Free Hearts of Fire by Kira Brady

death.
    The woman stabbed one long nail down the dim hallway. “Body is waiting. First door on your left.” Washing her hands of the matter, she returned to her paperwork.
    The deceased. The body. The words were so impersonal, detached from the loving, bubbly girl who was her sister. Had been her sister.
    Strength of will held Kayla together and carried her down the long empty hallway to the exam room. A wave of formaldehyde and a blast of freezing air greeted her when she opened the door. Unforgiving metal covered every surface, and—despite the soft glow of the gas lamps—the air felt stagnant and dead. Dead as the body beneath the sheet.
    How could her heart hurt so much yet still beat so quickly? She could do this. She was a nurse, for goodness sake. Dead bodies were nothing new. Approaching the exam table in the center of the room, she reached out to touch the cold cotton sheet. Her hand trembled. With a deep breath, she yanked the cloth back.
    It took a few minutes for her brain to recognize the blue-tinged figure on the slab in front of her. At first she thought there’d been some mistake. This wasn’t her sister. This was some alien body: lips purple and cracked, belly swollen and distended, dark veins clearly outlined as if they’d been drawn on the skin in magic marker.
    Pregnant? Her sister wasn’t pregnant.
    But that small hope that this wasn’t her sister shattered as she took in the familiar cheekbones; wide-set eyes; the rich, wavy, mahogany hair; proud nose; and delicately pointed chin. Desi.
    A sob burst from deep in her chest. How could Desi be so still? Desi was always full of life, overflowing with passion. A little touch of the devil in her twinkling brown eyes. How could a life so vibrant be snuffed out?
    It couldn’t. No, it was impossible. There must be some mistake.
    Her brain quit and all her rational, logical thoughts flew out the window. She watched herself as if from a distance, detached yet frantic. She ran her hands over the frozen blue skin, searching automatically for a pulse. She needed a defibrillator. A shot of adrenaline to inject in the heart. Something, anything to make her sister move again.
    The chest muscles were hard beneath her fingers when she placed them over Desi’s heart.
    “Please,” she whispered. Hot tears streamed down her cheek, but she ignored them. All she wanted was to have her sister back. She didn’t want to be left behind. Not again. Not when there was no one left.
    Grief opened a door deep inside her, and a pulsing, shimmering light poured out. She’d never seen or felt anything like it. In her panic, one thought became clear: if she could warm Desi with that light, everything would be okay. Instinctively, she grabbed hold of it and pushed. The viscous light slid up her nerve endings and tingled along her arms. A liquid flow of her own essence, pouring out through her fingertips and into her dying patient.
    Except this patient was already dead.
    She pulled and pushed at the unreal, impossible light. Yanked until the room spun and her eyes could no longer focus. Poured everything into the empty shell beneath her palms.
    Only to watch the light die when it left her skin. Desi’s life force was long gone. There was nothing left. Not a flicker. Not an ember. Not a whisper of the laughter and love and heart that had once been a giving, brightly burning soul.
    Instead there was an emptiness in Desi, and it sucked at Kayla until she thought she might leave her body and jump headfirst into the cold corpse beneath her hands.
    Out of nowhere, strong hands yanked her away from the table. A deep, gruff voice penetrated the haze in her brain. “Stop it.”
    Kayla found her sobs muffled against a broad warm chest. She didn’t want it. Her hands flailed against the stranger, but it was like hitting a boulder.
    “Stop,” he growled. “Lady be damned. You got a death wish?” His fingers gripped her biceps like iron bands. She wasn’t strong enough to push him