Page 70 of Discovered Magic
“They’re long dead.”
“Names?” he gritted.
“Harlan Green and his sidekick, Eustace,” she revealed on a tired sigh. “Must sleep. Don’t let them rape me.”
“Rest, Fire Cat. I’ll treat your leg and watch over you,” he assured her.
“You’d make an excellent Guardian,” she murmured as blackness descended.
* * *
As Royal plotted the best course to save the woman’s leg, he shoved down his rage. Jennings had thought nothing of firing at her, then deciding to assault her further as she bled out, the horse’s ass!
Under Royal’s direction, Frank and Wendall built a fire out of sight of the entrance, where the rock funneled up into a natural chimney. Though it was only midafternoon, they would need the heat come sundown, and based on Abbie’s blood flow, Royal suspected he’d have to cauterize her wound.
“Put pressure here,” he instructed, applying his own over Frank’s hands to show the amount needed. “Don’t let up.”
“Yessir, Royal.”
“Bring me a soap, a cloth, and a cup,” he called out to Wendall. The idiot walked like he was an old-timer on his deathbed. “Move!” he shouted, about two seconds from gifting the pokey fucker with a swift kick to his backside.
As soon as Wendall brought him the items, Royal dipped the cup in the grotto water, wet his hands, then handed it off to him. “Give me the soap and refill this.”
After gaining a small measure of lather, he nodded at Wendall. “Slowly pour that and rinse all the soap off.”
Satisfied he was as clean as he’d get, he elbowed Frank out of the way and stuck his finger into the bullet hole, feeling around for the lead. His relief was profound when he found it lodged in the meat of her muscle, and not the bone.
“Frank, wash and heat your blade. Wendall, fetch the whiskey.”
“Whisky? You ain’t?—”
Royal’s glare promised death.
“Sure, I’ll fetch it fer ya, Royal.”
“And get a needle and thread. Be quick about it.”
In their line of work, one of them always needed stitches. It only made sense to keep the necessities handy. He didn’t allow himself to falter when they returned, and he poured the alcohol into the opening, then used more on the knife. After the sizzling stopped, he eased the end into the muscle, getting underneath the ball. Next, he gave it back to Frank.
“Heat it again. Make it red.” To Wendall, he said, “Thread the needle.”
If there was one thing Wendall did well, it was sewing.
Using the booze, Royal doused his tools and began stitching the muscle. As soon as he was finished, he gestured to Frank.
“Give the knife to me.” Once in hand, he said, “Press the sides of the wound together, but keep your fingers out of the way.”
Abbie woke, screaming, the instant he seared her flesh.
On her wrist, an ornate silver bracelet lit up, drawing gasps from Frank and Wendall.
Shit! Why hadn’t he guessed she was a witch?
23
Wilder was champing at the bit.
Morning had come and gone without any word from Castor or the Perdition Ridge duo. His worry for Abbie was so high it was stratospheric. Evie had done her best to entertain him, but even she couldn’t contain her concern for the others.
