Into Focus (Focus Series Book 1) by Alex Bostwick Read Free Book Online Page B

magic.
    But that’s why I have bleach.
    The men on the operating table were wounded
badly. Shrapnel had penetrated the shoulder of one of them, who was
still awake and groaning in pain. The other was unconscious, burns
across his chest, cuts marring the flesh, presumably from debris
during the blast.
    I had helped carry them in from the Fire
entrance, a massive gateway in the south wing of the office
building. The mission had gone poorly, but I wasn’t allowed to know
the finer details of operations, not yet. I was only there to
learn, not to participate fully. That was reserved for full
members—secret societies have secrets even from themselves.
    Despite the bloody scene before me, the
atmosphere was remarkably calm. Four Healers, members of the Air
faction, worked on the men quietly and carefully, with practiced
ease. One of them leaned over to the groaning man, and whispered
into his ear. As he did, a faint breeze swept through the room,
only perceptible by the sound and a slight stirring of my hair. The
man on the table stopped groaning, let out a contented sigh, and
slipped into unconsciousness.
    The work continued quickly after that. One of
the Healers braced the shoulder while a second removed the
shrapnel. Together, they held their hands over the wound, and, as I
watched, the ragged hole knitted itself closed while a wind picked
up, stronger than the breeze that had aided the patient’s sedation.
I steadied myself against a gurney with one hand.
    As the shrapnel wound was closing, the other
two Healers worked on the burned patient. More wind kicked up,
pulling my hair out of place and scattering blonde strands across
my face. I tucked it hurriedly behind my ears.
    I need to remember to put it into a ponytail
next time. Or a braid. Or just cut it off.
    The charred flesh visible on the man’s chest
began to heal, the gashes where the skin had split closing slowly.
His breathing, which had been rapid, slowed to a more normal pace.
A faint moan of relief rattled past his lips. I couldn’t imagine
the kind of pain he had been through.
    I noticed that the burned skin was healing,
but was still mottled, warped, still plainly scar tissue. I kept it
to myself, intending to ask about it after the work was finished.
The best thing I could do to help was stay out of the way, and keep
quiet. This kind of job required far greater power and control than
I possessed.
    “I think that about does it for this one,”
said one of the Healers, a tall, thin man named Jake. He looked
questioningly at the two working on the burn victim. “Do you need a
hand over there?”
    “No, we’ve got it. Just about done.”
    “What the hell were they doing?” asked a
woman working on the burned man. I never learned her name. Her brow
was furrowed in concentration. “Blowing up a building?”
    “You know we aren’t supposed to know
details,” said Jake.
    “They show up in my O.R., burned and
bleeding, I think I’m allowed to ask a few questions,” said Peter.
He wiped an alcohol swab around the shrapnel wound, cleaning the
skin as he checked for other injuries. “I know that we send Fire
agents into the field for dangerous work, but this is getting
ridiculous. We went four years without any injuries, and in the
last eight months, we’ve had two dozen. It’s only a matter of time
before one of these guys winds up dead.”
    “They—“
    “Don’t tell me they know the risks, Jake,”
snapped Sarah as she began to clean the soot off of the burned man
with a cloth. “It’s bad enough that we have to send agents to the
ass end of the world to stop tin pot dictators from killing half of
their own people, but these guys were coming from Manhattan. That’s
not the Third World. That’s here. What the hell are we doing
sending guys into the field here?”
    “I don’t—“
    “Peter, I get it. I know you don’t like it,”
Jake cut in. “You’re a Healer. It’s in your nature to stitch wounds
up, not make new ones. I’m the same