I scramble from the kitchen, leaping bodies, skidding through the lounge for the hall. The Proxy and Felicity huddle in the corner, Felicity stretching herself to cover the girl, her eyes wild with terror. I yank the trap door cord, grab the end of the stairs and haul them down, shouting, “Aiden! Kitty!”

“Evie!” Aiden’s cry echoes in the roof. “Help me! She’s hurt! She’s shot!”

WOUNDS

He appears in the cavity, sheet-white, blood on his hands, on his face.

Kitty in his arms, just as pale, her mouth twisted in pain, clinging to him, sobbing, “It hurts!”

“Is it safe?” Aiden demands.

“It is now.” Jamie pushes past me, blocking the stairs. “Get your hands off my sister.”

“He’s bringing her down.” I pull at Jamie’s shoulder. “Move.”

He jerks away from me and leaps onto the stairs. “Give her to me! Now!”

Aiden, shaken, fierce but uncertain on the steep narrow staircase, struggles to comply. Kitty cries out at the jostling. “Aiden’s not hurting me, you idiot. Oh, oh God, Jamie, it really hurts!”

“Where?” He backs down the stairs with her. “Where?”

“My leg.” She sucks air through her teeth. “My thigh.”

Rushing her to the couch, he lowers her carefully. He drops to one knee, a hand on her shoulder, the other hovering over the blood on her jeans. She holds the side of her leg and rocks back and forth.

Let her be okay. Let her be okay. I lean over the back of the couch. She reaches for my arm and holds tight. My chest constricts. “Is it bad?”

“Well, she’s shot, isn’t she?” Jamie says, his face drawn, a red gouge on his cheek. I wait for recriminations, for him to shout that I should have waited, thought things through. How could I be so careless? This is my fault. I did this to Kitty.

He looks back over his shoulder. Benjamin lies unmoving on the floor. “Ethan! We need you!”

“They got Aiden,” Kitty says. “He’s bleeding too.”

Aiden steps close to the end of the couch, cupping his bloodied shoulder. “It’s just a graze, Kit.”

Stiffening, Jamie turns on him with black eyes. “You need to step away. Right. Now.”

“Leave him alone,” Kitty groans.

Jamie ignores her. “Ethan!”

Staggering, cradling his arm, Davis comes from the kitchen first, his lip swollen and bleeding. Tesla follows, holding his gun. He pauses at the edge of the living room, sees Aiden, and acknowledges him with a brief nod. Of course, Aiden has no idea who Tesla is, but watching them makes me hold my breath.

“What the hell?” Davis says.

“Sit.” Tesla points Davis to a spot on the floor by the wall. “Aiden, can you hold this?”

Aiden blinks at the gun and looks reflexively at Jamie.

With a grunt, Davis jerks his head up. “Are you kidding me?”

Rising quickly to his feet, Jamie turns to Tesla. “Really? We – we’re arming the Stray now?”

Davis leans to see up the hall and produces an almost comedic gape at the sight of the lowered stairs. “The scanner showed no heat signatures!”

Tesla shoves the gun into Jamie’s chest. “Shall I see to your sister or confirm the Deactivation first?”

Flustered, Jamie fumbles to get proper hold of the gun and train it on Davis. “Um, my sister, please. Thank you.”

“Felicity,” Tesla says to the older woman, who still huddles in the corner guarding the Proxy, “no one will hurt the girl. Can you please fetch the first-aid kit?”

Felicity turns to the Proxy, whose whimpering has not let up. “You are safe, child. I’ll be right back.”

The Proxy doesn’t seem to hear her but presses her fists to her mouth.

Kitty turns but can’t quite see the girl and looks to me in question.

“I’ll explain later.”

Tesla kneels beside Kitty and I pat her hand. “It’s okay, Kit, this is …” I cut off. What do I call him? “Ethan. He’s …” What is he? I can’t say “my dad” and he’s not exactly “a friend”. “He’s good at this sort of thing.”

He gestures at the blood-soaked hole on the outer seam of her jeans.

She flushes and nods and pulls on my arm, screwing her face up, turning away as Ethan rips the hole in her jeans open. “Is it bad? It’s bad, isn’t it? I can’t look.”

“It’s all right, Kit,” Jamie calls, gripping the gun, shooting anxious glances at the couch. “You’re going to be all right.”

Ethan meets my gaze and raises his eyebrows.

“It feels like it’s on fire.” Kitty cringes. “Is the bullet still in there?”

I lean to see the wound and the iron clamp on my heart detaches. Almost giddy, I shake my head. “No, the bullet’s not in there.”

“Good.” She collapses back on the armrest, still gripping me, her face turned away. “I don’t think I could stand that. If it’s stiches, I’m going to need more than Fretizine. That’s what they always give Evie and it never makes any bloody difference.”

Ethan’s mouth compresses and he curls his fist over his lips to hide a smile. “Fretizine will not be necessary and neither will you need stitches.”

Aiden releases a gust of air; he’d been growing more and more pale.

“What?” Kitty hauls herself up on my arm and finally looks at the wound. Bright pink splotches bloom on her cheeks and her voice shrinks. “Oh.”

“What?” Jamie shakes the gun in frustration.

Davis ducks. “Careful!”

“Your sister will live,” Ethan says. “The bullet has ripped the skin. There is a little blood but we can clean that up. Some antiseptic ointment and a bandage should suffice. Perhaps some paracetamol for the pain.”

“Thank God,” Aiden says, taking an unsteady step towards the couch, his face grey, his shoulder soaked red, “you’re okay–” His expression turns blank and he crumples to the floor.

CYLINDER

Aiden is not dead, though he lies unmoving, unconscious in his own blood. It stains my jeans, my knees. I’m there. My hands touch his chest, his face, staunch the wound. Hot, viscous pooling between my fingers. I’ve done this before. I remember the forest, the moonlight, Jamie and a gun. My ears ring. Everything looks and sounds distorted, giving me that head-in-a-fishbowl feeling again. Aiden isn’t dead. He isn’t dying. I know it.

Ethan soothes in German, a clipped and comforting rumble of incomprehensible words. His hands are bigger than mine; quick, efficient, confident, managing hands. I think, these are my father’s hands and this is my brother’s body and my ears ring. I think of Miriam in the hospital bed and the plastic tube in her throat and my ears ring.

Miriam isn’t dead.

Aiden isn’t dead.

I am not alone.

My breathing is loud, shallow and loud.

“Good.” Ethan’s voice breaks time like an icepick, releasing me into the present. The disorientation lifts and I can see and hear clearly. Aiden lurches on my lap, swearing and awake as Ethan finishes the last stitch. His good hand scrabbles for mine and we lock fingers. I squeeze with him against his pain.

He’s okay. It’s going to be okay.

“Very good.” Ethan unpacks fresh bandages, but before wrapping Aiden’s shoulder he takes a cylinder from his kit and thumbs a button on the side. A needle extends neatly from the flat end. Without preamble he sticks it in the crook of Aiden’s elbow. Aiden gasps but manages to hold still.

“What–” It’s hard to unstick my voice. “What is that?”

Withdrawing the needle, Ethan folds Aiden’s blood-streaked arm up over the insertion site and holds the cylinder to the light. The needle retracts and he frowns at the window and tiny digital display. He turns it so Aiden can watch as his blood is dispersed into some sort of white cloudy solution in the barrel. “This will tell us what you are.”

The whole room grows still and I’m conscious for the first time of Jamie restraining Kitty on the couch, while still trying to point his gun at Davis who is sitting on the floor. Even the Proxy has stopped whimpering, Felicity back at her side after fetching Ethan’s kit. There had been noise, a lot of noise I realise now, voices arguing. Kitty arguing, furious with Jamie for holding her back. Now there is silence. A collective leaning in.