Boundary Crossed (Boundary Magic #1)(86)

A dubious look crossed Atwood’s features, but I didn’t pause long enough to watch. “Let’s get out of here before Itachi shows up,” I said to Quinn, already moving toward the barn door under the hayloft. “The shitkicker can clean up his own mess.”

Quinn looked genuinely surprised, but he followed my lead, trusting me. I crossed under the edge of the hayloft and waited for him. Then I reached out and snagged the .45 from his belt, raised it straight in the air—and fired two shots up into the old wood beneath Billy Atwood.

There was a clatter and a muffled thump. I set the pistol down on the closest table and stepped back so that I was just under the edge of the hayloft. “Boost me up,” I said urgently.

Quinn just stared at me in shock. “Quinn!” I yelled, and he snapped to comply, forming a stirrup with his hands. I put one of Hazel Pellar’s crimson Keens into his hands and he lifted me straight up, putting a little restrained bounce into his movement. I hit the edge of the hayloft with my stomach and held on.

Atwood was lying on the loft floor, shock frozen on his face. I quickly assessed his wounds as I was clambering up onto the floor beside him. It looked like one bullet had gone up through his foot and grazed his forehead. The other had entered through his buttock and gone up into his gut. I had no idea what it was doing in there, but whatever it was had been enough to force him to drop the pistol—I was guessing a spinal injury. “Thank you, Sam,” I muttered under my breath.

Kicking the gun away from Atwood’s twitching hand, I hurried over to the portable crib, starving for a glimpse of my niece. I peered into the shadows of the loft—

And there she was. My breath caught in my throat, and I fell to my knees next to her, leaning on the edge of the crib. Charlie was on her back in the Pack ’n Play, still wearing the lavender jersey dress John had put on her for the party. I leaned over and hovered my fingers in front of her nose. “Charlie? Baby?” I said. She didn’t stir, but her breath was warm and steady on my fingertips. She was perfect.

I wanted nothing more than to scoop her up and rock her in my lap, but I couldn’t, not yet. “Quinn!” I yelled. “Stand back, okay?”

Without waiting for his response, I dropped to the floor and kicked Billy Atwood, once, twice, until his body slid off the hayloft. He’d lost consciousness by then, but I would have done it regardless.

“Put him next to Simon!” I ordered. I scooted to the edge of the hayloft, rolled onto my stomach, and lowered myself until I was hanging off the edge by my hands. Then I bent my knees and made the four-foot drop to the barn floor.

Quinn lifted Atwood up, letting him thump down on the steel table next to Simon. “I need you to call an ambulance for Simon, but then stay quiet, okay?” I said grimly. Without waiting for Quinn’s nod, I imagined my goggles, closed my eyes, and focused.

The first thing I noticed was Quinn. His vampire essence blazed in my radar, a bright, tempting red flare. With an effort, I pushed it away and concentrated on the blue, human sparks of Simon and Atwood.

Only Simon didn’t have one.

My gut clenched in fear and desperation, but I forced it down, focusing on Atwood. His blue spark was faint, and I could already see it beginning to dissipate, with the sickly yellowish-brown essence rising to the surface.

I reached in and pulled. There was probably a better way to do this, I knew—some sort of ceremony or something—but I had no idea what it was. I had no idea what I was doing, really. I was just operating on instinct and hope and the frantic desire not to let my friend die. Or at least, not to let him stay dead. So I imagined my hands were like a net or a fan, and I waved Atwood’s essence toward me, not daring to hope.

Later, I would compare it to the scene in The Little Mermaid where Ursula pulls the mermaid’s voice out of her throat with phantom hands. Instinctively I herded Atwood’s essence through the air with cupped palms. It was hard to keep it together, keep it contained once it was released from the witch’s body, but my focus was absolute. I drove the essence toward Simon’s chest, redirecting it into his heart.

And then I covered his heart with both hands, my tattoos writhing on my arms, and held the essence inside my friend, refusing to let it leave him again.



I don’t know how long I stayed there, locked in my mindset like a trance. Eventually the paramedics came, and Quinn had to pull me off Simon by force. I lashed out at him for a moment, beating at him with my fists and feet, and then I returned to my senses as the last bit of my power and energy seeped out of me. I went limp in his arms, and for the third time that day he reached down and scooped me up.

He must have fetched the car and changed his bloody clothes while the ambulance was on the way, because he was wearing clean jeans and a soft, faded T-shirt that tickled my cheek as he carried me outside. This time I was too weak to be annoyed.

Quinn put me in the front seat of the car before disappearing back into the barn for a few minutes. I zoned out, not quite asleep, not quite awake, feeling like I’d run a marathon and then followed it up with two hours of hot yoga and a sedative. I saw the ambulance pull away, sirens screaming, but couldn’t muster any feeling about it. I’d done the best I could.

A few more minutes went by, and then the passenger door opened again. Quinn ducked in and thrust a warm bundle into my arms. Charlie! With effort, I managed to lift my arms enough to hold her, inhaling the scent of tear-free shampoo and John’s house. I wanted to talk to her, to murmur assurances that both of us would be okay, but I didn’t have the energy. She was still unconscious anyway.