This...wasn’t going to work, Daniel realized. All of them were panicking. He was panicking—but with a bullet wound in his leg still oozing blood, he needed to find a solution. Now. And none of them had any medical training.
“T-There’s money,” he whispered, raising an arm to paw at his jacket. “In my pocket. Inside.”
Leon frowned. “I don’t think that’s important right now.”
“Take it,” Daniel insisted. “Drive. Then…Find somewhere. W-We can hole up. Until we figure out what to- what to do next.”
He was about to stick his hand into the jacket, but Olivia eased the fabric back, pulling out the wad of cash he’d hidden within. She didn’t say anything, but he heard her indrawn breath.
“Jesus,” James mumbled from the front seat. “Is that-”
“That’s a lot of money,” Leon whispered. “Are you sure?”
“I need to go,” Daniel mumbled, laying his head back against Leon’s lap. Pain. Every hammering beat of his heart drove agony through his wounded let.
Just like that, he could feel every pair of eyes in the vehicle settle on him. Leon spoke first. “What? Wait, you’re not saying-”
“Need to know...how to treat this.” Daniel closed his eyes. He couldn’t quite bring himself to keep looking at the fear in Leon’s gaze anymore. “Just going to brush up.” Alex? This...is an odd request. But-
“Wait.” Leon grabbed his shoulder, shaking him roughly. “You can’t sleep. Daniel, you’re hurt. You shouldn’t-”
“Just for a little bit,” Daniel whispered. “I’ll be back.” Please. I don’t know another way.
Leon kept shaking him. Trying to keep him from leaving, of course. Daniel ignored it, sinking steadily into the black. He was fine. He’d been shot in the leg, not anywhere vital. He’d live, so long as he managed to stop the bleeding.
And already, he could feel Alexandria’s arms around him, pulling him deeper. Taking him home.
Leon’s protests rang in his ears, following him down as he faded to nothing.
* * * * *
Daniel’s eyes opened.
He sucked in a panicked gasp of air, his back arching. For a moment, it was like he’d been falling, as though he’d been in one of those horrible dreams and had just slammed into the ground.
The time-worn timbers and smooth stone of Alexandria stretched out overhead.
His heart pounded. For a while, he could only lay there, breathing.
Hot fires rippled up his legs, bringing that to a screeching halt. He twisted to the side, grabbing for his leg. Blood. Blood, and pain. His palms pressed down against the rough leather and fabric of his pants, squeezing at the wound beneath.
Through the agony, he gasped, opening his eyes. He was in Alexandria—but not in his quarters. He wore his sturdy uniform, his mask still bouncing in place on his arm, but...it was as though she’d dropped him into some random hallway. A shelf waited a few paces down, a stack of books sitting by his head.
He was here—back in the Library. He exhaled slowly, still squeezing his ruined calf. It hadn’t even been half a day yet, but it might as well have been a lifetime.
Another pang, like hot needles plunging into his leg. He grimaced, forcing himself up to his elbows.
He couldn’t stay there. He couldn’t wait around, curled into the fetal position in some forgotten study. He needed to get up and fix himself, and then…
And then, something. His thoughts went blank, after that. What was he going to do? It didn’t matter that he was in Alexandria. Out there, where it mattered, he was bleeding out in the backseat of a cheap sedan with mages hunting him down.
He didn’t know what to do, or how to fix this.
First, though, he needed to fix himself. He rolled, ignoring the fires burning in his leg, and brought himself to one knee. The gunshot leg trailed behind him, unmoving and useless.
Stand, damn you. Get the hell up. Licking his lips, he sucked in a breath of air—and he stood.
Mostly. He made it halfway to vertical before his leg screamed its protest, sending him lurching to the side. He clung to the bookshelf alongside him, leaving bloody fingerprints against the wood. “Don’t fall,” he whispered, panting for breath. “Keep going.” Sure, he might sound insane, but hearing the words out loud grounded him. Stabilized him.
Clinging to the ancient shelves for support, he shuffled forward. It was awkward. Damn, it was awkward. Overhead, wind howled through the rafters. The windows rattled in their frames. He’d have smiled, if he wasn’t utterly focused on keeping himself moving. Alex wasn’t happy, either. Not that he could blame her, when her Librarian was stumbling around getting blood everywhere.
Have to get back to the sitting room. The thought hung in his mind, outlined in razor-sharp precision. She’d given him medicine before, when his idiot guests had burned themselves and collapsed half the Library around their own ears. She could give him something, too. Something to keep him moving. He just had to-
His fingers slipped. Something about the dust and the blood, turning the wood to ice under his fingers. He tried to catch himself, tried to brace with his other leg—which promptly buckled, fingers of fire coursing up from the wound.
The ground rose to catch him.
Daniel hit the ground hard enough to drive the air from his lungs. He lay flat, gasping. Spots of moisture burned in his eyes.
It shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t have gone like this.
The winds shrieked louder, seeping through into the Library and tugging at his hair. It fluttered around his face, pulling free of its hair tie to tease at his skin.
“Get up,” he heard a woman whisper.
He didn’t bother looking. He’d heard her voice here before, whoever the hell she was. “F-Fuck off,” he gasped instead, digging his fingers against the stone floor.
“I said, get up, Librarian.”
Daniel ground his teeth together, dropping his chin to his chest. It hurt. It hurt so much—so why did she feel entitled to tell him what to do? The least she could do was help.
But the only
