I may not always know what's right, but I know I want you here tonight.
Golden light permeated the darkness. Mallos blinked, unsure if his eyes had been open or shut when the yellow light had started to dance across his chest. Or when he started to notice it.

Blinking was painful. So was everything else, but his brain hadn’t yet woken up to just how much pain he was in, so it honed in on any movement. Unwilling to so much as twitch a finger, Mallos stared straight ahead at the inky void blurring in and out of vision in front of him. Pinpricks of light marred the perfect blackness. Stars?

Don’t move, said a voice. Forgetting he was supposed to be in pain, Mallos started to twist his head in the direction of the voice and almost immediately passed out again.

The next time, when he awoke, it was much more sluggishly. Awareness came in spits and spurts. Firstly, he became aware of the hellish agony. It was as though someone had run him through a grinder and then set the shattered remains of his bones on fire. Mallos clung to the pain, letting it consume him, encouraging it to blot out everything else. He didn’t need any more awareness. This was fine.

Vision came next, sort of. He noticed that the light was still there, shooting over his body, frantically searching for all the fatal wounds. The longer the light worked, the clearer his sight was. Mallos curled one of his fingers, found to his pleasant surprise that it didn’t knock him back into dreamland, and proceeded to – slowly – try to turn his head again. An even more pleasant surprise greeted him to his left: his Ferrari Portofino was there, all in one piece. A little banged up, sure – the panels were crumpled along the side – but it looked fixable, providing the chasse was unbent. That was strange, because Mallos was fairly sure he’d flipped the car at least four times before he’d initially blacked out.

As though it could read his mind, the same feminine voice from earlier rung in his ears. Divinity couldn’t tell the difference between you and the car, so it’s been healing you both. That’s why it’s taking so long.

That voice was more unwelcome than the pain. Mallos slipped his arms back and, relishing the agony, propped himself up a little onto his elbows. It felt like an enormous weight was pressing against his chest, pushing him back. His head spun and he felt the taste of bile at the back of his throat. Sperantia, his black Siamese hybrid cat familiar, was sat by his hip watching him with sharp blue eyes and a grim line for a mouth. She looked remarkably clean next to his dark trousers, shredded up the side and drenched in an acrid mixture of blood and petrol. Shards of broken glass were embedded in his legs, suggesting that at least part of him must have gone through a window at some point.

Taking advantage of his apparent inability to speak, Sperantia decided to have her say.

“This makes over three million euros’ worth of cars you’ve totalled in two weeks.” Her eyes were a really, really penetrating blue. Not the colour he wanted to see right now. “Are you done yet?”

Mallos put his weight onto one elbow, shifting his other hand to try and give himself leverage to sit up. White spots appeared in front of his eyes. Sperantia darted forward, pressing a paw against his forearm.

“Don’t move,” she advised, her tone softening a little, “you and the car were pretty… entwined.”

Nice, Mallos thought vaguely. That has to be my best crash yet.

Magic sparked furiously down his body, stitching up a gash on his side. Within the hour, he supposed, he’d be back on his feet again, albeit probably sore and possibly limping. Clearly, four flips at two hundred kilometres an hour just wasn’t enough. Maybe it was time to try something other than cars.

“We have to move.” Sperantia said suddenly. She at least looked a little sheepish when Mallos flicked an eyebrow at her, sending another spasm of agony through his body. “I mean, you stay still. I’ll get us out of here.”

She stood up, her ears pricked and pointing behind her. Now Mallos heard it too: the faint wail of sirens. Sperantia placed both paws on his arm and closed her eyes, her tail twitching. As the world started to shift and spin, Mallos shut his eyes too, biting back the taste of bile. He only opened them again when he felt the ground beneath his hands harden from grass to wood.

They were… inside, somewhere. It was dark. He couldn’t make out much more than that. Grabbing hold of the leg of a nearby table, Mallos heaved himself up into a sitting position with considerable effort and leant back against the wall. His breathing spiked from the exertion, shallow and ragged, so it felt like he was panting for a moment. Something dripped into his eye. Was he still bleeding from the head? Why hadn’t magic sorted that shit out yet?

“Fuck magic,” he breathed, his voice as course as sandpaper.

“Mmm.” Sperantia’s voice came from somewhere outside his vision. He could hear her padding about. “I think this is some kind of pharmacy. I’ll see if there’s something here which might heal you faster.”

Ugh. Mallos wrinkled his nose. Fuck that.

Mallos
I've learned enough to know I'm never letting go