Marcus and Victoria had taken up residence on a rooftop a few buildings away from Harris Townhouses. The sun peeked just over the horizon after a long, arduous night. He hadn’t slept, limbs ached, and though the anxiety had quieted, it still thrummed in his chest. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t leave Ophelia behind, as much as Victoria had tried to instill this was not a good idea.
“Nothing?” She asked as she returned from the roof access stairwell to sit beside him. She couldn’t have been more than a few inches from him, but since they pulled themselves off of that floor she’d felt miles away.
“Nothing,” he said. Literally, and unfortunately so. The street below was a ghost town. No cars. No people walking around. Sure, it was the dead of night for most of the time he’d been up here, but surely something should have happened.
“I know you want to help your…friend.” Her voice caught on the last word, half biting and half unsure, like she didn’t know what to call her. Honestly, neither did he. “But we should really get out while we’re ahead.”
“I just need to make sure she’s alright. Then we leave.” Marcus reassured her.
A figure in all black sprinted around the front of the building as he spoke. Arcanex security.
Then all hell broke loose.
A window on the third floor shattered, then one on the fifth, then the fourth. Broken glass rained onto the concrete below, and panicked yells erupted from the building. Moments later, vibrant, multicolored smoke billowed from empty windowpanes, and a slight form in a bright red cardigan jumped from the fifth-floor window.
Marcus shot to his feet as if he were going to jump off his own building to catch her, but she landed a few feet below on a transparent, magical platform. His heart raced as he watched her take one short drop after another. Just when he thought she’d made the escape, the crack of gunfire sounded from within the smoke.
He didn’t stick around to see the aftermath. Marcus bolted down the stairs, a quick glance over his shoulder said Victoria was right behind him. The fresh enchantments on their suits giving them the extra bit of speed they needed to tear down the stairwell and burst out the front doors just in time to see one of the security officers burst out the front door and fire a burst of shots at Ophelia.
Time slowed. One bullet struck her shield, flaring with golden light. The second cracked it. The third pierced through with the resonant sound of bursting magic.
Ophelia spun around and dropped. A shot sounded from behind him, but he was already running. “Marcus!” He heard Victoria yell at him, but he didn’t stop. She had to be alright. She had to be. If she were dead. After everything. No, he forced the thoughts away.
He crossed the road and scooped Ophelia out of the pool of blood forming beneath her. Victoria raised the rifle she’d confiscated from the Arcanex agent last night and fired several shots toward the door.
“Run!” she snapped at him, already backpedaling as she provided covering fire.
Marcus ran. Ran until his legs threatened to give out, until his lungs burnt, and then ran some more. Warm, wet blood seeped through his shirt and jumpsuit, urging him forward with fear. He needed safety. Where?
“Here!” As if reading his mind, Victoria took a hard right down a heavily gardened alley. Two more buildings blurred by before they slid to a stop behind a grocery store.
Marcus laid Ophelia down as gently as he could and pulled off the cardigan. Injuries were commonplace on the reserve. He and Victoria had both seen plenty. This, however, was not the reserve. There was no backup, no mediwitch, no James cursing as he dug needle and thread into Marcus’ skin.
This is not the rescue he’d imagined.
The hole was clean through the shoulder, but the blood loss was the main concern. They worked in silence, aside from panicked breaths and tearing garments. They needed to keep pressure applied and the wound packed. At least until they could get her to a proper doctor.
Ophelia’s eyes lazily opened, and she looked up at him with a weak smile. “You came back for me…” she whispered. “I knew you would.”
Marcus swallowed hard as her eyelids fluttered. “Of course I did.” He did his best to control his expression and breathing as Victoria dug into the duffel with the gear she’d smuggled from the reserve. She brought out two rolls of prepackaged gauze and ripped one open. “Ophie, you got shot.” Marcus whispered as calmly as his panic would allow. “We’re gonna pack the wound to stop the bleeding, but this is going to hurt like hell.”
She just nodded. “You called me Ophie…” she mumbled. “You’ve never done that before.” She gave him a crooked grin, though her eyes remained closed.
Marcus lifted her up and pressed her chest against his. Victoria gave him a nod, he ensured he had a tight grip on her, and then nodded himself.
Ophelia screamed.
He pulled her in tighter, muffling the sound against his chest and hissing with pain as she bit down hard on his flesh. A few more seconds of Victoria pushing gauze into her open wound and she passed out. They quickly packed the entry and exit wounds and wrapped the shoulder as tight as they dared.
“We’ve gotta figure out how to get off this fucking island.” Marcus laid Ophelia down with her head propped up on the cardigan. He stood, took a few quick steps, then turned, the pacing starting. “How did you get here? I flew commercial and there’s no way in fuck…”
“Marcus,” Victoria said softly, her hand sliding under Ophelia.
“We can’t do that with a gunshot victim. Unless you know someone who can…”
“Marcus!” she snapped at him, now holding a bundle of papers she’d pulled from the inside pocket of the cardigan.
“What?”
She was already unfolding and scanning the pages. After a moment, a quiet, incredulous chuckle escaped. She flipped to the last page. The laughed slipped from her lips again, too amused for the moment. Almost private. “Here.” She offered him the papers, fingers gripping the bundle just a little too long before letting go.
Marcus’ brows furrowed as he scanned the paperwork. Speckled with blood and still bound by the ritual that created it, he stared down at his NDA. “H-how…?” He shook his head as he flipped through the pages, his signature there at the bottom of the last sheet beside her father’s.
“I need to go get a phone.” Victoria’s tone had turned distant, like she’d turned something off. “I have some old friends that can probably get us out of here.” She paused, glancing down at Ophelia again. “Probably fix her up better than we did.”
Marcus looked up at her to say something, but stopped short. Her eyes were on him. Something twisted in his chest. Guilt maybe? Fear? Maybe something he wasn’t ready to say yet.
She turned on a heel and jogged off, bouncing braid leaving no more room for words.
Marcus took one more look at the signatures. Guilt had never been something Marcus struggled with. Once he made a decision, he normally stood behind it. Staring at the names at the bottom of the page, he couldn’t help but feel bad the others didn’t have the same opportunity. He tucked the document safely into one of their duffels. His thoughts flickered to the pain of almost breaking it. The feeling of boiling from the inside. Maybe his parents could figure out how to break it. That was a problem for later. He refocused on Ophelia, keeping a close eye on the wound and occasionally making sure her pulse was still steady.
Ten minutes later, a beat up early model Ford Fiesta pulled around the back of the store. Victoria left the engine running, opened the back door, and jogged over to them. “Let’s get her in the back.”
“Where’d you get the car?” Marcus asked as they carefully lifted Ophelia off the ground and gingerly carried her over to the car.
“Borrowed it.” She said, shrugging. When they passed the driver’s side door, he spotted the swirling pink smoke of residual magic wafting from the ignition. Not your average hot wire job. Marcus climbed into the back and eased Ophelia in as if she might break, head and shoulders slightly elevated on his legs. Victoria hopped into the driver’s seat and they were off.
“Where are we going?” Marcus asked, his fingers combing through the blond locks on his lap.
Victoria’s eyes met his in the rearview. “Old friend from my military days. Pilot. His wife was a medic. He owes me, so there shouldn’t be too many questions.”
They’d left London proper and dipped into farmland that almost reminded him of home. Cows and horses grazing on the roadside as they turned off the highway onto a two lane back road. It wasn’t like this was the first time he and Victoria had sat in silence together. This one was different, though. After everything that had happened…and then Ophelia. What with the getting shot and the NDA. He glanced down at her, then up again to meet Victoria’s eyes in the mirror.
“You alright?”
She blinked a few times, still looking back at him, then looked back to the road. “Yeah.” She paused an uncomfortably long time. “Just ready to be back home.”
Marcus pursed his lips, brow creasing as he watched what he could see of her face in the mirror. “Yeah, me too.”
The plague of silence infected the rest of the drive. Now and then he’d look up to see if he could catch Victoria’s gaze again, but it never happened. So, he focused on Ophelia. She’d gone pale. It was expected with the blood loss, but still unsettling. Her pulse stayed steady, so they’d successfully stymied the bleeding, at least temporarily.
After nearly an hour of the London skyline disappearing behind them, the car turned off the two lane road and onto what could best be described as a dirt footpath. A couple miles up the path, a patch of dense trees at least three hundred yards across stood out in the center of wide open fields, blocking its contents from onlookers.
Victoria pulled up to the gate. A camera at the top tilted and focused on the car before the polished metal swung open.
Marcus gnawed on his lip for a moment before speaking, his voice sounding a little more worried than intended. “You said these were people from your military days?”
“Yeah…they’re a little strange. Just follow my lead. You’ll be fine.” She said as they pulled up a gravel path in front of an old log cabin.
The front door swung open and a man emerged. He seemed roughly the same height as Marcus and Victoria, but he was rail thin and white hair sprinkled his scraggly beard making him look older than he was. He carried a gurney under one arm and carrying the other end was a middle-aged woman wearing bright yellow hospital scrubs.
Victoria turned to look over her shoulder at him. He couldn’t place the look in her eye. It felt like sadness at first, but not quite. Something distant. Her jaw shifted, and she looked away. The door opposite him opened, and the two set the gurney before the man gave a stiff salute.
“Major Hernandez.”
“At ease, Corporal.” She saluted him back, then immediately went in for a hug. “It’s good to see you, Hank.”
The woman moved quickly around the two soldiers, dusty blond bob bouncing as she reached to take Ophelia’s legs. “Hello,” her voice was high and airy. “I’m Bridgette. How is she?”
“Marcus,” he glanced down at Ophelia and shook his head. “She’s lost a lot of blood, but I think we got her packed in time. Are you able to work on her here?” Marcus glanced out the windshield at the rotting logs of the cabin skeptically.
“Oh, not to worry, sweetheart. It may not look like much, but we’ve got quite the setup. Now help me get her out.” She gave him a warm smile before counting him down to lift her onto the gurney.
Gingerly, the two of them got Ophelia out of the car. She stirred as they got her onto the gurney, opening her eyes and groaning. “My shoulder…”
“I know, we’re getting it taken care of now.” Marcus glanced back at Victoria, who was currently discussing their travel plans with Hank. He didn’t like that these total strangers now had their lives in their hands, especially Ophelia, but he had to trust Victoria knew what she was doing.
“Gotta pop it over the lip, dear,” Bridgette called out to him as they neared the door.
Marcus adjusted his grip and helped guide the gurney into the cabin. The inside of the home opened up, and he was awestruck. The rustic cabin morphed instantly to something straight out of a science fiction movie.
The floors were spotless white vinyl tiles, like you’d find in a hospital. Sheet metal walls reflected back fluorescent lights that hung off the ceiling in neat rows. Across from the entrance was a wall of monitors, each with a live feed of the outside of the house and the treeline beyond. Furniture was sparse. A couch, metal table, fireproof safe bolted to the wall, and a bookcase with binders labeled with classics like EMP Protocols, Chemtrail Filtration, and Identifying Government Agents.
Ophelia groaned again, one of her hands settling on the wrapped up wound as they wheeled her into the next room. “Marcus? It hurts.”
“Just hang in there.” He squeezed her hand. The smell of iodine and alcohol filled his senses, bringing tears to his eyes. Harsh white lights buzzed overhead, washing the room in unforgiving brightness. While it was no hospital, Bridgette seemed disturbingly well stocked. They wheeled the gurney to the center of the room, and she prepared several metal trays with surgical implements on them.
“Go wash up, love. I’ll need your help closing.”
He looked down at Ophelia, nervous to leave her side for even an instant in this strange place, but reluctantly did so. As Marcus scrubbed his hands, he examined the surrounding shelves. Lines of pill bottles, some he recognized like antibiotics and pain medication, while others seemed like they were written in different languages. On the other side, tinctures like he would find in his sister’s shop. They didn’t have flowery names like Calliope had given them, but he recognized the ingredients scrawled on tape across the front.
Marcus returned after scrubbing his hands into oblivion, and Bridgette took her turn washing at the metal sink. “You got my contract.” He whispered, looking down at her closed eyes and grimacing face.
Her expression softened, a weak smile tugging at her lips. “You would have done it for me.” She whispered back.
Bridgette walked around the other side of her, tossing him a pair of latex gloves and putting one on herself. “Hello dear, my name is Bridgette.”
“I’m Ophelia.” She tried to raise her voice to a normal octave, but fell short.
“Oh, expected another American. It’s good to meet you, Ophelia. Unfortunately, it’s time for you to sleep. We can have a nice chat in a couple hours though. Do me a favor and count back from ten?” Without waiting for her to start counting, Bridgette filled a syringe with one of the alchemical tinctures. The label read Nocturnus petals, something his sister used in sleeping tonics.
“Ten..” The syringe sank into her forearm and the deep purple liquid flowed into her as Bridgette pushed the plunger. “Nine…” she winced.
“And…she’s out.” Bridgette nodded. “Alright, let’s see how you brutes did packing this wound, shall we?”
Bridgette worked with startling efficiency, using him as an orderly to fetch things. She unpacked the wound, sterilized the area with saline, and used another tincture he didn’t recognize to stop a tiny bleed that appeared after pulling the gauze. He helped move Ophelia around so that she could suture the exit wound, then back to the entrance. Bridgette finished off the last suture, lifting her hands to let him really marvel at her work. Victoria said she was a medic, but the precision here said seasoned professional.
“Alright, now for the magic touch.” She pointed to a bottle on the surgical tray with a mucus green substance in it. “Hand that here, love?”
Marcus grabbed the container and reached over Ophelia to hand it to her. It spurted out like lotion, but had an oily sheen that curled his lip. “What is that?”
“Bit of a home-brew miracle goo.” She said as she started to rub the slimy goo between the sutures. “Keeps the wound clean and will stop any scarring. The stitches will dissolve, but make sure this gets applied twice a day.” She gestured for him to come back over. “Help me get the back.”
Marcus stepped around without hesitation this time.
Once they were done, Bridgette set her up on a few monitors and led a reluctant Marcus out of the room so Ophelia could rest. Victoria and Hank were already in the surprisingly normal kitchen when the two of them walked in. Outside of the foil lining on the windows, it looked like it belonged in any modern home. Hank offered his hand as Marcus approached.
“Apologies for my manners. I’m Hank Dribble.”
“Marcus Tenneson.” He shook the man’s rough, bony hands and nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
“The Major was explaining that you all need a lift back to the States.” Hank lifted the beer in his hand and nodded. “Happy to help. Just need to get flight clearance, then we’ll be off. Shouldn’t be longer than a few hours.”
Marcus pressed his lips together and looked from Victoria back to Hank. “Just like that? No quid pro quo?”
Hank and Victoria both chuckled, even Bridgette gave a little laugh as she handed him a glass of water. “Not when this one’s involved.” He gestured to Victoria. “Free rides for life.”
“Wow, thanks. So you guys served together?” Marcus asked, drinking from the glass. “Must be a hell of a story behind that for these kinds of favors.”
“Oh, I could spill a thing or two on Hernandez,” said Hank with a mischievous grin, but Victoria whipped her head around to glare at him. “Obviously I won’t, though.” He held up a hand to ease her. “How’s the girl?”
“She’ll be fine. Triage was good enough to keep her stable all the way here.” Bridgette walked over and leaned against Hank, who wrapped an arm around her.
“Good. Well, let’s relax a bit. It’s a long flight.” Hank nodded to the other room.
The four of them walked back into the main room. Taking a second to relax felt almost unnatural after the last twenty-four hours he’d had, but he sat at the table and listened as Hank launched into a monologue about government controlled and magically enhanced surveillance birds spying on honest, tax-paying citizens. Victoria had made herself at home, rummaging through a box of supplies Hank and Bridgette had laying about. When she found what she was looking for, she held them up in triumph.
“I’m confiscating these, Hank.” She held up a carton of cigarettes and popped it open.
“Be my guest.” Hank nodded at her.
Marcus excused himself and followed Victoria out the door.
She already had a smoke in her mouth and was lighting it when he came out the door. She glanced at him, then looked down at the ground as she offered the pack to him.
“I quit.” He said softly, waving it off.
“Good for you. I wish I could.” She took a long drag and blew out the smoke from her nose.
Marcus kicked the gravel at his feet idly, the awkward silence filling the space between them until he cleared his throat. “I was hoping we could talk.”
“Okay?” Her voice wasn’t cold, but she still hadn’t looked at him again since he first stepped out.
“About the bathroom?”
“Now’s not the time, Marcus.” Her tone went flat, and she took another drag.
“Why not? Seems like a fine time to me.” Marcus moved around to stand in front of her, hoping to force eye contact.
“Why not..” She chuckled quietly. “I don’t think either of us are ready for that conversation, and even if we were, I’m pretty sure all these cameras have audio.” Her head snapped to the camera on the corner of the building that was facing her. “Quit eavesdropping, Hank!”
Marcus did briefly look at the unmoving lens, but shifted back to Victoria a beat later. “Why wouldn’t I be ready?”
Her voice got low, quiet. “I saw the way you looked at her, Marcus.” She jerked her head back to the house. “And the way she looked at you.” There was a long pause, and she looked back down at the ground. “No one has ever looked at me like that.”
Marcus watched her, taking in the rare hint of vulnerability she showed. “Victoria, I think we both know that horseshit.”
Victoria closed her eyes and shook her head. “Not now, Marcus.” She repeated.
“So what? We’re just not going to talk about it then? You’re going to drop a bomb on me, then when we get a second to breathe. A second to think, you just don’t want to talk?”
“Exactly.” Victoria nodded, putting the cigarette out on her boot. “Let’s go back inside.” She said, turning toward the door.
Marcus reached out, his hand slipping around hers to stop her. “Vic… talk to me.”
She froze, her hand clenched his tight. “Okay, Marcus...” She slowly turned toward him, reaching out with her other hand to slide fingers along his unshaven jaw. Her eyes lifted, finally meeting his. “I don’t play second fiddle to anyone. I’m not in the headspace to figure out exactly what I’m going to do about that yet, if anything. But..” She paused for a long moment, deep brown eyes flicking back and forth between his. “When I do, I’ll let you know.” The corner of her lip turned up in a tired smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and her fingers drifted away from his skin.
Marcus let go of her hand when she walked away this time. After she disappeared on the other side of the door, Marcus stood there silently, staring at her absence and letting her words sink in. Words that made sense, but he really wished hadn’t been the ones she chose.