“Remember,” I say, “straight up by—”
She yanks the knife out.
“—fuck.”
I groan and rock forward as blood gushes from the wound and pain sizzles through my body. I should have taken a hit of Oil. Why the fuck didn’t I dose?Because it thins the blood. That would have been stupid. This is the better plan. But fuck all, it fucking hurts.
“Are you okay?” The girl’s voice is shrill and far away. My head is ringing. The knife clatters to the wooden table.
I’m seeing double so I slam my eyes shut and suck in a breath.
I’m going to kill the man who stabbed me. I’m going to gut him open and tie a bow around his neck with his intestines.
Who the fuck was he anyway? I’m never taken by surprise. Not like this.
A thread of unease winds its way up my spine.
But no. No. I’m not jumping to conclusions.Yet.
“What do I do?” Cleo hops from one foot to the other.
“Cloth,” I choke out, and she presses it to the wound, sopping up the blood and sending a fresh wave of pain down my back.
We remain like that for several long, silent minutes, mehunched over, sucking in air, her standing beside me silently waiting.
“Okay,” I tell her.
“Okay?”
“Start stitching.”
She pulls the cloth away. The blood isn’t so much free-flowing as it is a trickle now. Good sign.
Cleo tosses the cloth to the table and then threads the needle with shaking, bloodstained hands. Once she has a knot on the end of the thread, I nod at the table’s centerpiece—a wreath of pine boughs with a flickering candle in the center.
“Through the flame to sterilize it.”
She does as I ask.
With a grimace, I shift on the chair and drag over the antiseptic, popping off its top so I can splash the liquid over my shoulder.
My vision goes white from the burn, but it fades quickly.
“Ready?” Cleo asks.
I give her a nod.
When she puts the needle to my flesh she doesn’t hesitate now, and her movements are quick and deft, her stitches clean and tight. As she works, she hums to herself. I know the tune immediately, but it takes me several seconds to realize it’s one I haven’t heard in a long time.
“That’s a summoning song.”
Cleo stops shy of one stitch. “You know it?”
“Yes.”
“I… it was one of the only songs I knew. Sometimes I would hum myself to sleep with it. Delphine heard me one time and punished me for it.”
“Why?”
