“See. Perfectly fine,” he managed to say. If I was any closer, I would have clobbered him.
The twins nodded in unison.
“Then we’ll deal with this man,” Sido said. Together, they dragged the brute away kicking.
Once the twins had turned down a side street and out of view, I crawled out from under the cart. A large crowd had gathered. People were shouting things I couldn’t understand, pointing at Bel. Leering. Bel clutched under his rib. I tried to peek at the wound, but he groaned.
“We need to leave,” he said. More people pushed in around us. “Will you . . . help me?”
He asked it like I might say no.
“Of course, you fool.” I gripped his hand and gasped; his fingers were ice-cold. Carefully, I tucked him to my side. His head lolled, landing on my shoulder.
“That bad, huh?”
He answered with a grunt, his painful breaths puffing against the crook of my neck with every step.
I stopped to check the wound once as we backtracked toward the hotel. The gash bubbled and turned my stomach.
“You should learn to move the hotel while outside of it, save us some time,” I joked. Bel didn’t respond. His eyes fluttered. “Stay with me.”
It was a nasty wound. Bel would have died on the cobblestones if he weren’t a suminaire, and I wasn’t ready to think about what that meant. Luckily holding him upright took all my concentration. Eventually we found our way back.
Béatrice slid out from a shadow near the entrance. I almost dropped Bel, I was so relieved by the sight of her. Then I thought of her sister, Margot, and I didn’t know what to say.
“You’re late. What happened?” Her face scrunched at the blood. “No, no, I don’t want to know. There’s no time. After you’re across the threshold, take him to his room. His magic should help with the rest.”
“So we just walk him in leaking blood?”
“Leave the details to me.”
But the wound was bad. I opened my mouth to protest, but Bel squeezed my hand. “Don’t be stubborn. Do what she says.”
“I’m not the stubborn one who got themself stabbed.”
He opened his mouth, probably with some sharp retort, until his face crumpled with pain.
“See? Now shut your mouth before you hurt yourself more.” I hauled Bel higher up my side.
Béatrice’s eyes widened. “No one talks to him like that.”
“Time someone did,” I said, and started up the stairs.
Before the doorman could spot us, Béatrice sent out a stream of gears and dismantled a mirror fifteen feet away. Glass smashed. The commotion pulled eyes away from the door long enough for the three of us to slip through it unnoticed.
Béatrice gestured to the lift. “His room is up. If the ma?tre is here, I’ll keep him busy. But hurry.” She shifted Bel to lean against me, then headed for the salon.
Bel slumped then straightened when I poked his wound. “You’re losing a lot of blood.”
“How observant of you,” he ground out, feet dragging.
Inside the lift, King Zelig tipped his hat. “Floor?”
“Six,” Bel grunted.
“You live on six?” It was the same floor as the moon window. Bel didn’t answer. Instead he swore when the cage jerked.
“Down the hall on the right. The very end,” he said when we reached his floor. Luckily the door was enchanted to open for him. Bel staggered in and crumpled down on his bed.
Knee to the mattress, I eased him over and unbuttoned his shirt. My fingers painted streaks through the mess of red, feeling along his lower ribs for the wound. Finally, Bel moaned when I hit a puncture the width of a knuckle.
I balled the bed sheet and pressed it to the gush, like fishermen did at the docks whenever a hook sunk through a finger. But this wasn’t from a hook and it wasn’t his finger.
“All right, suminaire. Now’s a good time for that magic body of yours to do its thing.”
Except nothing happened, save for Bel appearing a little blue.
“Heal, damn it,” I said, and sucked in a breath, caught off guard by the sudden thought that I might lose him, that he might bleed out until he was gray and dead, his body tossed wherever we were.
For all his secrets and wry taunts, he was my only confidant. I couldn’t bear to lose him.
I shook his shoulders and his eyes snapped open. They were glazed over. His lips fluttered. When I brought my face down to hear, I realized he was laughing to himself. “Durc,” he muttered. “That horrible little kitchen.”