One of the twins started crying almost as soon as Tala walked away, but it was an attention-seeking cry, not a hungry or dirty diaper or discomfort cry. Jacqueline bit down hard on her lower lip and ignored the sound as she unzipped Phelan’s jacket and peeled him free of it. She tugged the hem of his shirt free of the waistband of his jeans and her hands slid up under his shirt. Her hands were cold and she watched his face for any sign of a flinch, a twitch—he always reacted somehow when she touched him with cold fingers.
Nothing.
“Dammit, Phelan,” she whispered. “Don’t do this to me.” Operating by touch, she checked for injuries that might have been hidden by his shirt. One side of his body was ice-cold, as cold as the snow outside. The spot started from a couple inches above his hip and stretched down beyond the waistband of his jeans. Jacqueline sucked in a breath.
The Greys, maybe. Nothing else seemed to be wrong.
She reached for the button of his jeans as Tala dropped both kits next to her.
“Are you going to strip him down right here?” the young mother asked as she stepped away to scoop up her crying infant.
“I don’t think either one of us is going to be offended if I do,” Jacqueline said, swallowing against the tightness in her throat.
“You might want to take his boots off first.”
Choking on a laugh, eyes starting to sting, Jacqueline shook her head. “Of course.”
Don’t fall apart. Keep it together. You can handle this. You’ve got to handle this.
She worked off his boots and then stripped off his jeans. The skin of one thigh was discolored all the way down to the knee. His shin on the same side was discolored the same way, pale and whitish, almost looking frostbitten.
“Shit,” Tala said, peering across the fire. “What the hell hit him?”
“If I had to guess, probably one of the Greys,” Jacqueline murmured. “I need blankets, Tala.” What else do I need? God, I don’t even know. I’ve never seen this before. The Greys—they shouldn’t be able to do this, right?
God, I don’t know anymore. I don’t even know anymore.
She sucked in a rasping breath, abruptly aware that Tala was gone, probably to get the blankets she’d just asked for. The hairs on the back of Jacqueline’s neck refused to lay down and she shuddered, swallowing hard.
“Ériu, is that you?”
She felt a strange warmth and nodded to herself, swallowing again. “All right. Stay near, hmm? As long as it’s safe.” Jacqueline pulled Phelan into a sitting position so she could peel off his shirt. First she swore at the chill that had spread across his shoulders and back, just like the cold she’d felt along his leg and side, then she swore at the blood she saw on the lining of his jacket where it had been laying beneath him.
“Dammit, Phelan! What the hell did you do?”
He didn’t answer and it made her heart hurt. Her chest was tight and breathing was hard.
Jacqueline squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that tried to escape. She couldn’t cry—not now, not yet. She had to finish taking care of him. After that was done, she could fall apart, but no sooner.
She peeled off his shirt and threw it to the side, not caring where it landed. She rolled him onto his stomach to get a better look at what was bleeding. His shoulders were smeared with fresh and drying blood, the skin of his back just as discolored as his leg.
Definitely one of the Greys, but I’ve never seen it like this before. She grabbed a basin and filled it partway with tepid water, partway with hot water from the kettle. A few clean rags from her kit got tossed in that water as she peered closely at Phelan’s shoulders, seeking the source of the bleeding.
There! Two sets of marks, puncture wounds almost surgically neat, like someone had stabbed him with twelve large-bore needles in a crescent shape, six wounds to each shoulderblade, deep enough to penetrate the muscle almost all the way down to the bone.
How didn’t I notice that before? She shook her head and grabbed one of the wet rags, folding it quickly and pressing it against one wound. A second rag ended up over the other.
“Just stay with me, Phelan.” She watched him as she reached for her kit to find her mortar and pestle, for the herbs she’d need for compresses and the strips she’d need for bandages. He was deathly still, breathing slow, completely silent and limp in front of her. It wasn’t a sign she liked at all.
“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me now.”
Let it be known that this update totally got me in trouble with my best friend.
That is all.