Witch Under Wraps by E.J. Russell

Author:E.J. Russell [Russell, E.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2020-10-26T00:00:00+00:00

With Zuri clinging to her perch overhead, channeling magic into their bond almost faster than Ky could direct it, Ky crouched beside Jordan in the back of the ambulance, pushing analgesic and antishock spells with everything he had.

Up in the driver’s seat, Pete cursed. “Cops have the street blocked off. I’ve got to circle around to get to the ER doors.”

“Hurry.” Ky’s pulse was skittering so hard he’d need an EKG himself soon, because the kid’s injuries—compound fracture, scalp wound, probably concussion, abrasions from the asphalt—Goddess. And the insane amount of blood at the scene? Ky was surprised the kid was still alive, let alone conscious.

But he was, blinking up at the rig’s headliner as if the bland beige paint and fluorescent lights were better than Netflix.

Goddess, I hope they catch the piece of shit who did this and then ran, leaving a kid to bleed out in the street.

That blood—Ky was still worried about that. Where had it all come from? There was a rip in Jordan’s jeans, but the skin under the tear had been unblemished. There’d been a soaked Wonderful Mug apron lying next to him—Pete had bagged it and set it on the end of the gurney to bring along, assuming it was Jordan’s possession, but Jordan was still wearing his apron. Someone else was at the scene. Another Mug staffer. And they left before we arrived.

“Jordan,” Ky said as he fitted the blood pressure cuff on Jordan’s arm, “can you remember what happened?”

Jordan tore his gaze away from the ceiling with apparent difficulty. “They didn’t have any oatmeal cinnamon scones.”

“Okay,” Ky said, keeping his laughter buried because this was so not the right time for levity. “Do you know where you were cut?” He really needed to know where that blood had come from, because if he’d missed something when they’d transferred Jordan to the gurney, some random bleeder that needed to be stanched—

“It was my finger. But you fixed that.”

Finger? Oh. “I don’t mean the other day at the Mug. I mean just now. In the street.”

Jordan closed his eyes. “My head hurts.”

Yeah, buddy, I’ll bet it does. The standard low-level first aid spell—what Pete called the ibuprofen incantation—was enough for most of their calls, but this one wasn’t usual. Ky needed more firepower—the morphine-level spell. He glanced at Zuri, but he didn’t have to say anything. She knew what he needed, what Jordan needed, and opened the conduit to the Goddess’s magic.

The rush was instantaneous—filling him, empowering him, enlarging him so that he and Zuri together were greater than the sum of their parts. Zuri was the Goddess and he was Zuri and the Goddess was in them and around them and of them. This was what he was made for. This was why nothing could ever compare.

Ky broke the herbal ampoule and chanted under his breath. The magic flowed through him—in his blood, in his skin—and through his skin into Jordan’s. A moment later, Jordan’s forehead smoothed, and he took a deep breath.

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