Roberta was out of the car a split-second later, running to the door. Kayla followed her and stopped short at the entrance to the warehouse.
It was like a vision of hell. There was blood everywhere, unmoving bodies lying on the floor and across the wooden boxes, some wearing the bright blue of the black city boys, others in the plaid and bandannas of the homeboys. Several homeboys moved among the dead and wounded. Carlos was on the other side of the warehouse, holding Roberta in his arms and speaking quietly to her. She didn't see Ramon among the wounded or dying, and a wave of relief went through her.
She stared at the carnage, and suddenly the smell of it hit her as hard as physical pain; she clutched at the doorpost for support, mentally trying to shove all that terror and agony away from her. It flooded down on her mind, threatening to crush her beneath the pain.
She held it back, fought to overcome it. As the pain receded enough for her to move, she went without thinking to the closest wounded young man. She recognized Fernando, lying sprawled across a wooden crate, blood trickling down from his mouth and chest. She placed her hands on his face, his blood wet and warm against her fingers, and called the magic to her.
She felt a fierce joy, feeling the power coursing through her, sliding down into Fernando's pain. She found the source of it, the bullet lodged in his lung, and drew it out with her thoughts, sealing up the wound behind it. She could feel the life returning to him, as the pain faded away from within her mind, to be replaced by dizziness and exhaustion.
Kayla paused long enough to catch her breath and forced herself to move to the next man, who was curled on the floor, clutching his leg and whimpering in pain. A bullet had shattered his leg, leaving white fragments of bone sticking out through the shredded denim of his blood-soaked jeans. He nodded weakly at her as she touched him, forcing the pain away from his mind. She coaxed the bone back into place, forcing the broken pieces to knit back together again.
Exhaustion burned through her mind and body when she was done, dragging her down into the shadows. She knelt by another man, lying facedown on the floor, and carefully turned him over. It was Jose, a look of shocked horror on his face.
She stared at him, trying to touch him with her magic and finding . . . nothing. Only a dark emptiness, a nothingness where he had been. She bit her lip, unable to keep the tears from her eyes.
"Why aren't you helping him?" She turned to see Carlos standing close behind her. He was pale and shaking, a crying Roberta clinging to his arm. "Help him, bruja!"
"I can't. He's dead."
"Heal him!" His face was streaked with tears as he shouted at her. "You little bitch, help him!"
"There's nothing there, he's gone, there's nothing left to help!"
Roberta tugged Carlos away from Jose's body, whispering something in Spanish to him. Kayla quickly turned to another wounded guy, a kid that looked younger than herself, one of the black boys. His eyes were wild with pain, but he smiled. "Hey, pretty lady," he whispered.
"You'll be all right," she whispered back. She saw where he'd been shot, one gaping wound in his chest, another in his shoulder. It was bad, but she knew she could heal him, it wasn't any worse than Fernando with the bullet in his lung. She set her hands, shaking with exhaustion, on his chest, and began to concentrate . . .
Someone grabbed her arm and yanked her up, just as she felt the first stirrings of the magic beginning within her. "No, not that one!" Carlos said roughly. His eyes burned with anger. "He's not one of ours."
"I don't give a shit! He's hurt, I can help him!"
"You'll heal Miguel next, bruja!"
Kayla pulled her arm free of his grasp. "Like hell, you bastard!"
The force of his hand slapping her across the face knocked her to the floor. Stunned, she landed close to the hurt black kid, nearly on top of him.
The boy looked at her with pain-filled eyes as she wiped the blood from her mouth. "S'alright, pretty lady . . ." he whispered. The glow of his body, the sensation that he was alive and close to her, faded away a moment later. His eyes were still staring at her, but they were empty, no longer seeing her or anything else.
Kayla stared at the boy's lifeless body; she sobbed and turned on Carlos. "Damn you!" she screamed. "I could've saved him!" Her hand brushed against something cold, metallic: a semi-automatic pistol lying next to the boy's body. She grabbed it and brought it up, aiming it at Carlos.
He stood very still, watching her.
She blinked back tears, trying to hold the pistol steady. Carlos didn't move. Kayla could see Roberta's horrified face beyond Carlos; one of the homeboys drawing a pistol, but hesitating, not certain whether to shoot her or not.