Where she found the fortitude, I didn’t know. I wondered how she felt, disillusioned by Tak-Wing, but not necessarily any more attached to Tak-Tam, the bookish brother she hadn’t wanted to marry in the first place. Or maybe she had become attached to him. They had been married for five years, after all, and they had a little girl. And now he might be dead. Or he might still be alive. Or somewhere in between, on another bloody table in another part of the city, under the ministrations of the twisted Colonel Noma and his merry band of nail pullers. But in this moment, somehow, she managed not to think of him so she could mesmerize this fool Tak-Wing enough to get him away from Emily. As they left, I watched Ting-Yan go with more than a little admiration.

“I need your help, Violet,” said Courchene. I snapped back to the task before me. Emily wouldn’t let go of him. Wise enough to understand the comfort function he filled, and genuinely fond of her, he stood behind her, and held her by the shoulders as she gripped his arms and pressed her head back into his stomach. It must have made his scar ache, because he grimaced, though he didn’t let go. “It’s gotta be you, Vi,” he said. “Every doctor has a first birth.”

The contractions were stronger than Emily was, and she writhed on the table like a woman possessed.

“Get her still,” said Courchene. “Get her legs into the stirrups, if you can.” A river of sweat ran from his hair into his eye, but he couldn’t wipe it away because Emily had a death grip on both of his arms. “Not the easiest birth, this. And I’ve seen a few.”

“Come on, Em, old girl. You’ve got to get a grip,” I said. I pulled her legs up into the stirrups as she cursed me.

“I hate you, Violet. I hate that bastard Tak-Wing more, though. Hate you, and hate him. You’re a lousy sister. He’s a worse husband, the biggest disappointment of my life. Why did you help me marry him? You should have protected me from that dead demon. What kind of sister are you? Aaaaaaaaggggggggggghhhhhhh!”

“Hate me all you want,” I said. “But on the next exhale, you gotta push. Okay?”

“That’s it,” said Courchene. “Try to get your breath steady—it will really help. Deep breath in now.”

She obeyed him and took that breath in.

“Now out,” he said. “Come on, sweetheart, that’s it. Steady as she goes.”

A slender, boat-shaped sliver of baby skull appeared, slimy red between her legs. “I see him!” I shouted. The skull expanded, then contracted again. “You have to push, Em!”

“I’m pushing!” she yelled.

“Breathe in,” said Courchene. “Attagirl. Breathe out. Push.”

She pushed, but the baby wouldn’t budge.