Bewitched (Betwixt & Between #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,56
left that he’d struggled, possibly for hours, to get to a phone that lay nearby, a phone just out of his reach. It must have been beyond frustrating.
I pointed. “Annette, his phone.”
She took her hand from her mouth, grabbed the phone, and handed it to me, then took out her own phone, and said, “I’m dialing 9-1-1.”
“Thank you. Mr. Quinn, can you talk?” I took his icy hand in mine.
He smiled, clearly in shock. “I knew an angel would come for me, but I had no idea she would look like you. Makes it . . . all worthwhile.” His voice was hoarse. It had to be from the cold or from the fact that he’d probably been yelling for help for hours.
After pocketing his phone, I wrapped both of my hands around his. “Sadly, I’m no angel. How long have you been here?”
“I—I’m not certain. What time is it?”
“It’s a little after four in the morning.”
“Then a long freaking time. I’d only been . . . been working a couple of hours when this happened. Maybe . . . maybe ten?”
“This morning?” I asked, shocked.
He nodded.
I was amazed he was even still alive.
“First responders are on the way,” Annette said, getting on the ground. She knelt beside me.
“I was rebuilding my motor.” He pointed to the massive hunk of metal on his leg.
“I can lift it off him.” Roane kept his voice low. “I can lift it off him, but I don’t know the extent of the damage. This could be the only thing keeping him from bleeding to death.”
“I can see that.” I nodded to him, then spoke to the backyard mechanic as his lashes drifted shut. “Leonard—”
“Leo,” he corrected, blinking back to me.
“Leo, stay with me, okay? Can you stay awake until rescue gets here?”
“As long as I get to look at you I can.”
Having given up on lifting the motor off him safely, Roane knelt on Leo’s other side.
Annette brushed a lock of hair off his brow, fibers from her fingerless gloves grazing his nose.
He reached up and rubbed it. The fact that he had the strength to move at all was a good sign.
“We need to cover him,” she said.
He glanced up at her. “Wow. Two angels for the price of one. This must be my lucky day.” He flashed a nuclear grin.
She offered him her best grin in return. “Damn straight it is. Can I get into your house? Grab some blankets?”
“Are you trying to get in my bed?”
“You’re feisty,” I said, trying not to giggle. That was a good sign too.
A thought seemed to hit him. He tried to rise but sucked in a sharp breath of air through his teeth and laid back.
“What is it?”
“Work. I was supposed to be to work at three. I need to call in.”
“How about I call for you tomorrow?”
He answered, but his words were garbled.
“We need to cover him,” Annette repeated, worry lining her face. “We need to get him warm.”
“Isn’t there a thing about warming someone too fast if they have with hypothermia too fast?”
“Yes, but it’s just blankets. I don’t think he’ll—” She stopped herself, but I could imagine what she was going to say. She didn’t think he would survive much longer.
“What’s that?” I pointed into the trees that acted as a barrier between Leo’s house and his neighbor’s.
Annette looked over while I raised two fingers and summoned the spell for warmth.
The symbol I drew sparked to life, light exploding out of the lines to draw heat from above and below. Not a lot. Just a steady flow to keep the cold at bay.
“Wow,” he said, gazing up at me. “How did you do that? Are you really an angel?”
Annette gaped at me.
My gaze shot to Roane’s. Only powerful witches, supernatural beings, and a segment of the population with certain mental illnesses could see the light from my spells. The everyday mundane could not. Leo Quinn just got a lot more interesting.
Annette continued to gape. “You did a spell and tried to hide it from me.”
“Did not,” I said, throwing in my best scoff for good measure. I’d bought it in a little shop in Sedona, so I knew it was good. They sold quality stuff there.
“You totally did too.”
“I totally did not.”
“Are her spells like staring at the sun?” Leo asked, not helping at all.
She glowered at me. “They are exactly like that. Well”—she looked down at him—“to certain people, they are. Say, you’re not a homicidal maniac, are you?”