Chapter 11 Coco
Coco
I tuck my hands underneath Stone and try to flip him over. My God, he must weigh two hundred pounds. It takes all my strength to get him on his back.
I collapse against him and press an ear to his chest. Nothing. Oh, God. He’s really dead. I’ve actually killed him.
The taste of metal fills my mouth, bile claws up the back of my throat, and all I can think to do is bargain with God. Please, God, if he lives I will never touch magic again. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll be nicer to people. Smell more roses. Anything, if Stone Maddox just lives.
I never should have opened that spell book. I should have listened to Cristina.
My gaze falls to Stone’s collar, where a triangle of white peeks out from underneath his button-down.
Of course I can’t hear his heartbeat—the man has two shirts on.
With that one thought, the small promise of relief makes me inhale, dims the pulsing worry that heats my body.
I must find another way to check his pulse.
Think, Coco. Remember every CPR class you’ve ever had. I had to take it every year when I was a summer lifeguard.
I slide two fingers to his neck, searching for a beating artery. My face has gone completely hot. Sweat sprouts under my arms and my palms are drenched.
The lambicorn rushes over and butts Stone’s head gently, trying to wake him.
“It’s okay,” I tell the lambi.
The sheep takes one look at me, lifts its nose, and returns to pushing against Stone.
Did the creature just throw shade?
The lambicorn bleats again, and a faint beat drums beneath my fingers.
Oh, thank God! He’s not dead!
Oxygen swooshes through my lungs and tears prick my eyes. What a relief. It feels like the world has color again and I can breathe.
“Stone! Wake up! Wake up!”
Though it’s more than tempting to slap him awake—let’s face it, he would most certainly deserve it—I shake him instead.
“Wake up!”
His eyelids flutter before slowly opening, and the jade is clear and bright.
The darkness I’m used to seeing when he’s angry at me—which is literally every single encounter we’ve had—isn’t there.
“Are you okay?” I prod.
He sees me, nods, scans the office.
“Can you sit up?”
“Yeah.”
I move aside, pushing down the hem of my pencil skirt—you know, the ones he hates. “How do you feel?”
“Okay.” He nods again. “What happened?” he asks in a gentle voice.
I’ve never heard this tone from him.
“Do you feel okay?”
He stretches his arms, blinks. “Yeah. I feel great.”
He starts to get up, but his eyes widen and he sits back down.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Oh yeah.” He dismisses me with a wave. “There’s just one thing.”
“What’s that?”
He scratches his head. “Can you tell me who I am? I can’t seem to remember.”