A Local Habitation
Page 75

“Yes,” April said, disappearing.
When I raised my head, Gordan was staring at me. “What?”
“I told you he didn’t belong here.” She tied off another strip of gauze. “Guys like him are too delicate for this kind of thing.”
“Don’t start, Gordan.” I pushed my hair back, ignoring the way it caught at my blood-tacky hands. I was filthy. For the moment, I really didn’t care. “It’s not his fault someone decided to pick us off.”
“So whose is it? Yours?”
Her words stung more than I wanted to let them. “No. It’s just the way it is.”
“Uh-huh. Let me tell you about ‘the way it is.’ ” Her finger stabbed toward Quentin’s chest. “You see how he’s breathing? He lost a lot of blood. I mean a lot of blood. I can’t do stitches, and I can’t do blood transfusions. You’re going to get that boy to a healer or a hospital, or he’s going to die. So pick one. Or is that too much like accepting responsibility?”
“I’m not listening to you.”
“Of course you’re not. I suppose you’re not going to listen when I tell you that you can’t take him to a hospital, either.” She started cramming bloodstained first aid supplies back into the box. “Get out of here, or he’s a casualty. That plain enough for you?”
“What the fuck do you want from me? Sylvester’s already on the way. I can’t get us out of here any faster without a flying carpet!”
“Sorry, I left mine at home,” Quentin said, his voice a faint croak.
“You’re awake,” I said, bending over him again. “Don’t try to move.”
“Wouldn’t,” he said, and smiled—very slightly. “See? I follow orders.”
Connor barked an unsteady laugh. Gordan snorted. I shot her a warning look, saying, “April’s getting Elliot, and we’re going to move you.”
“Can’t leave.”
“Quentin . . .”
“No.” He opened his eyes. They were pained but clear. “Let me wait until His Grace comes. We’ll never avenge them if you leave now.”
“I can’t keep you here.” I knew how ludicrous we looked—both of us covered in blood, arguing. Never let it be said that fate doesn’t have a sense of humor.
“Can’t risk moving me, either.” He closed his eyes again. “Put me in a room with a lock. I’ll be fine.”
“Suicidal jerk,” Gordan said. I looked up. This time she met my eyes. “Are you going to let him decide whether or not he stays and dies?”
“Why not? I let the rest of you.” I stroked Quentin’s hair back with one hand, and looked to the door. There were footsteps coming down the hall. “Of course, unless that’s Elliot, it may be a moot point.” Connor’s hand found mine, and took it.
“Ha ha. Very funny.” Still, Gordan turned to watch the door, shoulders tense, and didn’t relax until Elliot stepped inside, followed by Alex. April appeared in her usual burst of static, standing several feet away from the new arrivals.
“I have brought him,” she said. It almost sounded like she was seeking approval.
“You did good,” I said, and stood. Elliot and Alex had both stopped just inside the door, eyes wide, staring at Quentin. I cleared my throat. “Hi.”
“Toby!” Elliot turned. “What happened?”
“Someone tried to kill us,” I said.
I couldn’t have gotten a better result if I’d tried. Elliot staggered, and Alex stared. “What?” he said, blankly.
“Kill us. Someone tried to kill us.” I shook my head. “There were two shots. The first missed. The second got Quentin.”
“He’s a lucky bastard,” said Gordan, standing. “They shattered the bones, but missed the artery. A little further and he would’ve bled to death before I got here.”
I shuddered, unable to hide it this time, and said, “We’ve already gone over why I can’t take him to a hospital. Does the room where I was napping earlier have a lock?”
“Yes . . .” Elliot said.
“Good. We’re going to move him there. Connor will stand guard. Sylvester’s on his way; I’m going to call and tell him to hurry, but I don’t know whether he’ll have left already. If he’s not here by sunset, I’m taking your car, and I’m taking Quentin home.” I looked at Elliot. “I refuse to let him die here. Do you understand?”
“You’ll abandon us?” Alex asked, horrified. I felt the half-familiar tickle of desire kindle in my stomach, and shoved it down again as hard as I could. He might be a master of glamour, but I was a Daoine Sidhe covered in blood, and few things are harder to control.
“I’ll come back, but yes. If it’s a matter of saving Quentin’s life, I will leave.” I looked to Gordan. “Is it safe to move him?”
“I’d recommend it,” she said. “This place is trashed.”
“And infection’s always a risk. Got it.” I stepped over, and knelt by Quentin’s head, asking, “Quentin, can you hear me?” There was no reply. I watched him for a moment to be sure that he was breathing. “Okay. He’s out.”
“I don’t think—”
“Elliot, shut up.” I said.
“I’ve got him,” said Connor, moving to Quentin’s other side.
“Good. Elliot, come get his feet. Connor, you’ve got the unhurt arm—just slide your hands under him. One, two, up.” The three of us lifted together, getting Quentin safely off the floor. “Alex, get the door.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said, but moved to push the door open.
“And what would be? Leaving him here? Going back to Shadowed Hills? Tell me, O wise one.” I glared at him, shifting my grip on Quentin.
Alex sighed. “I don’t think there are any good ideas left. Come on. It’s this way.”
We made a funny parade. Alex led the way, with April appearing and disappearing beside or ahead of him. Connor, Elliot, and I took the middle, fighting not to jar Quentin any more than we had to, and Gordan brought up the rear. We were all jumpy, even April, and we flinched from the slightest noises.