “what time is it? I’m dying to know.”
She frowns down at her watch. “It’s… four in the morning and I—”
“Awesome,” Ashton says. “Now that’s out of the way, Jason is hurt. He probably needs stitches.”
She finally gets a good look at the blood covering Jason and puts a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God. I thought the party was over.”
“Now it is.”
“I suppose you should come inside.” The paramedic runs a hand through her chin-length bob. Did she get a haircut? “What happened?”
“Uh… Hit with a broken bottle?” Ashton hazards. He looks haggard, even though he’s not the one bleeding.
“Broken bottle… Holy shit.” The woman steps back to let us enter. “Put him on the examination table, I’ll go wash my hands.”
Worry is a hard knot in my stomach. Despite what Ashton said, I don’t think I’ll relax until Jason stops dripping life essence all over the place. I follow as the others carry him to the examination table, and I really wish we stopped visiting the infirmary so often.
“Okay, I’m here,” the paramedic says, snapping on latex gloves and pulling up a stool. “Let’s have a look, Mr. Kassidy. Got into a drunken fight, did you?”
