“Yes, she is.” Arnan’s fingers tightened around hers. “You need to call it, Doctor. You were here first. It’s hospital policy.”
Who cared about the gods-damned policy? What good were rules when death could waltz in and take whomever it wanted, whenever it felt like it?
River’s mouth was filled with sand, and words got stuck behind the lump in her throat. But this… this was her job. This was her calling.
She slowly pulled her gaze up from the earth fae to where Cynthia stood on the other side of the hospital bed. The Light Elf’s mouth was pinched in a thin line, and she nodded grimly.
Tight knots formed in River’s stomach, and she shook her head. She didn’t want to call this. Didn’t want it to be real.
Because if this fae could die…
A shudder ran through River, and she barely held back a sob. She looked back at the bed, but instead of Mrs. Valois, she saw her father. A pale ghost of the strong fae who had carried her on his shoulders when she was a little girl. Gone, forever.
Pain lanced through her, a sharp explosion in her gut, and she doubled over, gasping for breath.
Oh, gods, oh, gods, oh, gods.
“Doctor Waterborn!” someone called. Their voice was distorted, as if she were underwater.
Arnan’s hand tightened on hers, pulling her back to the moment. Her father no longer lay on the bed; the body belonged to Mrs. Valois once again.
Ripping her eyes away from the second patient she’d failed tonight, River looked at the digital clock on the wall. The red numbers were blurry, and she struggled to read them.
“Time of death, two forty-six a.m.,” she whispered brokenly, each word a sledgehammer against the dam holding her magic back.
The moment the last word left River’s lips, the crack in her soul silently exploded.
One moment, her curse was being held at bay. The next, it was flooding through her. Crushing, deadly waves demanded attention as they pounded through her veins.
River turned and ran. People were shouting at her, but she couldn’t hear them over the tumultuous storm cresting within her.
It was happening again.
Death had come to River’s workplace, and she’d been unable to stop it. This was the one place where she was supposed to be free from her curse, the one place where she was supposed to atone for her sins.
Now, it was tainted by death.
River shoved open the door to the stairwell and careened down the cement stairs. Her running shoes slammed against the steps, each footfall a deafening proclamation announcing her escape.
The sound seemed to draw her magic closer to the surface, and a sheen of water coated her hands. She was standing on a cliff, hovering over disaster. Every breath brought her closer to hurtling past the point of no return.
“No.” The word was a drawn-out, mangled moan as it escaped her lips.
She tried shoving her magic down, tried rebuilding the barriers keeping it from the world, but for each brick she managed to force into place, two more crumbled.
Her curse was free, and it was demanding her attention. No longer would it settle for being locked away or ignored. No longer would it remain in the background of her life.
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
River yanked her phone out of her back pocket without stopping her descent. Doctor Collins’s name flashed across the screen. She accepted the call, taking the steps three at a time.
“Yes?” Her voice was raspy and no longer sounded like hers.
“Get back to the ICU this instant, Doctor Waterborn,” he raged, irate. “If you don’t?—”
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” she gasped, hopping down to the ground floor landing. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Her superior was still screaming unintelligible words at her when she ended the call and shoved her phone into her pocket. Let him be angry. Imagine how furious he’d be if she called a storm down upon the hospital?