Marchant flinched but didn’t make a sound.
The stable was filled with nothing but the sound of men breathing as they both watched the blood pool on the floor under him. He still had his other arm flung over his eyes as he opened and shut his palm a few times.
“It’s not working,” he said. “I can still feel it.”
Matty could feel it too. The thing in his stomach was twisting and furling and turning. In fact, as he observed the sensation, he began to feel dizzy.
Marchant suddenly sat up and pushed Rob off him. “Get off me,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.” Rob fell back and Marchant knelt up, cradling his dripping hand against his chest. He looked at Matty.
“It’s not working. I can feel it still draining into me from you. You’ve gone green.” He pushed at Rob. “Get him sat, he’s going to faint.”
Matty did feel nauseated. He staggered as Rob guided him to sit on the floor and put his head between his knees.
“It’s not enough,” Marchant said. “You’re going to have to cut my throat.”