I reach behind me and take his hand, heart thumping. “Guys, I have to—”
Hasan swoops down, looking just as relieved as the others to see me. They turned to stone right after we fought off the ghouls. My fate was as uncertain to them as Jac’s is to me.
We all look up, wondering why he hasn’t changed yet. Tears well in my eyes, and I turn to Thomas. “He got hurt. Right before he turned. There was one more ghoul and…and…” I break off, squeezing my eyes shut. Tears roll down my cheeks, and Thomas tugs me forward, cradling me to his chest.
Gilbert and Hasan take off, flying up to the roof. Thomas places a hand on the back of my head, gently turning me away so I don’t have to see.
“What happened?” he asks.
“There was one hiding out. It threw a spear at me but Jac took the blow. It hit him in the chest.”
Thomas tenses, and I pull back, looking up at the roof. Hasan’s back is to me, blocking Jacques from sight. He’s not moving, not saying anything. This isn’t good. Gilbert jumps down, face sullen and shoulders hunched forward.
“Is he dead?” I ask, voice trembling.
“I don’t know,” Gilbert responds, brows furrowed.
“It’s my fault,” I choke out. “I should have moved or stopped him or—”
Gravel rains down on us, and we take a step back and watch Jacques break free from the stone. He pitches forward, and if it weren’t for Hasan, he would have plummeted right off the roof. Hasan grips his arm and brings him down. Blood drips down Jacques’s chest, but it’s not nearly as bad as before.
Gilbert rushes over, taking Jacques’s other arm and keeping him upright. They bring him inside, sitting him on the couch. I grab a towel and spring forward, pressing it against the wound.
“Ace,” Jacques breathes. “Did you get them all?”
“Yes. I set them all on fire.”
“That’s my girl,” he says with a small smile. I bring the towel back and look at the wound. It’s small, much smaller than before, and is already healing.
“You’re…you’re okay.”
“Yes.”
“How? Not that I’m not happy, but I don’t get it.” I trade the towel for the damp rag. Carefully, I clean off his chest. The wound, which was a large gash, is now small and closing up. His skin is still torn and tender, and fresh blood pools at the surface, but it’s nowhere near as damaged as when he turned.
“I don’t know,” Jacques answers, shifting his eyes up to the others.
“Sleep,” Hasan offers. “Sleep heals.”
“Makes sense,” Thomas says. “Magic turns us to stone, taking away what little humanity we have left. And bleeding and feeling pain is about as human as it gets.”
“I was so scared,” I confess. “I thought you’d wake up dead.”
“You can’t wake up dead,” Gilbert mumbles, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Hasan elbow him. “I know what you meant,” he adds.
I clean up as much blood as I can with the rag and tear open an alcohol swab, doing my best to clean the wound.
“I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you guys,” I say as I cover the wound with gauze. “You’re…you’re like my family.”
Thomas’s hand lands on my shoulder. “You’re like ours too, and I like this family arrangement much better than the one I had before.”
Smiling at him, I grab a clean rag and wipe the blood off my hands. Jacques sits up, wincing, and rolls his neck. His wing is almost healed as well, and the only evidence it was torn is a small scar.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Sore,” he says, hand going to the bandage on his chest. “And tired, even though I just woke up.”
“Rest,” I say, gently pushing a piece of tape down on a corner of the gauze and noticing his skin is warm. Too warm. I press the back of my hand to his forehead. “I think you have a fever.”
