“Did I do any of this?” He hadn’t thought so. He’d believed Holly about the lack of actual harm, earlier. But red lay in a vicious line across that aristocratic cheek, splitting fair skin, starting just beneath that wide left eye. More red peeked out at the edge of his collarbone: another thin cruel s***h.
Holiday Jones, the only living Sinister Sorcerer, did possess a gift for swift self-repair, and the cuts were closing themselves as he watched. But they remained present. Which meant they’d been bad.
“I didn’t mean to,” Ryan tried, hoping that’d be an apology, hoping Holly would tell him. Anything else would be a concerning sign. “How bad is it?”
John came over too, bringing a medical kit and better equilibrium. “It wasn’t you. That’s a blade, not a burn. How serious is it, kid? Anypl
