Keeper of the Lost Cities: Rebuild [COMPLETED]

Chapter Forty-Two - MARUCA

All Maruca could see was the blood.

Even after the gang leader disappeared into the forest opposite the museum.

Even after Stina hailed Belisia on her Imparter.

Even after Fitz was rushed by people, too many people, into the medical tent. He couldn't go to a real hospital because of identities, plus it would give too much away and—

All she could see was the blood, a circle on his shirt at first, then blooming into a distorted shape that ran down his chest.

She gagged at the memory. The horror and disgust and fear—it was all a tornado, destroying her mind.

But worst of all was the guilt. It was her fault he'd been shot, her idea to go forward with the heist, her insistence that Jonathan wasn't lying. Except she'd been played. The whole time, the gang had managed to stay one step ahead of them.

And she'd convinced Fitz to choose the impulsive decision. All because she couldn't live with herself if the forest burned. At this point she didn't doubt the gang would have done it, but maybe everyone would have leaped away. Maybe no one would've gotten hurt.

They'd done the heist regardless, and Fitz had gotten hurt. She didn't even know if he was going to survive.

"He's going to be fine," Stina snapped as she paced angrily by Maruca. Every time she did so her gaze would return to the tent flap. Behind it was the doctor and Fitz.

Maruca stood still, as if moving would cause the doctor's hands to slip, the surgery to go wrong. She didn't know much about human medicines and treatments, but she didn't trust it. Not because it was human, but because it was unfamiliar. The elves had gotten used to ointments and elixirs to heal them, but the humans had to push themselves in order to save the injured.

Think about that, she told herself. The humans work extra hard to ensure they can save lives. That must mean their doctors are good.

She'd once heard Livvy say she was impressed by human medicines; that had to count for something.

But it was hard to think that way when her friend was a curtain away, dying unless the doctor could put a stop to it.

The rustling of Belisia's skirts grew louder as the Ancient appeared from the shadows—amplified by the crackling fires—of the trees. "Perhaps—and I know you won't want to hear this—you should leave. Go home. In light of what you saw in the painting..."

"Is that all you care about?" Maruca's voice came like a knife, but she didn't care. Everything that had led up to this had been about the heist. Maruca's decision... It had been spurned by Belisia's stubborn persuance of the stupid painting. It was her fault.

"No. I am very much concerned for Fitzroy's health, just as you are. But there is nothing more you can do. Jonathan was after that painting of your house... and after what you've told me, I have a feeling they didn't simply want it because they wished us to leave. I'm sure that was a part of it, but they are smart. I fear for your family more than I do for us here. I trust Dr. Neal; he will see Fitzroy through. Whether he wakes up to find you or not doesn't matter when the Purities' next target may be Everfalls."

Maruca deflated immediately, the need for conflict zapped out of her by Belisia's words. She'd pushed the worry to the back of her mind, but the truth was, she'd been thinking the exact same thing. Jonathan's gang could have been in league with the Purities, or even if the Purities weren't after Everfalls, someone had to be. That painting must've been around for a long time; Nhyonuitoufhoa was old, and it made sense there was an artist out there who'd wanted to capture its beauty. But out of all the ancient artwork in the St. Louis Art Museum, Jonathan's gang had just so happened to be after the one of her house.