Rook led them deeper into the warehouse, past the lounge and through a doorway into the living quarters. A hallway stretched out with doors on either side, so open to reveal small bedrooms, others closed.
"Lizzie!" Rook called out. "Got sothing for you."
A door at the end swung open and a woman practically bounced out. Petite, maybe five-foot-four in heels, with strawberry blonde hair in ssy braids that looked like she’d done them while sprinting.
She wore baggie joggers covered in paint stains, a white blouse with too many buttons undone, and her green eyes were bright, sharp, and just a little too wide, like she’d had three espressos and a near-death experience.
"Ooh, whatcha got for ? New patient? New corpse? New—" She stopped dead when she saw Kurt, and her entire expression froze. For three seconds, she just stared, utterly still.
Then her face cracked into sothing between a grin and a grimace.
"No. Nononono, you don’t get to do this." She laughed, unhinged. "You don’t get to be dead and then just—just show up like—"
She crossed the distance in erratic strides, half-stumbling, and slamd both fists into Kurt’s chest. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to feel desperate.
"You DIED!" Her voice pitched higher. "You were GONE! We had a stupid sad ceremony and I made a stupid speech and I even cried, Kurt, I CRIED, and I don’t cry because crying is for people who think things get better, and you—" She hit him again, softer this ti. "You absolute fucking asshole."
Kurt caught her wrists gently before she could wind up for another swing. "Easy, love. I’m here. Sort of. Mostly."
"Mostly?!" Lizzie’s laugh was manic and breathless. "What does that even an? Are you a ghost? A zombie? Did you make a deal with sothing? Oh god, did you make a deal? Because I told you NOT to make deals, Kurt, I specifically said—"
"Lizzie," Rook said calmly. "He’s got amnesia. And he can resurrect."
Lizzie blinked. Once. Twice. Then her entire deanor shifted like soone flipped a switch.
"Ohhhhh." She released Kurt’s wrists and leaned back, eyes narrowing with sudden focus. "Amnesia. Resurrection. Ooh, that’s juicy. That’s really juicy." She started pacing, hands gesturing wildly. "So you died, ca back, but your brain’s all scrambled like—like eggs! Except the eggs are your mories and soone burned the pan and now everything’s just—" She made an explosion gesture with her hands. "Gone! Poof!"
Kurt exchanged a glance with Rook, who just shrugged as if to say, Yeah, she’s always like this.
"That about sums it up," Kurt said carefully.
Lizzie spun around, grinning now, and it was the kind of grin that made you check for exits. "So you don’t rember ?"
"Not a thing, I’m afraid."
Her grin widened. "Not even Baelfire? The hotel? The wall? telling you—" She giggled, covering her mouth with both hands like she was trying to contain sothing obscene. "Oh, this is GREAT. This is so great. I get to make a first impression ALL OVER AGAIN."
She bounced on her heels, clapping her hands together. "Okay okay okay, so! I’m Lizzie. I’m the healer, which is hilarious because I feel like dealing damage would have been way more my style." She glanced at Rook then back to Kurt. "I keep everyone alive, mostly, sotis, usually, and you and I used to—" She wiggled her eyebrows. "—you know."
Kurt blinked. "Did we?"
"Oh yeah." She leaned in close, voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "You were VERY good at it. Like, concerningly good. I have notes. Diagrams, even."
Emma, who’d been leaning against the wall this whole ti, finally spoke up. "Lizzie. Focus."
"I AM focused!" Lizzie spun toward Emma, arms spread wide. "I’m SO focused! I’m laser-beam-through-your-skull focused!" She giggled again, then turned back to Kurt, expression shifting to sothing more serious. "You really don’t rember?"
"Not a bloody thing," Kurt admitted.
She studied Kurt for a long mont, those green eyes searching his face. Then she let out a shaky breath. "This is insane. You know that, right?"
"I’m getting that impression, yeah."
She straightened, pulling herself together and slipping into a more professional deanor. "Rook, I’m guessing you want to examine him?"
"If you can tell us anything useful," Rook said.
Lizzie studied him again, head tilting at an unnatural angle, like a bird examining prey. Then she straightened and clapped her hands once, loudly.
"Well! Guess I’ll just have to cut you open and see what’s rattling around in there!" She grinned wide, showing teeth. "Kidding. Mostly. Co on, dead boy, let’s see what resurrection did to you."
She grabbed his wrist and yanked him toward a nearby door, moving with twitchy, unpredictable energy.
Kurt followed her towards the dical bay that was organized chaos. Shelves lined the walls, filled with bottles labeled in handwriting that ranged from neat to illegible.
So herbs hung from the ceiling, others were scattered across tables alongside dical instrunts, vials of glowing liquid, and what looked suspiciously like a homade explosive device.
"Shirt off," Lizzie said, snapping on gloves with theatrical flair as green essence coated her finger tips.
Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Usually I get dinner first—"
"Yeah yeah, you’re funny, very charming, shirt OFF." She made a shooing motion, already moving to a table covered in tools.
Kurt sighed and pulled his shirt over his head.
Lizzie turned back, froze mid-step, and her eyes went wide. "Oh. Oh wow. Okay." She laughed, a little breathless. "Yep. Still hot. Good to know death didn’t ruin that."
She moved closer, fingers pressing to his chest, and her touch was surprisingly gentle. She humd to herself, checking his heartbeat, breathing, the way his muscles responded, but her focus was sharp now, clinical, like she’d flipped another internal switch.
Kurt felt a warm tingle spread through his skin as she worked. "Your essence signature is... different. Corrupted, but not in a bad way. Like sothing rewrote you on a fundantal level."
"Is that normal?" Kurt asked.
"Nothing about this is normal, Kurt." She wiped her forehead with the edge of her elbow, the green glow flaring brighter on her gloved fingers. "Heartbeat’s good. Lungs are good. Muscle tone’s good." Her fingers traced a path down his ribs, and then she stopped. "Wait."
Her fingers pressed against a spot on his ribs, just below his left side. "This."
Kurt glanced down. A thin scar, dark and faint, ran along his skin. It looked more like a tattoo than a scar really. "What about it?"
"You didn’t have this three days ago." Lizzie’s voice had lost its manic edge, replaced by sothing quieter, more focused.
She traced the scar with one finger, her expression unreadable. "Resurrection’s not just changing you Kurt, it’s marking you."
"Marking ," Kurt repeated.
"My theory is every death leaves a mark." She looked up at him, and for a mont, her green eyes were completely lucid, almost sad. "So should be physical. So won’t. But they’re all there. Reminders that you didn’t stay dead." She smiled, but it was faint. "Trust . I know."
Kurt caught the weight in her words, the implication that she understood what it ant to be marked by sothing you couldn’t escape. He wanted to ask, but before he could, Lizzie’s expression shifted back to her frenzied buzz.
"But hey!" She slapped his chest lightly. "You’re alive-ish! That’s better than dead-dead, right?" She spun away, pulling off her gloves and tossing them dramatically into a bin. "You’re good to go, corpse boy. No weird death rot, no missing organs, no spontaneous combustion, at least not yet."
"Comforting," Kurt muttered, pulling his shirt back on as he processed all that she told him. "Can you fix the amnesia?"
"I’m a healer, not a miracle worker." Her expression softened. "But if the mories are buried rather than gone, maybe they’ll surface on their own. Trauma, familiar situations, stress... any of those could trigger sothing."
Kurt sighed. "So more death might jog my mory. Fantastic."
Lizzie leaned against the table, crossing her arms, and for a mont she just watched him with that unsettling, too-focused stare. "You weren’t kidding about not rembering."
"I don’t," Kurt said quietly. "And from what I’m gathering, that’s a sha."
Her smile turned sharp, almost fragile. "Yeah. It is." She pushed off the table, energy snapping back into place like a rubber band. "But hey! Fresh start, right? Clean slate! No baggage! Except, you know, the whole dying thing, but whatever."
She grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the door. "Co on. Emma’s gonna brief everyone on the job, and you NEED to hear this because the Crimson Hollows are..." She made explosion gestures again. "...you’re probably gonna die again, which is great for science."
Kurt let himself be dragged, glancing back at the mirror on the wall. The scar on his ribs caught the light; dark, weirdly shaped, permanent.
He followed her back through the hallway. Three guild mbers so far: Emma, Rook, Lizzie. And all of them looked at him like they were seeing a ghost. How many more would react the sa way?
The lounge was fuller now, guild mbers gathering around a central table where Emma stood with a map spread out before her.
Conversations died as Kurt entered, and familiar eyes turned toward him with varying expressions of shock, disbelief, and suspicion.
This was going to be a long day.
***
A/N: I hope you’re enjoying this so far. Add to Library and send a power stone or two if you are. Thank you and peace!
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