Page 17 of She Who Was Once the Sea

The going was slower than I anticipated.

He wasn’t heavy, but it was still awkward to walk with him against me as nothing but dead weight. I struggled to move naturally, and my progress was hindered by the need to keep away from main streets and crowds of people. I navigated our way towards the piazza through back alleys and side streets, lowering my head as we passed anyone whose gaze lingered on us a moment too long.

When I thought that we were far enough away from the dead men to make the Fratello’s attack seem like an unrelated act of violence, I set him down carefully beside a trash collection bin.

Again, his head lolled to the side, and again I was struck by the innocence in his soft features.

"Thanks for the help, Fratello," I whispered as I straightened back up, somehow unwilling—or maybe just unable—to tear my gaze away from him. "It won’t happen again."

For a moment, his eyes fluttered, and I froze, knowing that he’d already seen too much of my face for comfort. But it was only a passing thing, and he stilled once more, sinking further into himself on the hard ground.

After removing his dagger from my jacket and tossing it to his side, I turned to run from the dawn, knowing that I had mere minutes to return to the piazza before the sun hit the streets and I found myself in uncharted territory.

But before I could move more than a few steps, a strong hand reached out from the darkness and wrapped around my upper arm, stopping me in my tracks.

"Not so fast, Princess," a familiar voice hissed, and I felt my blood turn to stone.

It was her.

Chapter 7 - Garrett

Everything hurt. I didn’t think I could recall a time in my life when I’d been in more pain. I was lying down, as far as I could tell, but the only thing orienting me was the feeling of softness against my back, contrasting the cold air above me.

It was bright, wherever I was. I’d assume Heaven, despite never being much of a believer, but everything I’d ever learned about the place suggested that it would not be filled with this much agony.

Perhaps the other place then?

"I can see that you’re awake."

A familiar voice cut through the quiet, and although it was soft, it punched through my ears like a fist. I swallowed once and tried to respond, but I couldn’t get any sound to pass through my dry lips.

"Oh, come on," Brother Lucas’s voice sounded almost amused, and I was glad to discover that I was able to feel something other than pain, even if it was blind annoyance. "It can’t be that bad."

"I assure you," I croaked, "it can."

He chuckled, and when I finally peeled my eyes open to look at him, he was holding out a glass of water. Gingerly, I pulled myself into a sitting position, every piece of me screaming in agony as I moved, and reached out to take it with shaking fingers.

As I did, I froze.

It took me a few seconds to register that the hand reaching for the glass of water was, in fact, mine. Covered in cuts and bruises with swollen knuckles, it looked like the hand of a prizefighter.

Then I remembered that I wasn’t just a mild-mannered office worker anymore, and the events of the evening came flooding back to me.

Watching my internal struggle without commentary, Lucas moved the glass the final few inches into my hands, and I allowed my fingers to clasp around it on autopilot. I took a slow sip at first, then let the cool water rush down my throat in a few deep gulps. I had never tasted anything so delicious in my life.

When I finished, Lucas took the glass from me and refilled it from a carafe on the bedside table without a word, and I repeated the action. This happened at least twice more before I finally felt satiated, and I sat breathing heavily in my bed.

"So," Lucas finally said, setting the empty glass on the table beside the carafe. "You’re clearly alive, which means that whatever did this to you wasn’t one of them." His tone was pointed. "But when Brother Miles found you, you were nearly not alive, so we would very much like to know who exactly did do this."

I swallowed again before answering, somehow already thirsty again. "Do you remember those men we saw at the fountain the other day?"

"The obnoxious group fondling the statue?" Lucas’s voice was more alarmed than I would have anticipated. He raised his eyebrows. "They did this?"

"All of them together, yes." I nodded. "They were harassing a woman, and—"

I cut off, a flash of memory from the previous night blazing to the forefront of my mind.

A woman, tall and statuesque, with short cropped hair, cornered against the stone walls in the alley behind a club.