Page 322 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

‘Lachlan,’ Jules intones quietly. ‘I’m fine.’

His hidden crescent-moon tattoo sits beneath a thin veil of flesh-coloured silicone, invisible to the world.

But when Penhalyx returns…

Fucking hell.

Lachlan tries not to think about it, hopes this will be enough to make the old man happy, stop him coming here. He also knows very well that no one ever changes Alistair Penhalyx’s mind once it’s made.

Jules holds his gaze as the last of the blood enters the final bag.

No anger.

No accusation.

He’s just quietly resigned.

The line is removed after several more minutes.

‘All done, Mr Penhalyx.’ Lachlan winces, hates hearing Jules referred to that way. ‘Time for the little one, please.’

Jules presses gauze into the bend of his arm and stands.

‘She sits with me.’

There’s something about it that carries a degree of quiet certainty and calm authority. All four medics look at him and blink before smiling.

‘Yes, of course.’

When brought in, Mimi climbs onto his lap immediately. ‘Jewel, I have a mission,’ she whispers eagerly. ‘Gonna help our friends.’

‘You’re the best, Mimikins,’ he whispers back, arranging her sideways against his chest. ‘Best little Shadowsneak.’

Lachlan watches them, feeling more useless than he ever has.

The medic wheels over the second collection set.

Smaller needle.

Smaller vials.

Smaller bag.

But it’s still a bag.

‘You can’t take that much from her.’

‘The collection volume is well within paediatric limits.’

‘You’re not filling a blood bag from a six-year-old.’

‘We are following Mr Penhalyx’s instructions.’

Lachlan steps forward. Jules raises his hand, shakes his head.

‘She can do it,’ he implores softly, eyes anything but.

‘I can, Daddy. I’m brave, promise.’