Free Magic Time: Angelfire by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff, Marc Zicree Page B

scratching and scuffling behind me, then I was hit by a shower of pine needles and bark. I prayed there were no loose pinecones up there. A moment later he had a tight hold on my ankles.
    I dared to look up at him. All I could tell was that he had somehow woven himself into the branches behind me and wrapped his arms around my legs.
    “Okay,” he grunted, “now, see if you can’t get your clothes free of that snag.”
    “Problem. My clothes aren’t all that’s caught.”
    He was silent for a moment, then murmured something under his breath. “What can I do, Colleen?”
    “A knife,” I said. “Mine’s in my boot. Little hard to reach just now. If I cut the jacket away from the branch, might help.”
    “Okay, hang on.”
    The branches creaked and groaned, I felt him fumble with my boot. A moment later something hit the ground.
    “Shit,” he said, then, “Sorry. I guess you’ll have to make do with mine. Reach up toward me. I’m going to slip the knife into your hand, hilt first.”
    I reached. He got his knife into my palm without cutting either of us. It was smaller than mine—lighter. The handle was held together with duct tape. I prayed the tape would hold. I slipped the blade into the torn fabric at my waist and sliced.
    The fabric slit so easily it caught me by surprise. I shot downward—only a few inches. There was a muffled snap and pain shot around my rib cage. I went cold all the way to the bone. It couldn’t be a broken rib—it couldn’t.
    “Colleen?”
    “It’s okay,” I panted, chasing the quivering, icy feeling out of my chest with hot determination. “I just slipped.”
    “I’ve got you,” he said. “I won’t let you fall. Try to get free.”
    I bit my lip and started hacking at the jacket. Finally, it slit all the way to the hem and fell away from the snag. I pushed gently on the broken branch; something tugged and my side shrieked.
    “Oh, shit,” Goldie said.
    I didn’t want to look. I had to look.
    “I can’t see,” I said. Stars danced in front of my eyes; I fought blackness.
    “Don’t look. You’ve got a splinter in your side.”
    I almost laughed. A splinter. How mundane. I pulled my head up so I could see. I was a mess. The good news was that I hadn’t impaled myself on the main branch, but on a shard about two fingers thick. I could see the bloodied tip angling out over my ribs. The bad news was that the other end was still attached to the branch.
    “Give me the knife,” Goldie said.
    “Goldman, if I give you the knife, how are you going to hold onto me?”
    “Good point.” He shifted his grasp on my legs.
    I shuddered as the splinter twisted in my side.
    “Damn! Sorry. Okay, now give me the knife.” I felt him take careful hold of the blade. “Let go.”
    I did, and gladly.
    “This will no doubt hurt like hell,” he informed me. “Are you ready?”
    “Jeez, Goldman—what a question. No, I’m not ready. Cut the damn thing.”
    A kitchen knife is crappy for sawing wood. It took him several agonizing minutes to saw through the thing. I bit my lip, ground my teeth, growled, and panted like a dog. The splinter broke free of the tree in one final twist of agony.
    Oh, God , I thought, as the swirling specks of light gathered behind my eyes, I’m going to pass out . But I didn’t pass out—not just then. I passed out when Goldman, having lowered me as far as he could without falling, let go of my feet. I came down on my back in a shower of needles and bark and an explosion of pain.
    When I woke, there was icy water dribbling into my face. “Drink,” he said.
    I obeyed, taking the squeeze bottle out of his hands. As I guzzled water, he said, “I thought about trying to extract that thing while you were out, but I couldn’t tell how bad it was.”
    “You’re not a doctor, so I’d just as soon you didn’t try to play one.”
    “Yeah, well, I did manage to pull out some of the little bits and I cleaned around the wound and, um, put sort of a poultice