Nothing But Bones

30: Inept Heart Attack

When it's mid-air, Elton smacks the shadow with one of the kitchen chairs like he's a power hitter in the MLB. He isn't sure where that surge of strength came from, but he knows that the creature slams into Boris and both of them roll down the stairs until they hit the bottom.

He drops the chair. There are more important things to worry about right now— namely, that there might very soon be a dead body that was once an admittedly weird American girl on the mud-green carpet in this stupid fucking kitchen.

Elton rushes to Tiff, calling her name, and drops to his knees next to her.

This isn't good. Blood pools beneath her, commingling with shadows. Everything is cracked; everything is broken; and he can see her lungs straining for air in the pleural cavity, can see the way her heart thrashes against the ribs. Oh god, oh fuck— He doesn't know how to do first aid on something like this. CPR isn't going to help here, is it? Oh, this is bad, oh, he's absolutely fucked—

Her eyes flash glossy for a second; then, surprisingly, stardust; then she blinks.

Tiff groans. Wiping saliva against the back of her hand, she sits up and looks into her chest. A heart, slightly-blackened and still beating; ribs, smoky at the edges and slightly broken. It's like staring into the universe. It's like looking down at the autopsy table. "Wow. This is just great. I'm going to love explaining this one to my aunt."

Elton laughs out the sob that was waiting just under the surface. "What the fuck?"

"She's going to be upset, Elton." She pokes one of her ribs and winces. It isn't good that she can see the cancellous bone or that the shards move. She's not a doctor, but she knows that.

He doesn't feel like making jokes right now. "What the actual fuck? You— It stabbed you! In the chest!"

"I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"What are you?"

"I'm not gay."

Despite himself, and probably the lack of consent, Elton hugs her. "Me neither."

"It's the power of, uh— Of being aromantic— Fuck, I can't continue the bit. It's just divinity."

He releases her, staring at the hole in her chest. "Okay. You're, like, immortal."

"Yeah. It's a divine-kills-divine rule. There's exceptions, but— shadows aren't one of them."

"Cool." Elton nods like his mind isn't reeling. "Well, we need to get the fuck out of here or something. Burn this house down, too."

She frowns. Maybe it's the shadows talking; maybe it's the fact that she should have died; but all she can think to say is, "I think I have to kill Boris."

He buries his face in his hands. "Fuck. I was afraid you'd say that."

"You don't have to come with me. You could turn on all the gas." She pauses, stands. "Actually— Don't burn the house down. Don't do that yet. I'm sure there's stuff here that I would want before the government steps in. And I'd like to make my ex-husband look at the clown."

"The clown? You're thinking about the clown right now?"

"Yeah, I'm thinking about the clown. And about how the government—" She pauses again. "Should I— Fuck. I'm going to have to— Goddammit."

Tiff pulls her phone out of her back pocket and pulls up an unmarked contact. She knows who this is: the seemingly-nameless federal agent who dragged her into all of this. It's not the best idea to take a call in the middle of a fight, but she does it anyway.