Page 89 of Twisted Ties

I open my eyes. I’m hanging upside down, secured in place by my belt. It’s deathly quiet, only Winnie’s breath and Pip’s frightened squeaks. No tires squealing. No exploding magic.

“Did we lose them?” I ask, trying desperately to free myself so I’m ready to fight again.

Winnie doesn’t answer me and I twist my head. She’s hanging from her seat too, her head limp, blood dripping from her body onto the car ceiling below her.

“Winnie!” I scream, battling with my belt. “Winnie!”

She doesn’t respond. I yank on the stupid belt.

“Winnie,” I sob, a pain like broken glass in my throat. She can’t be. Not Winnie. “No!”

Her eyes flutter open weakly and I almost collapse with relief. But then they droop shut almost immediately. I get a handle on my belt buckle and snap it off, crumpling on the roof below and shuffling through the space to reach her.

“Winnie?” I say, searching her face and her body for signs of a wound. The front of her sweater is drenched in blood. “Oh no!” I say, freezing in terror.

“Rhi?” Winnie says, opening her eyes again.

“We need to get you to a hospital. To a healer!” I back away, trying to find the handle of the door. I need to call for help. I need to run and fetch help.

“No, Rhi,” she says, her voice feeble, her face becoming paler and paler before my eyes. “There isn’t time.”

I know there isn’t. I know. But she’s my friend. My best friend. I can’t watch her die. I need to save her. I need to find someone who can save her.

“Rhi,” she says, her eyes swooping in and out of focus. “Heal me.”

My entire body shakes. “I … I can’t.”

I couldn’t even heal my damn arm. I can’t heal her. Not a wound like that. I don’t have the skill or the power.

I can’t.

But then Pip nudges at me with angry grunts.

“I can’t do it,” I tell him. “You know I can’t.”

He glares at me and snorts as if he’s telling me: what choice do you have? Then to drive home the point, he butts my hand with his snout.

He’s right. It’s my fault Winnie took that hit from Barone. My fault that the protection spell was weakened. And it’s my fault she’s here injured now.

I jump forward, ripping open her sweater, and assess the damage. Her chest is an open, weeping wound of gore and blood that makes me gag. I swallow down my revulsion, my fear, my nerves, and press my palms firmly against my friend’s chest. I feel the beat of her weakening heart beneath my hands. Then I close my eyes and focus.

It’s not an easy spell. No matter what Azlan and Stone may say. It requires patience – something I so often lack – and an ability to tune into the other person, to hear their body and their magic, to encourage it to heal.

Blood spills through my fingers. But I keep going, Pip snorting encouragement beside me, his body pressed to mine, and gradually, gradually the blood falters, trickling slower and slower until it stops.

My own heart leaps into my throat and I can’t breathe for several seconds.

Did I do it? Did I heal her? Or is she …

Then I feel new skin forming beneath my fingers and tears stream down my face. I’ve no time to stop, though. I take a steadying breath and keep whispering the words, conjuring the skin and the blood vessels to heal, and new blood to replace the blood lost.

And finally, Winnie takes a deep breath of her own and opens her eyes.

I fall backwards, my arms shaking, my hands covered in blood.

Winnie peers down at her chest, touching it carefully with her fingers. Her skin is still painted with blood but there’s no gash there any more. She’s healed, the color already returning to her cheeks.

“You did it Rhi! You did it.”