Oh God, what if I get it wrong and he bleeds out? Finn’s eyes sear into mine. I can almost hear him urging me, do it, do it! With no more thinking time left, I choose a spot and thrust the blade into his flesh. His hands fall lose. I pull the blade out quickly. Finn’s heavy body goes limp, crushing me. I’m hardly able to push his bulk off me but I just about manage it. His mouth opens and dark tendrils of mist slither out.
My heart leaps into overdrive when I see more and more of his blood seeping onto the floor.
“Ah,” says Theodore from up high, “I think the treasure has learned her lesson.”
He swipes his hand in a downward motion and Rita falls to the ground. Once free of her bubble she unleashes an angry tirade, pulling a glass bottle containing some kind of pink liquid out of her satchel and flinging it at Theodore. It smashes into his chest and bursts into pink and orange flames. Theodore grins and with another hand motion the flames disappear.
“Bravo, my child. Very good!” He gives her a round of applause, like a proud father.
“You bastard!” Rita screeches at him. “I hate you. If I could somehow purge you out of me I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
Theodore gazes upon her, his expression not angry at her harsh words, but instead amused.
“You say that now, daughter, but one day you will join me of your own accord. One day soon.”
And with that he vanishes in a cloud of purple smoke.
Chapter Five
Crimson and Clover
Rita and I stare at the smoke for a moment before reality hits us and we rush to help Finn.
“Shit, shit, shit! This isn’t good,” says Rita in panic as I pull Finn’s coat from his body and tear away his t-shirt to reveal a rapidly bleeding gash.
The blood pumps out, gushing over his already scarred skin. There are little healed silver scars here and there, injuries that he’s accumulated over the years. It’s always hard to look at them, but now it’s even worse because I’ve added to them. Only this time it might be fatal. So much for cutting him in a non-life-threatening spot.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. I have something I can use,” Rita rambles as she rummages through her bag, pulling out all sorts of potions and lotions. Some of them move and pulsate inside their containers, as though alive.
Unlike Rita, who just doesn’t stop talking in a crisis, I can’t seem to get my mouth to work. I did this to him. I can’t believe I did this to Finn. Strong, reliable Finn who’s always on hand in a spot of trouble is now lying on the floor of a church unconscious, possibly dying.
Under Rita’s instructions, I bunch up Finn’s torn shirt and hold it gently to his wound to slow the bleeding. Rita unscrews the cap on a bottle of slimy, slithery green liquid. She then opens another that contains glittery looking sand and pours it into the slimy one. Instantly they mix and fuse, creating a bright silver concoction.
Rita shoves my hand with the bunched up shirt out of the way and gives me the bottle. She scrunches up her nose in distaste as she pulls apart each side of the wound to create as much of an opening as she can.
“Now, I need you to pour that in slowly. Try not to spill any on the floor.”
I nod, my heart hammering in my chest, and slowly pour the silver liquid. It really does have a life all of its own, because it doesn’t spill over the edges. Instead it slithers into the opening as though being sucked into a vacuum, until there isn’t a drop of it left.
I place the empty bottle on the floor beside me. The clink of the glass against the tiles echoes through the quiet church.
“Now what?” I ask Rita.
“Now we wait,” she answers, grabbing a hold of my hand for support. I reach out and take a hold of Finn’s too, placing it in my lap and rubbing my thumb over his palm.
At first he feels overly warm and then a minute later his hand goes icy cold. Not deathly cold, but a preternatural sort of cold, a purifying one. My eyes are drawn to the wound; the blood has all dried up and the skin is knitting i
tself back together. My heart slows in relief. I let go of Rita’s hand so that I can pull her to me in a one armed hug. I’m too afraid to let go of Finn’s hand for fear it’ll disturb whatever it is that’s healing him.
“Thank you,” I whisper to her. “I seriously owe you for saving him. He would have died if you weren’t here.”
She gets all awkward, pulling away and patting me on the shoulder. “It’s okay. Just doing my job as part time emergency saviour, as usual,” she quips.
I jump in fright when Finn lets out an abrupt groan. He blearily opens his eyes and looks around in confusion. When he sees his blood soaked clothing he croaks out a simple, “Jesus Christ.”
“Hey,” Rita pats him softly on the leg. “No saying the lord’s name in vain in here.”
“I think I’m allowed a pass given the circumstances,” he replies wearily. It makes my heart lift with joy that he’s talking, that his wound is healed.