Mark Del Franco: Skin Deep

“Tie that up back there. I’ve got four more on me.” Sanchez’s voice sounded tight in her earpiece. More gunfire exploded and another flash-bang went off.

Laura shook her head, but the head-blindness stayed with her. Something wasn’t right. No one protected a drug lab this much. She hardened her body shield again and drew essence into her hands. She was strong enough to take down the Inverni but needed to be closer.

Aiming, she fired and charged forward. The crates burst, debris flying in all directions. The Inverni scrambled away and launched into the air as he returned fire, his blade-like wings ablaze with indigo light. Laura made a running slide under a nearby table as bolts of essence shot down.

She imprinted as many details as possible to her memory as the Inverni rose toward the ceiling. Short brownish hair, elongated body, sharp features. By the way he was dressed-an oddly tailored suit and a satchel strapped across his chest-he didn’t look like he had been expecting a fight.

Short bursts of essence pinned her under the table. The Inverni fired at the ceiling with his other hand. Rolling from side to side, Laura followed his line of fire. He was targeting a soot-dark skylight to blow open an escape route. Between firing at her and the skylight and the satchel restricting his wings, he missed both targets. Laura paused, timed her move to his shots, and rolled onto her back.

She fired a lancing blow across the Inverni’s chest. He tumbled backward and hit the wall. Recovering, he rose toward the skylight again. A smile crossed Laura’s face. She wasn’t going to let him get away. She blocked his path with a barrage of essence-bolts. With a frustrated cry, he changed tactics and bore down on her, hands outstretched and glowing.

The pile of crates next to her toppled. She rolled away as they thundered down, trapping her under the remains of the table. She heard glass breaking and shards hit the floor around her.

“Crawford?” Sanchez radioed.

I’m good, she sent. She lifted her head. Debris caged her in, splintered crates on all sides. Inches away from her face, incongruous, a USB thumb drive lay among chips and scraps of wood. It was cracked and hot when she picked it up, and she slipped it into her vest.

“Your target escaped. I could use you back here,” Sanchez radioed.

Working on it, she sent. Laura swore under her breath. One part of her assessed the situation while another prepared a tirade for Foyle. Sanchez had been calling for backup since they entered the room, but no one was showing up. It was sloppy. If the damned Inverni hadn’t escaped, she wasn’t sure how long she could have held out against him.

She pushed and pulled at the crates until one that didn’t threaten to collapse the entire pile on her moved. A burst of essence skittered several boxes away. She crawled through the opening.

Her stomach clenched as Sanchez abruptly gasped in her earpiece. Sanchez?

He didn’t answer. Another flash-bang went off, then a smoke grenade. She exhaled in relief. Sanchez, what’s your status?

Anxiety welled up as she heard a strangled sound. She crawled among the remains of the crates. Moonlight shone through the shattered skylight and gave the smoke in the room an eerie glow. She tried to open her essence-sensing ability, but her head still buzzed from the Inverni’s hit.

No shooting sounded. Out in the hall, the firefight was dying down. Running in a crouch back to Sanchez, Laura powered essence into her hands. In the haze, she made out his uniformed body hunched behind the desk. Sanchez sat with his head tucked. His gun lay on the ground next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Sanchez?”

He groaned and rolled to face her, his hands clutched at his neck. Laura sucked in a breath as blood seeped between his fingers. She hit her radio comm. “Man down! Man down! Back hall, first door on the left!”

She tried to pry his fingers away. Sanchez shook his head. He opened his mouth, exposing bright white teeth framed with blood. “Stop.”

The rest of his words were lost in a gurgling rasp. “Stop what?” Laura asked.

When he tried to speak, he voiced a nauseating liquid sound instead. Whatever happened to cause the mission to fall apart was beside the point now. She had to focus. Laura pressed her hands firmly against his to help staunch the wound. Closing her eyes, she summoned all the healing knowledge she had. She pushed aside the thought of her low-level medical skills and chanted. Essence flowed out of her, and their clasped hands glowed with its white light, tinged pink from Sanchez’s blood.

He stared at her with intent eyes, willing her to succeed. The blood flow continued. They both applied pressure to the wound while Laura chanted.

Sanchez’s eyelids fluttered, and his head lolled to the side.

“Dammit! I need a medic now!” Laura shouted into her radio.

Sanchez relaxed his grip. “Stop. Try,” he managed to say.

Blood pulsed thick and dark from a deep gash. Laura pressed her hands into the wound. “I won’t stop. Come on, Sanchez, hang on. They’re coming. Hang on.”

He grabbed her left wrist and pulled. Laura struggled against him. “No! Stop it. They’re coming. Just a few more minutes.”

Sanchez brought his other hand up and pulled her left arm away. She grappled with him, but his grip steadily pulled her hand away. He forced her arm back and thrust his hand into hers, scratching at her bloody palm. “Stop,” he said.

Laura stared down at the marks he made. “A? What are trying to say? Aaron?”

Sanchez shook his head, the effort feeble. Not Aaron Foyle. He tried again. This time Laura thought it was a number. “Four?”

He started once more, but his head fell back. His eyes closed, and his arms dropped to his sides. Laura stared in horror as his essence faded. A noise from the doorway caught her attention. Everything slowed down again. The smoke receded from her as if the hallway had inhaled. A hazy silhouette appeared. Laura leaned forward, expecting a medic. The muzzle of a gun flashed. Something hit her head with the hardest punch she had ever felt. Red light filled her vision as she fell backward. Her head slammed against the floor, then everything went dark.

A moment-an eon-later she opened her eyes and heard shouting and confused voices chattering on her earpiece. Three men stood over her.

“Is she dead?” one asked.

Someone knelt. She recognized Sinclair, smelled rich, burnt gunpowder on him. “She’s alive.”

Darkness and silence descended, sounds receding first, then her vision becoming narrower and narrower. Foyle leaned in next to Sinclair. Laura fought against a faint. She dragged her right hand across her body, trailing a clumsy hand along her biceps. Under the sleeve of her uniform, she found the small, flat sending stone embedded under her flesh. She pressed it firmly before blacking out.

The stone pulsed with an emergency sending.

IN HER FIRSTmoments of awareness, Laura realized three things in quick succession: she was propped up in a hospital bed, she had no idea where she was, and she had no idea what she looked like. Panicked, she lurched up and slammed her body shield on. The beeping rhythm of a heart monitor increased.

A soft hand touched her arm. “Relax. You’re safe.”

Relieved to hear Cress’s voice, she dropped back against the pillows as she realized she was in the med clinic at the Guildhouse. Safe. Protected by the layers of security of the InterSec unit.

On a green vinyl armchair next to the bed, Cress perched with her usual stiff posture. The thin smile on her face softened her unsettling whiteless eyes. Laura thought most people would not be relieved to know they were being watched over by a leanansidhe . The leanansidhe survived by absorbing essence, and the greatest and easiest source was people. They had few, if any, moral qualms about draining living beings. Cress, though, had chosen a different path and turned to healing. Whatever anxieties Laura had about leanansidhe in general, she had no doubt Cress was one of the best healers she had ever met.