her and leaned close to her face. No breath against his cheek. The redhead's eyes were closed, her face slack with a terrible peace. Simon jammed two fingers on to the side of the girl's neck. No pulse. "She's not breathing."
Chiara wavered on her feet, looking more tired that he'd ever seen her. She dropped down to her knees, head too heavy to hold up. One look at her face and Simon knew he was on his own for this part.
He pinched the girl's nose closed and tilted her chin, giving her two breaths. The chest rose. He started compressions. What was the song they used to keep the rhythm? Staying Alive? What a stupid song.
Elbows locked, he gave compressions until his back started to ache, the lagging adrenaline leaving exhaustion in its wake. Two more rescue breaths.
The girl coughed.
Simon sat back on his heels and licked his lips. Watermelon. Things could have been so much fun tonight, if she's actually been in her right mind.
The host took a deep, shuddering breath just as the terror took hold. She scrambled back against the wall, looking like a psychotic monkey in a cage. Eyes close to popping out, she babbled like a madwoman. "Where—what was that screaming? Fire, fire everywhere—I was in hell! Oh, my god. Hell! Who are you?"
"Good Samaritan," Simon replied.
Chiara crawled over to anoint her. "G'won," she slurred. "Get out before it decides to fight to get you back."
The girl grabbed her hand and peered into Chiara's face, chin trembling. "Was I…dead?"
"Yeah. And that guy saved you. Another reason to leave. You owe him a favor now."
The redhead scrambled to her feet and lurched away, snatching glances of them over her shoulder.
"Next time you jump through a portal after a host, warn me. Mortals don't travel well the first time." He hunched down next to Chiara and hooked his hands under her arms to hoist her up. "You okay, kid?"
She gasped in pain.
"No. I'm really not." She took a shallow, whistling breath and turned her face toward him. Blood ran from her hairline, dripping down the right side of her face. "Get me home. Before—"
She pressed her hand to her waist. It came away dark and wet. She whimpered, a sound of pain and fear. She crumpled against him, her head drooping.
"Chiara?" He gently shook her. "Honey, wake up."
No response. She was limp and heavy in his hands. Home. She had to get home.
He hefted her and started running. At the end of the alley, he uttered a chant, trying to cloak them from passersby. Couldn't do the full spell without burning a stick of chicory and he couldn't do that carrying her.
At best, the spell would blur them, make them less noticeable. And right now all he could hope for was the best.
Getting her through the door was a challenge he didn't need. He chuffed out a charm that blew the door flat against the wall, the clatter ricocheting across the street. Adrenaline and sheer force of will propelled him up the stairs. He kicked the door open.
"Upstairs." Chiara's eyes fluttered. "The end of the hall."
Her shirt was crimson, sopping with blood. It slapped wetly against him when he moved. "You need a doctor."
"No. The pool."
He staggered up the staircase, unable to feel his legs. "You've lost too much blood. I don't think a swim is what you need."
Chiara gasped, each breath seeming to bring new pain. "It's the only thing."
He turned the corner and spied the door at the end of the hall. It swung open, smoothly and silently, as he rushed toward it. Once inside, he skidded to a stop, nearly dropping her.
He'd only glanced in here, briefly, the first night he stayed over. A marble bath, thirty foot ceilings, a glass tiled sunken bath. The water was milky, a blanket of steam snaking across its surface.
The décor had a mystical, murky feel to it, like oil on wind, and he struggled to remember what had ever made him consider spending time in here the last time he visited.
"Hurry," she whispered. "Get me in. Don't touch the water, don't touch."
"Dammit, what am I
Chiara wavered on her feet, looking more tired that he'd ever seen her. She dropped down to her knees, head too heavy to hold up. One look at her face and Simon knew he was on his own for this part.
He pinched the girl's nose closed and tilted her chin, giving her two breaths. The chest rose. He started compressions. What was the song they used to keep the rhythm? Staying Alive? What a stupid song.
Elbows locked, he gave compressions until his back started to ache, the lagging adrenaline leaving exhaustion in its wake. Two more rescue breaths.
The girl coughed.
Simon sat back on his heels and licked his lips. Watermelon. Things could have been so much fun tonight, if she's actually been in her right mind.
The host took a deep, shuddering breath just as the terror took hold. She scrambled back against the wall, looking like a psychotic monkey in a cage. Eyes close to popping out, she babbled like a madwoman. "Where—what was that screaming? Fire, fire everywhere—I was in hell! Oh, my god. Hell! Who are you?"
"Good Samaritan," Simon replied.
Chiara crawled over to anoint her. "G'won," she slurred. "Get out before it decides to fight to get you back."
The girl grabbed her hand and peered into Chiara's face, chin trembling. "Was I…dead?"
"Yeah. And that guy saved you. Another reason to leave. You owe him a favor now."
The redhead scrambled to her feet and lurched away, snatching glances of them over her shoulder.
"Next time you jump through a portal after a host, warn me. Mortals don't travel well the first time." He hunched down next to Chiara and hooked his hands under her arms to hoist her up. "You okay, kid?"
She gasped in pain.
"No. I'm really not." She took a shallow, whistling breath and turned her face toward him. Blood ran from her hairline, dripping down the right side of her face. "Get me home. Before—"
She pressed her hand to her waist. It came away dark and wet. She whimpered, a sound of pain and fear. She crumpled against him, her head drooping.
"Chiara?" He gently shook her. "Honey, wake up."
No response. She was limp and heavy in his hands. Home. She had to get home.
He hefted her and started running. At the end of the alley, he uttered a chant, trying to cloak them from passersby. Couldn't do the full spell without burning a stick of chicory and he couldn't do that carrying her.
At best, the spell would blur them, make them less noticeable. And right now all he could hope for was the best.
Getting her through the door was a challenge he didn't need. He chuffed out a charm that blew the door flat against the wall, the clatter ricocheting across the street. Adrenaline and sheer force of will propelled him up the stairs. He kicked the door open.
"Upstairs." Chiara's eyes fluttered. "The end of the hall."
Her shirt was crimson, sopping with blood. It slapped wetly against him when he moved. "You need a doctor."
"No. The pool."
He staggered up the staircase, unable to feel his legs. "You've lost too much blood. I don't think a swim is what you need."
Chiara gasped, each breath seeming to bring new pain. "It's the only thing."
He turned the corner and spied the door at the end of the hall. It swung open, smoothly and silently, as he rushed toward it. Once inside, he skidded to a stop, nearly dropping her.
He'd only glanced in here, briefly, the first night he stayed over. A marble bath, thirty foot ceilings, a glass tiled sunken bath. The water was milky, a blanket of steam snaking across its surface.
The décor had a mystical, murky feel to it, like oil on wind, and he struggled to remember what had ever made him consider spending time in here the last time he visited.
"Hurry," she whispered. "Get me in. Don't touch the water, don't touch."
"Dammit, what am I
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