Marny (22 page)

“Marny!” Nyx pulled off his gear and hurried
to her side.

Before she could ask him to, he lifted off
her helmet then carefully removed her gloves.

“Is it bad?” she asked.

“Bad enough.” He looked shaken. “We need to
get you medical attention.”

Gritting her teeth, she
glanced at her arm. There was a hole in her body, partially
obscured by her torn T-shirt. What she could see of the wound
looked very red—and was that bit of white her
bone
? As she watched, blood trickled
down her arm and dripped off her elbow onto the carpet.

“Sorry about your stuff,” she said.

“That doesn’t matter. Hang on, I’m calling
the med techs, and grabbing my med kit from the bathroom. We need
to stop this bleeding.”

She nodded, and concentrated on breathing
until he came back. Probably better not to sit up until they
stanched the flow of blood.

“This is going to hurt,” he said, reaching
for the sleeve of her shirt. “Sorry.”

It did, but the pain was an ocean she swam
in. The trick was not to let the waves crash over her head. And not
to watch what Nyx was doing. She concentrated on his face
instead.

He peeled back the cloth and went a bit pale,
but his hands remained steady as he held gauze against her
shoulder. After a few moments, he pulled it off and sprayed
something on her skin. The wound instantly felt somewhat better,
the pain notching down to an almost bearable level.

She still couldn’t look at it, though. Only
him.

Funny—she couldn’t see the handsome guy, the
Flail star, the cocky club owner any more. He was just Nyx, and
weirdly, it felt like she’d known him for ages.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “You seemed
pretty woozy in-game.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Either the
transition back out or, you know, the medical emergency, cleared my
head.”

“How long until the medics come?” she
asked.

“About five minutes.”

That didn’t give them much time. And though
he wasn’t thinking things through, she was.

“We need to get me out of the chair,” she
said. “And figure out a reasonable explanation for how I got
hurt.”

“Oh. Right.” He stared at her a second.
“Speaking of which—how can you get stabbed in-game and then be
sitting here in the real world, bleeding? That makes no sense.”

“You have to be careful in Feyland. I told
you it was dangerous.”

“The hell with that!” His voice rose, echoed
through her head. She winced, and he instantly looked sorry. “You
got hurt, and it’s my fault.”

“Strategy first,” she said, suddenly
exhausted. “Argue later. Now help me up.”

He put his arm around her waist, supporting
her while she got unsteadily to her feet. It was all she could do
not to lean heavily against him. Instead, she concentrated on
balancing upright, despite the throb all down her left side.

“Sling your arm around my shoulders,” he
said. “We’re going into the warehouse.”

There was a confidence in his voice that
meant he’d come up with a plan. Good, because she had no idea how
they were going to finesse her injury. Getting stabbed in-game was
certainly not an explanation the med techs would believe—even if
she had wanted to try the truth, which she didn’t.

The trip down the hall and out into the
cavernous space seemed to take forever. Each step jarred Marny’s
wound, sending missiles of hot pain through her. Nyx was patient,
his grip around her waist steady.

He led her to one of the clusters of
furniture near the dance floor and she managed to sit on a small
couch without keeling over.

“Put your feet up,” he said, already moving
away. “I have to set the stage.”

He disappeared into the back, and she could
hear him rummaging about. A few moments later he returned with a
pair of long spears. They were made of white wood, with red tassels
on the bottom and a sharp-looking metal point on the top.

“Handy, that you have those lying around,”
she said.

“Part of my martial arts weapons collection.”
He glanced at the spears. “At first I thought I’d display them on
the walls, then realized that was a dumb idea. I can’t screen
everybody who walks into the club, and there are too many idiots in
the world to risk them being taken down and used. Anyway, we can
say I was showing you some moves, and the spear slipped.”

“Yeah, right into my arm.” Marny brought her
hand up to her wound. “Come here so we can get one bloody.”

Nyx laid one of the spears down, then brought
the other one over. He eyed her arm.

“The plas-skin has stopped the bleeding. I’m
not sure we can get enough onto the spear to look realistic.”

“Then stab me again,” she said, bracing
herself.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He sounded horrified
at the thought.

“Squeamish? We have to make this look good.”
Besides, what was more pain? She was already living inside the red
hole in her body.

“I am not reopening your wound. Sorry.”

The sound of sirens drifted down the street.
Marny made a grab for the haft of the spear, and he yanked it out
of reach.

“Nyx,” she said.

“No.”

He glanced around, his face tense, then
sprinted over to the juice bar. Glass clinked on glass as he
rummaged around. The sirens got louder, then cut off abruptly as
the med techs arrived. They were out of time.

Moving fast, Nyx lifted a bottle of something
from the bar, then gathered up both spears and ran to the center of
the room. He tossed one weapon behind him, then knelt and poured
red liquid from the bottle over the point of the other spear. For
good measure, he smeared some of it down the white wood. It looked
dark red and sticky.

The smell of berries drifted into the air,
and Marny hoped that in the excitement the ambulance crew wouldn’t
notice that the apparent scene of her injury featured raspberry
syrup instead of blood.

Somebody banged on the door.

“Coming!” Nyx yelled.

He made a quick detour to deposit the bottle
of syrup back on the bar, then opened the warehouse door. Two
white-garbed med techs stood there, one male, one female.

“You have an injured person here?” the man
asked.

“Yes, my friend, Marny.” Nyx gestured to
where she slouched on the couch. “We were sparring and my spear
slipped and got her in the arm.”

The female tech gave the spears on the floor
a cursory glance, then hurried to Marny’s side.

“Good, you got plas-skin on the wound right
away,” she said. “How’s the pain?”

“Bearable,” Marny lied.

The tech narrowed her eyes. “Can I administer
some pain medication? It’s going to help while I take a look at
your injury. Okay?”

Not worth arguing over. Marny nodded, and the
tech pressed a dispenser against her wrist. A few seconds later,
blessed coolness spread through her. She took a deep breath and let
it out, grateful that she could breathe without feeling like she
was swimming through lava.

“Good,” the woman said. “Timmo, got the
scanner?”

“Right here,” her partner said, lifting a
slim piece of equipment. “Before we treat any further, we need some
information. If you’d fill this out.” He handed his tablet to
Nyx.

“How old are you?” the woman asked Marny.

“Eighteen,” she said. She’d be eighteen in
four months, so it was only a small lie. Besides, claiming she was
an adult was going to save all of them a world of hassle.

Nyx shot her a quick look, his fingers flying
over the tablet, and she wondered exactly how much he knew about
her. More than she knew about him, that was for sure.

The tech held the scanner up to her shoulder.
“Relax—I need to lift your arm.”

Marny tried to stay loose as the woman raised
and lowered her arm. There was an unpleasant tugging sensation, but
it wasn’t excruciating.

“It’s clean, and luckily the bone didn’t get
chipped,” the med tech said. “You’ve had some blood loss, so take
it easy for the rest of the day. You should heal up pretty quick.
Keep plas-skin on it, keep it clean and immobilized, take a pain
med when you need to.”

“All right,” Marny
said—although the part about taking it easy was
so
not going to happen. She and Nyx
had to go rescue his sister, which wasn’t going to be an easy-mode
quest by any stretch.

“If you get a fever or the wound swells up,
numbness, redness, or shooting pains down your arm, or any other
complications, seek medical attention right away. Here’s a
sling—wear it for at least a week.”

“Okay.” Marny sat up a little so the woman
could put the sling on her, then signed the tablet the other tech
stuck in front of her.

The two med techs conferred with Nyx for a
minute, but for some reason the dust motes sparkling in the light
from the high windows were way more interesting. She heard the
techs heading for the door, their footsteps reverberating almost
visibly through the air.

The pain meds were doing strange things to
her head. She felt like she was floating a couple feet in the air,
as if she was a grav-car. The thought made her laugh.

Nyx came back from seeing the med techs out,
and gave her a funny look.

“You doing okay?” he asked.

“Just great. Ready to go find your
sister?”

“There’s one problem—besides the fact that
you’re hurt.”

“I feel fine.” She waved her hand in front of
his face. “See?”

“That’s the wrong arm.” His voice was edged
with exasperation. “You need to sober up.”

“Your eyes are the color of mist,” she said.
“But warm, you know, like the clouds just after sunset. Wait—I’m
babbling, aren’t I?” Somehow, she wasn’t too concerned about the
fact that her mouth and her brain didn’t seem very connected.

“Stay right here,” he said, as if he didn’t
trust her to not move from the couch.

It was a comfortable place, though. She
yawned, remembering that Nyx had woken her up painfully early that
day.

“Here.” He was back, pressing a cold can into
her hand. “Haydeez energy drink. Favorite of gamers
everywhere.”

“That stuff is terrible for you. Corrodes
your insides. I got Tam to stop drinking it years ago.”

“Fine—but right now it’s what you need. Come
on, take a sip. I need the real Marny to come back now.”

“You’re trying to poison me.” She sent him a
sideways glance.

“I’m not, I promise.” He settled next to her
on the couch and wrapped his hand around hers, holding the drink in
place, then lifting it to her lips. “Please.”

“You first.”

He took the can from her and drank, then
handed it back, his gaze never leaving hers. Damn, the look of
entreaty on his face could melt a rock. She set the can to her
lips, the metal still warm from his mouth, and sipped. The drink
was sweet and cool, and tasted surprisingly good.

“The whole thing,” he said, when she lowered
the can.

“Let a girl breathe.”

Still, she went back to drinking, tipping the
can up to get the last sip. A drop slid down the side of her chin.
Before she could wipe it she felt his thumb there, gently smoothing
the liquid away.

“I’m not some little kid you have to clean
up,” she said.

“Believe me, I know you aren’t.”

There was something in his voice, his eyes,
that she couldn’t read. Or maybe she could, but it confused her.
She filed the sensation away to figure out later.

His hand lingered against her face for a
moment, and then he slid back, his expression turning businesslike.
“Feeling better?”

She frowned. How did she feel, other than
totally thrown by his attention? Her body buzzed, weirdly attuned
to where he sat next to her. The floaty sensation in her head was
dissipating, and her arm throbbed, like a drumbeat turned way, way
down. She suspected the volume wasn’t going to remain that low, but
for now it wasn’t a problem.

“Yeah,” she said. “So—do we have to go back
in-game?”

He tilted his head. “You’d go into Feyland
again with me? After what happened, and your claustrophobia and
everything?”

“Not that I’d want to, but yes.” She’d hate
it, of course, but she’d fought that battle for him already,
wrestled her fear down and survived.

When Nyx had geared up and
gone into the game, she’d been paralyzed. For several minutes she’d
just stood there, her sick apprehension at the thought of putting
on the sim helmet warring with the fact that he really
did
need her. Despite
knowing that his sister had disappeared into the Realm of Faerie,
Marny could tell he still wasn’t taking the game seriously
enough.

Part of the churning in her gut was the
intuition that he could get himself in severe trouble—that, in
fact, he was heading straight for it. And there was no guarantee
the Feyguard would reach him in time, whereas she was right
there.

Deal with it,
she’d told herself.
You’re so damn proud of being strong—so be strong
already
.

She needed to force herself to play, despite
the clammy sweat breaking out all over her body, and her racing
heart that felt like it was going to smash itself to a pulp against
her ribcage.

So she’d moved her feet, one step at a time,
over to the sim chair. She’d almost choked up completely while she
put on the helmet, but clung to the sound of his voice telling her
he needed her.

He needed her.

It got a little better once she was
interfaced with the FullD equipment and logged on with her Rogue
character. Once the nausea passed and she stood in the faerie ring,
with the warm air against her face, she felt almost functional.

Then she’d heard the raspy voices of the
spriggans gloating over capturing a human. The last vestiges of her
panic had fled as she went invisible and hurried to Nyx’s
rescue.