Bianca.” Matheus pushed past Quin onto the porch. He caught Bianca’s shoulders, propping her head against his stomach. Her arms hung limp at her sides. Someone had tied a folded jacket over her abdomen; the makeshift bandage held on with what looked like the bungee cords out of the back of someone’s truck. Blood covered Bianca’s face, flowing out of a large gash over her left eye.
Alistair jerked his head toward the hallway.
Nodding, Matheus moved backward, banging the heel of his foot against the bottom of the door. Bianca’s blood dripped onto his arm, warm and tingling on his skin.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Later,” said Alistair. “Quin, we need alcohol and bandages.” His voice held none of the cloying sweetness of his last interaction with Quin. “She’s going to need stitches, too, so get needles and strong thread. Go to Ken-Med, ask for James McKenna.”
“I—”
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