Crimson Lace

Chapter 39

ELLE
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

What the gang doesn't know won't hurt them. But more importantly, what I don't tell the gang, won't hurt me. Perhaps, lying isn't the most honorable of choices. But what if that lie in question, is a lie that is saving lives by being told?

"I need more Healer's blood over here, Celeste!" Lance's voice echoes off the stone walls of the hospital, while elbow deep in the chest cavity of a middle-aged, male Serf. He looks over at me from where he stands beside the cot, his grey locks falling over his eyes and concern flashing over his tired features. "Keep it up, E, you're doing well."

I nod, although my hands shake. The power surges from my palms, like an invisible snake, coiling through the open wound and holding the man's blood within his body. I rhythmically move my hands like rolling waves above him, guiding the blood to circulate normally.

The white curtain is yanked open and I have to look away to fight the memory of Alec's screams and blood the night we brought him here. A flustered Celeste comes in carrying a tray of jars. Each one full to the brim in thick, red Healer's blood. "Use it sparingly," she says, placing the tray on the table of surgical tools. "We never know when the Crimson Reapers will donate more."

Celeste hurries out to tend to the other wounded. Her husband, Lance continues to remove shards of metal from the patient's open chest cavity. He tilts his head toward the tray. "E, can you unscrew the lid on one of those jars."

I nod, eyeing the tray. With a deep, steadying breath, I concentrate on the movement of the metal cap without taking any power from my hands. One slip and I could lose my hold on the man's blood. He could bleed out. But I need to know that I can do this. The pressure shifts, thrumming through my veins, forcibly pushing my blood against my artery walls.

My vision rotates, blurring and causing me to lose my focus. "Damn it." I'm still weak from the Mute, but its effects have been fading since I've broken free from it's control.

"Remember what we read, E," he warns, watching me carefully. "The overuse of power can leave you drained for days. Listen to your body. If you can't do it, don't."

"I got this," I hiss through gritted teeth, focusing my eyes. "It's just a lid."

My brows knit together in concentration. The remaining Mute in my veins is acting like a solid wall. There is almost no way to go around it. My arms shake, but I force them to remain over the man's chest, I can't lose my grip on his blood pressure.

"E, that's enough. Your shaking." Before I can stop Lance, he reaches for the jar and unscrews the lid, ruining my efforts. I curse under my breath and his head snaps up to me. "Watch your tongue in my library, young lady."

I roll my eyes, relaxing my muscles to return my main attention back to my hand, keeping the pressurized energy in check. "Actually, we're in your secret hospital. Can I curse here?"

Lance ignores my attitude and smears the bloody ointment into the gash and around the wound.

The patient's lashes fly open with a hellish scream. He begins to thrash, eyes wide as he takes in the sight of the hole in his chest. Lance struggles to hold him down as the wound begins to heal on its own.

I stumble back, my power slipping from me entirely. The man's screams echo through me, colliding with every memory of those I've heard shriek like that before dropping dead before me.

My throat contracts, cutting off my breath. A sob rips out of me and I fall, barely catching myself on the curtain behind me. My fingers tangle in its fabric and it comes crashing down on top of me. I scream, kicking it away.