All Souls' Night - Renee Rose Page 0,192

I slash my own wrist, hold it to Temi’s lips, and allow my blood to flow into her mouth.

For a second, nothing happens. “Damn it. I was too late.” My whole body floods with regret and anger. But I keep my wrist there and twist the skin to allow more blood to flow, faster. “Take it, take it,” I murmur. I rub her chest with my free hand, touch her face. It’s so cold and still.

It seems like nothing is happening, but the blood must be entering her body somehow, because it’s still flowing from my wrist and isn’t leaking from her lips. What’s happening is a mystery, but I hope against all hope and make promises to long-dead Gods, to the Fates, to the entire world: Save her. Please. I will return the favor somehow, sometime, somewhere.

As a minute goes by, and then another, a dreadful realization hits me: the blood is flowing into her, but it’s not doing a thing. I’m filling a hollow vessel with nothing.

Temi is gone.

“That should have been enough.” Alain leans in. “You can stop.”

I keep my wrist against her lips. “Maybe a little more.” I can hear the desperation in my voice.

“I’m sorry.” He touches my shoulder.

Lucius is silent, but I hear him bow his head down behind me. “All you can do now is wait, Locke.” His voice is somber.

I take my wrist from Temi’s lips and seal the wound, then I take her head into my hands. “Please, Temi. Come back to me.” I lean down to listen for breathing sounds, for anything.

She’s silent and still, a wax doll.

I put my lips to hers, tasting the odd mixture of my own blood and some of hers lingering there from her injuries. I breathe into her mouth; although CPR doesn’t work in a situation like this, I want to give her every piece of myself that I can.

“I know you’re still in there. Fight back, Temi. Come back.” I pat her cheeks with my palms. “Listen to my voice. Follow my voice. Temi, I need you. You can do this. You can come back.”

“She may not choose to return.” Lucius’s voice is low. “Part of this process, Locke, requires that the human be willing. They may instead choose to go…” his voice trails off for a moment, “to we don’t know where. To the other.”

Even Lucius, with his centuries of knowledge, doesn’t know what happens when we die.

“I know.” My voice is harsh. “But I want her back. Temi.” I pat her cheeks harder. “Temi!”

And just when I’m ready to give up hope—to grieve, to think about the awful and necessary discussion of how to bring the body back to her family—she gasps.

It’s a long whistling sound, a train arriving at a strange new station. Then her eyes flash open. I don’t see her, yet—not Temi. Just a creature who’s alive.

“Careful.” Lucius blurs forward. “She may be feral. You may need to restrain her.”

I grasp her by both of her arms. “You’re safe, Temi. You’re with me. You’re okay.”

She blinks and looks around. Her chest heaves and she sucks in a breath of air. She looks like a caged animal, her eyes wild and savage—

She screams, a howl of rage and pain and despair. Then she breaks down into sobs, her whole body heaving.

“Hold her.” Lucius’s voice is sharp. “Make sure she doesn’t rampage. She does not know what’s happening.”

I sit on the floor and cradle her in my lap, holding her with both arms. “Steady, Temi. You’re safe. You’re with me. Locke.”

I sit there for hours until she stops fighting my grasp and is finally able to hear my voice.

But I have hope, because her wound is healed, and she’s alive. She smells of herself and of me both—the blood is mixing in her veins, and it’s sustaining her, because her face is pink again.

“What happened?” Her voice is low.

Lucius and Alain sit, watching like hawks.

“You were shot.” I start with the easy part.

“That man shot me. Eddie’s friend.” She shudders. “I was on the ground.” Her voice cracks. “I think I was dying.”

“You were dying.” I take a breath. “Yes.”

“And then you came to me.”

“You called me, and I came.” I touch her face.

“I was dying.” Her voice is full of wonder. “Did you take me to the hospital?” She sits up, and because she doesn’t seem like she’s going to run or fight, I give her slack. She touches her chest. Her neck. Her hands. “I’m better. What happened?”

“You