“Holy…”

  Adam took an involuntary step back.

  The color had begun to seep from Natalie’s hands into Samantha’s pale stomach. The patches of skin not soaked in blood flushed a faint pink as Natalie pressed harder, beads of sweat rolling off her forehead and down her arms.

  “Almost…” Natalie whispered. Her arms trembling as if they were about to give out. “Almost.”

  Adam reached out and felt for Samantha's pulse. It was there, faint but steady beneath his fingertips. It was impossible, but impossible just seemed like the standard now. He held her hand tightly as the life flowed back into her, the color and warmth returning a degree at a time.

  He glanced up at Natalie. She was barely on her feet, sweat continuing to pour off her face.

  "You did it,” he said, gently releasing Samantha's hand and taking Natalie's arm. He could feel the unnatural heat radiating from her skin and it was almost hot to the touch. "It's okay. It’s okay. You have to stop now."

  "Not... yet..." she croaked.

  Adam had no idea what to do. Medicine was far outside his wheelhouse, and magic an order of magnitude beyond that.

  A long moment passed before Natalie finally spoke again. "There. I think she's o-"

  She dropped like her strings had been cut.

  Adam barely caught her. The sudden transition to dead weight nearly sent her crashing to the floor, but he managed to hang on to her arm.

  He eased her down, then checked to make sure she was still breathing. Her breath came a little quickly, but it was still there. They were both still there.

  "I swear, if either of you die..." his voice cracked and brushed the mist from his eyes. "I don't know what the fuck I'd do."

  Adam crossed the store to one of the worn armchairs that gave The Pagegrinder its charm and retrieved two small pillows. He placed one beneath Natalie's head, then turned to look down at Samantha.

  Her stomach was still caked in blood, but the bullet wound was nearly gone, just a small puckered scar where the previously mortal wound was.

  Adam shook his head in disbelief.

  He had seen something impossible every day for the last week, and there were still moments that defied understanding. Samantha should be dead.

  He had seen the blood pour out of her, all of the life in her veins drained out and dried against her skin. He had watched her fall still, heard her final breath, and felt her heart fail. She had died, but somehow she was still here.

  Adam reached out and checked her pulse again, just to be sure he wasn't losing his mind.

  It was there, fast and steady beneath his fingers. He let out a long breath, shrugged out of his jacket and laid it over her, tucking it up under her chin.

  He made his way to the bathroom, flipped on the light and stared at himself in the mirror.

  He looked like he'd aged five years.

  Stress lines carved deep channels across his forehead, and his eyes were sunken and dark. A smear of dried blood streaked his face, and a shard of red plastic jutted out from his cheek.

  "Jesus."

  Adam yanked the tail-light fragment free and dropped it into the sink. A bead of blood welled up from the tiny wound.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  He turned on the tap, but there was no hot water. Resigned, he splashed his face and arms with the cold stream. At least the pipes still had pressure.

  The dried blood came off slowly, until the water swirled pink down the drain. He couldn't help but wonder if anything down in the sewers could smell it, but he quickly dismissed the thought.

  Nope. Not going there. He dried his face and returned to the lobby.

  Adam checked their pulses again, and held his damp hand in front of their faces until he felt the soft brush of their breath.

  He stared at the two motionless women, fighting the urge to check again and quietly resenting how little he could actually do for them.

  The urge to hover was overwhelming and he had to forced himself to step away. He decided to take inventory of the shop instead, anything to keep his mind distracted.

  There were plenty of coffee beans, a few stale pastries, and a refrigerator full of rancid-smelling breakfast items. With the power still on, he wasn't sure why the food had spoiled so fast. But maybe it had already started to turn before The Voice took a piss on reality.

  Adam desperately wanted a cup of coffee, but running the grinder felt like tempting fate. Instead, he opened a bag and inhaled the scent like the addict he was, then tossed it on the counter and moved to the front windows.

  Drawing the edge of the shade back, Adam peeked outside. The street was eerily still, just abandoned cars and fallen leaves strewn across the sidewalk. There was no sign of pursuit, no sign that anything had happened at all.

  His ears still rang from the earlier gunfire, and the sudden pop in one ear brought on another high, whining tone that filled the silence.

  They were exposed.

  The shop was mostly glass, and if anything really wanted in, they were screwed six ways from Sunday.

  Adam laughed, a short, humorless sound that bubbled up out of nowhere. "I guess screwed is relative now."

  He'd been talking to himself a lot more lately. The worse things got, the more normal it felt. He wasn't sure if that was a warning sign or just his way of coping.

  Pulling out his phone, he checked the battery. Still nearly full. He opened the map app and zoomed in on the pin marking Stephen's house, trying to commit the route to memory just in case he lost the phone or it was damaged.

  After a few minutes he gave up, and the route slipped from his mind almost as soon as he stopped looking at the screen. He was too keyed up, too anxious and jittery, and his skin felt tight as if it no longer fit quite right.

  The realization dawned on him cold and clear. He wanted to fight. He wanted to hit something. It felt good having something to rage against, and using his powers felt even better.

  Despite the exhaustion, despite the trauma, his body hadn't felt this strong or vital in years.

  Adam's reverie broke at the sound of a groan behind him. Natalie was stirring, propping herself up on her elbows, groggy and disoriented.

  "Sam?" she asked, starting to rise, one hand braced on the table.

  "No, not yet," Adam said, kneeling beside her. "You passed out. I wasn't sure what happened, but it looked like you over did it." He handed her a bottle of water from his pack, which she drank in several greedy gulps.

  "Is she?" Natalie coughed, finishing the bottle and passing it back.

  "Yeah. Her pulse felt fast, but she's still with us... last time I checked." He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as it left his mouth.

  "The last time you checked?!" Natalie grabbed the edge of the table and pulled herself up, swaying slightly before leaning over to listen to Samantha's breathing.

  After a moment she seemed to deflate with relief, then turned and shot him a glare.

  He held his hands up in surrender. "How is she?"

  "Weak."

  Natalie rummaged through her pack and pulled out a stethoscope. She tugged Adam's jacket down from Samantha's chest and placed the bell in several spots, frowning as she listened.

  "I think she's stable, but that's just a guess. She lost a lot of blood and I couldn't fix that."

  "How did you fix anything?" he said.

  "How do you act like a human taser?"

  Adam grimaced. "Fair enough. Did you fix everything else?"

  "I don't know."

  He could see her knees trembling, and Adam quickly pulled a chair over for her.

  "Dizzy. I think I need to eat something."

  Adam nodded. "What we packed, or week-old pastries?"

  "Any croissants left?" Natalie asked, hopeful. "Or coffee?"

  Adam ducked behind the counter and pulled out two of the remaining croissants, handing both over. "Hope you don't mind a little mold. No coffee though, I don't think we should run the grinder."

  "A little penicillin won't kill me, I guess."

  She stuffed half of one croissant into her mouth and groaned in pleasure as she chewed.

  In spite of everything, Adam burst out laughing.

  "Adam?" Natalie asked around a mouthful.

  "Yeah?"

  "Sam keeps some pre-ground in the back room for mornings she's running late. They're on the bottom shelf."

  Adam was on his feet and halfway to the storeroom before she could finish her sentence.

  He found the two bags tucked away behind a dusty box of coffee filters. He paused to smell the coffee through the bag, a rare moment of normality in a day full of horror.

  "I may have a problem," he muttered as he headed back to the lobby.

  "Hey, I found them. Do you want..."

  He froze.

  Natalie stood with her gun drawn, aimed at a stranger standing by the front door.