Page 13 of Fool Moon First Aid

“Ethan,” he finally answers me, his tone suggesting a mix of respect and camaraderie.

“Fun,” I reply, the word dripping with sarcasm.

“Clinic is locked up, and I have the keys,” Ethan says, tossing my keys in and climbing in after. “Let’s go before she bleeds out on us.”

“Got it,” Tyler replies, climbing into the front while Ethan settles in with me.

“All right, Goldilocks,” Ethan remarks, giving me a knowing look that confirms he overheard my bear comment, “let’s get you ready for the doc. We’re heading to Mystic Medicine.”

The hospital name brings images of state-of-the-art facilities and bustling corridors to mind. Not to mention that Mystic Medicine is a spiritkin run hospital. “Wouldn’t having one human and one supe medic be easier?” I ask, seeking distraction and feeling oddly comforted by his rumbling voice.

“Tried that,” he replies, his focus on the task at hand. “One guy got bit.” He presses gauze to my wound, and I wince at the sharp pain.

“No,” I gasp, fighting the discomfort. “Don’t like that.”

“I knew an Ava once,” he says, perhaps to distract me. His hands are steady as he works, his focus unwavering. “Cute little girl with pigtails. Nosy and confident.”

“What happened to her?” I ask, nausea building within me.

“ETA, Ty!” Ethan calls out.

“Two minutes,” Tyler responds from the front.

“Don’t know,” Ethan replies, keeping me focused on him. “This is going to sting.”

The pain that follows is intense, like a fiery brand searing through my leg. “Cut it off!” I yell in desperation.

“I plan to save this leg, Tempest,” Ethan assures me, his tone firm yet caring.

“Here,” Tyler announces from the front.

“Good,” I say, a wave of relief washing over me. This entire trip has been surreal, and my impromptu confession about cuffing season now seems like just another oddity in a night full of them.

As the ambulance slows, I’m left with a sinking feeling that my leg might be in worse shape than they are letting on, but for now, I’m just along for the ride, trying to keep my spirits up.

Brody

The persistent gurgle of the coffee machine in the corner of the conference room pulls my attention away from the dry statistics on the projector screen. Thirty-six hours and counting. It’s the longest shift ever, and the rich, earthy aroma of brewing coffee taps directly into my deep-rooted caffeine craving. As a spiritkin, my stamina is extraordinary, but even I have my limits, and I’m rapidly approaching them. The thought of crashing in my own bed, away from the hospital’s sterile walls and fluorescent lights, is increasingly appealing.

The coffee pot emits another gurgle, and it isn’t just a siren song for me, but for the others too. At the head of the conference room, Dr. Elizabeth Martin, our director, exudes an air of controlled exasperation. “How can all of you get so distracted by one lone coffee pot?” she questions, her voice tinged with the weariness that comes from leading a team of spiritkin doctors.

Beside her, Ms. Kayla Lopez, her assistant, offers a smirk that belies her calm demeanor. With the grace and poise of someone well-versed in the intricacies of our world, she leans in to whisper to Dr. Martin. To ordinary human ears, her words would be inaudible, but with my heightened spiritkin senses, I catch every syllable. “Most of these doctors have been on shift for far too long. Let them have their coffee,” she suggests, her voice a soothing balm in the charged atmosphere.

Dr. Martin sighs, the sound laden with the weight of her position, and slumps back into her chair. The shadows under her eyes, reminiscent of bruises against her otherwise impeccable appearance, speak volumes to her dedication. Her cinnamon-colored irises scan the room, resting briefly on each doctor who, driven by an almost primal need for caffeine, hastily stand, their chairs scraping against the floor. It reminds me of dinnertime for a bunch of animals.

Resisting the call of the coffee until the line dwindles, I reach for a doughnut instead. Its sugary glaze sticks to my fingers, a sweet contrast to the bitter coffee I’m forgoing. For now. These meetings, which are always on the first Friday of the month, drain us mentally and emotionally. They are necessary to review the statistics and assess the impact of our work over the past month, and the duration of these meetings varies, sometimes stretching into what feels like interminable hours, depending on the severity and complexity of the cases we’ve handled.

I glance at Ms. Lopez, who is already coordinating the arrival of more coffee carafes. Her efficiency and foresight are a godsend, especially in moments like this, when the collective energy of the room is flagging. Dr. Martin, recognizing her assistant’s indispensable role, gives her a nod of gratitude—a small but significant gesture.

With another doughnut in hand, my mind wanders back to the relentless pace of the emergency department. My spiritkin nature navigates the controlled chaos instinctively. Unlike human hospitals, our spiritkin facility operates on extended shifts—a practice that, while logical, takes its toll, even on those of us with enhanced endurance.

Dr. Martin’s gaze sharpens, and a hint of her inner shifter surfaces in the intensity of her eyes. “All right, let’s get moving. We all have places to be,” she declares, her tone commanding yet infused with an understanding that only someone who has walked in our shoes can possess.

In this work environment, the candor is starkly different from the more reserved human hospitals. We’ve all undergone double residencies—a grueling requirement that has given us a unique perspective on the divergent worlds of human and spiritkin medicine.

The duality of our training, born from a contentious Supreme Court ruling that allows patients to refuse treatment from spiritkin, weighs heavily on me. As a doctor and a spiritkin, I navigate this chasm between humans and spiritkins daily, feeling its rift in both my professional and personal spheres.

Dr. Martin’s assistant dims the lights, casting long shadows across the room, and the large television springs to life. I absently lick the sugary remnants off my fingers, bracing myself for the news we all dreaded yet expected. “Hunter murders are up,” she announces, her voice echoing somberly in the hushed room.

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