“Liar.” I didn’t want to leave the boys alone; not with Quentin injured and Connor preoccupied with keeping the blood inside his body. Looking up, I shouted, “April! Come to the cafeteria
I wasn’t sure she’d come; she could have been too sick with grief to listen. Then the air crackled and she was there, confusion fading into wide-eyed shock as she saw us. It was the first time I’d seen her speechless.
There wasn’t time to enjoy it. “April, get us something we can tie around Quentin’s arm. Then get Gordan. Tell her it’s an emergency. You got that?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts!
She disappeared.
“Toby . . .” Connor sounded worried. I turned back to Quentin, and winced.
He’d grown paler, and the blood between Connor’s fingers was getting darker. Both of us were soaked to the elbows. How much more did Quentin have to lose?
“Hey.” I put my hand on Quentin’s shoulder, squeezing. “No sleeping, you. Open your eyes. Come
April reappeared, holding a strip of white cotton. “Will this work?” she asked, sounding honestly worried.
Things were starting to get through to her.
“Yes.” I grabbed the fabric, edging Connor’s hands aside as I tied it around Quentin’s upper arm. The cotton was red by the time I had it in place, but the bleeding had stopped.
“Quentin, wake up.” I shook his shoulder. He made a small, grumpy noise, and I did it again. “Wake up.”
“No,” he said, opening his eyes.
“Tough,” I said, managing not to start crying in relief. He was alive. He might not stay that way, but he was alive.
The cafeteria door slammed open, and Gordan came running into the room, first aid kit in her hand. “Holy
Now I did start to cry, slumping against Connor. Quentin stared at me, and then he started crying, too. It was just too much. We’d lost Jan, and I had no idea how badly Quentin was hurt, and . . .
Everyone has a breaking point. I was starting to wonder how close I was to mine.
TWENTY-FOUR
IT TOOK GORDAN TEN MINUTES to splint Quentin’s arm and get a pressure bandage in place. I helped as much as I could, holding his head when she had him stretched out on the floor, fetching and carrying things from her first aid kit. I’ve never been interested in emergency medicine, but I was starting to think I needed to learn. The people around me get shot too often.
I couldn’t keep the image of Ross out of my head. Just like Quentin, he was shot when he was with me; unlike Quentin, he took the bullet in the head. All that saved Quentin from the same fate was the fact that my paranoia wouldn’t allow me to ignore a glint of motion in a supposedly empty room. If I’d been paying less attention—if I’d been just a little bit more self-absorbed—I’d have lost him.
Oak and ash. That was too damn close.
April watched for a long time before she asked timidly, “Is he leaving the network?”
“What? No! No.” I glared. I couldn’t help myself. “He’s going to be fine.”
“I am glad,” she said, voice grave. “Do you require further assistance?”
I looked at Quentin’s silent, tear-streaked face—when did he get that pale? How could he be so pale and still be breathing?—and said, “Can you go get Elliot for us, please? We’re going to need help moving him.”
“Yes,” April said, disappearing.
When I raised my head, Gordan was staring at me. “What?”
“I told you he didn’t belong here.” She tied off another strip of gauze. “Guys like him are too delicate for this kind of thing.”
“Don’t start, Gordan.” I pushed my hair back, ignoring the way it caught at my blood-tacky hands. I was filthy. For the moment, I really didn’t care. “It’s not his fault someone decided to pick us off.”
“So whose is it? Yours?”
Her words stung more than I wanted to let them. “No. It’s just the way it is.”
“Uh-huh. Let me tell you about ‘the way it is.’ ” Her finger stabbed toward Quentin’s chest. “You see how he’s breathing? He lost a lot of blood. I mean a
“I’m not listening to you.”
“Of course you’re not. I suppose you’re not going to listen when I tell you that you can’t take him to a hospital, either.” She started cramming bloodstained first aid supplies back into the box. “Get out of here, or he’s a casualty. That plain enough for you?”
“What the fuck do you want from me? Sylvester’s already on the way. I can’t get us out of here any faster without a flying carpet!”
“Sorry, I left mine at home,” Quentin said, his voice a faint croak.
“You’re awake,” I said, bending over him again. “Don’t try to move.”
“Wouldn’t,” he said, and smiled—very slightly. “See? I follow orders.”
Connor barked an unsteady laugh. Gordan snorted. I shot her a warning look, saying, “April’s getting Elliot, and we’re going to move you.”
“Can’t leave.”
“Quentin . . .”
“No.” He opened his eyes. They were pained but clear. “Let me wait until His Grace comes. We’ll never avenge them if you leave now.”
“I can’t keep you here.” I knew how ludicrous we looked—both of us covered in blood, arguing. Never let it be said that fate doesn’t have a sense of humor.
“Can’t risk moving me, either.” He closed his eyes again. “Put me in a room with a lock. I’ll be fine.”
“Suicidal jerk,” Gordan said. I looked up. This time she met my eyes. “Are you going to let him decide whether or not he stays and dies?”
“Why not? I let the rest of you.” I stroked Quentin’s hair back with one hand, and looked to the door. There were footsteps coming down the hall. “Of course, unless that’s Elliot, it may be a moot point.” Connor’s hand found mine, and took it.
“Ha ha. Very funny.” Still, Gordan turned to watch the door, shoulders tense, and didn’t relax until Elliot stepped inside, followed by Alex. April appeared in her usual burst of static, standing several feet away from the new arrivals.
“I have brought him,” she said. It almost sounded like she was seeking approval.
“You did good,” I said, and stood. Elliot and Alex had both stopped just inside the door, eyes wide, staring at Quentin. I cleared my throat. “Hi.”
“Toby!” Elliot turned. “What happened?”
“Someone tried to kill us,” I said.
I couldn’t have gotten a better result if I’d tried. Elliot staggered, and Alex stared. “What?” he said, blankly.
“Kill us. Someone tried to kill us.” I shook my head. “There were two shots. The first missed. The second got Quentin.”
“He’s a lucky bastard,” said Gordan, standing. “They shattered the bones, but missed the artery. A little further and he would’ve bled to death before I got here.”
I shuddered, unable to hide it this time, and said, “We’ve already gone over why I can’t take him to a hospital. Does the room where I was napping earlier have a lock?”
