Summoning the Night (Arcadia Bell #2)(89)

My arms shook. Blood had soaked through the gray fabric way too fast. I pressed harder, using both of my hands. How long did it take someone to bleed to death? Minutes? How long had it been already? “Nine-one-one, Jupe,” I said with a strained voice.

He struggled with his cell phone. “I can’t dial,” Jupe answered frantically between sobs. “My hands are slippery!”

I heard noise behind us—traffic, brakes, car doors slamming . . . Jupe’s shrill voice carried in the darkness. “Help! Help us, please!”

I chanced a quick look over my shoulder. Several people were rushing into the front yard.

“Mr. Dare!” Jupe called out to one of the approaching silhouettes. “Help! Call Dr. Mick. My dad needs help!”

Dare jogged toward us. “Dear God,” he said. “Mark, get an ambulance here!” Dare yelled back at his son.

“No. Dr. Mick,” Jupe insisted. “It’s bad.”

“Can he speak?”

“Don’t you even try!” I barked at Lon as blood oozed between my fingers. “Stay still.”

Dare glanced at the carnage in the yard. “Are the kids—” Dare started.

“In the house,” I said. “Lon heard them.”

“Move away, miss,” one of the Dare’s people said, an Earthbound with a green halo. He kneeled beside Lon and tried to take over.

“No! He’ll bleed out.”

The Earthbound looked at my hands and winced. “Keep pressure on it.”

Any more pressure and I’d be choking him. I tried to keep my hands steady. Lon’s eyes were glassy and kept fluttering shut. His breath was becoming shallow.

“Stay awake,” I croaked. Hot tears welled and spilled down my cheeks. I dipped my head to his and pressed a shaky kiss to his brow. “I need you, Lon,” I whispered. “You’re the only family I have. Don’t leave me.”

His lips moved. He looked up me, dazed, and blinked.

“Police will be here soon,” Dare said. “I’ll handle them.”

Another car drove up. I heard talking outside the fence, commotion. I could spy a little of it through the open gate. A lone figure was arguing with Dare’s people, who were managing a growing crowd of neighbors on the sidewalk. Someone raced through the gate.

“Cady!”

“Bob?”

“Lon called me,” he yelled. The phone call before he surrendered, I remembered. Not Dare, but Bob? The Earthbound dashed out of the shadows, chest heaving, face red. “Oh, no,” he lamented when he spotted Lon.

“You’re a healer,” Jupe said.

“Yes, but not a good one,” Bob said. “I can’t . . . this is . . . it’s too big.”

“Yes, you can,” I pleaded. “You can help. Please, Bob.”

“Cady”—he shook his head—“I really can’t. I’m not my father. Small wounds, Cady. Not this.”

“Jupe, Bob is a good healer. He just doesn’t believe he is. Can you please persuade him?”

Jupe wiped away tears. “What?”

“Tell him how good he is, Jupe. You dad needs someone now. Dr. Mick is too far away.”

Realization cracked Jupe’s miserable expression. He swallowed hard, squeezed his eyes shut, and shouted, “You’re a good healer, Bob. Good enough to help my dad. Please fix him!”

Bob swayed on his knees.

Lon’s green-and-gold halo was shrinking. His eyes fluttered closed.

Jupe choked on a sob and tried to persuade Bob again. His body shook as he balled up his hands into fists. “Heal him!” he cried out. “Stop the bleeding!”

“I trust you, Bob,” I said, smiling and crying at the same time. “Please.”

He stared at Lon for a moment, then nodded once and took a deep breath.

Bob’s fingers touched mine and prodded. I didn’t want to let go. He prodded me a second time. I sobbed and jerked my hands away. I trust you, I trust you, I trust you. . . .

Bob removed the soaked compress from Lon’s neck and slid his fingers over the wound. He mumbled something to himself and closed his eyes.

I waited, talking to Lon in a whisper and gripping his limp hand. Jupe’s squatted next to me, his shoulder pressed against my arm as he nervously rocked on his heels.

I waited longer, barely breathing, as Dare’s people worked in the distance, rescuing the kids from the house.

Then Bob gasped.

His shoulders strained.

My heart pounded.

And as Bob let out a long, labored breath, Lon’s halo pulsed brighter. An ambulance wailed in the distance, and Lon’s fingers, slick with blood, flexed around mine.

His eyes opened.

Mr. and Mrs. Holiday walked into Lon’s house hauling a homemade cake scattered with multicolored birthday candles. It was a week late, but when the actual birthday sucked as much as Jupe’s did, it was only fair to get a do-over. Banana-and-chocolate layer cake with peanut butter frosting was definitely not my first choice, or second. But it was Jupe’s favorite, and they’d gone to so much work. When I tasted it, though, I was pleasantly surprised. “Mmm,” I said, smiling.

“Told you. It’s good, right?” Jupe shoveled an enormous bite into his mouth.

“Slow down,” Lon said. “You’ll make yourself sick.”