Read Online Kissed by Moonlight by Shéa MacLeod - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shéa MacLeod
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my stomach still rioting. The antiseptic stench of the hospital didn't help matters any.
The clip-clop of sensible heels echoed in the hallway. Oh, gods. I'd know that sound anywhere.
My mother appeared in the doorway, a gently steaming paper cup in each hand. "Morgan! You're awake." She hurried to the bed, thrusting one of the cups at Kabita on her way. She set the other one down on the nightstand next to the bed and took my hands in hers. She looked pale and tired, her features drawn. I suddenly felt bad. She gave my hands a little squeeze. "How are you feeling?"
"Like hell."
"Language," she snapped, like I was a five-year-old.
"Sorry, Mom."
Kabita sat up, removing her feet from the bed so my mother could settle down next to me. The movement jarred my head, but the pain wasn't so bad this time.
My mother sat primly on the edge of the bed, smoothing her beige skirt over her thighs. She was perfectly dressed and coiffed, down to the pearls around her neck and the carefully applied lipstick in just the right shade of mauve. I detected the faint hint of Chanel No. 5 as she reached up to brush a lock of hair off my forehead. Even visiting her daughter in the hospital, my mother insisted on keeping up appearances. "I told you working the night shift was dangerous. I hope you've learned your lesson and you'll see about getting a decent, respectable position."
I must have looked completely blank, because my mother heaved a deep sigh. I had always been something of a trial to her.
"Sorry, Mrs. Bailey, but she's a little fuzzy about what happened," Kabita spoke up, sending me a sly wink. "Get a bash on the head like that, and you're bound to forget a few things."
"Oh, my." My mother looked horrified as she turned to Kabita, her face pale under her flawlessly applied makeup. "I saw that on Oprah once. People who've been violently attacked often suffer from amnesia and PTSD. You don't suppose Morgan will have PTSD, do you?" She turned back to me. "Does your insurance plan cover counseling? Don't worry. I'm sure your cousin will give you a free mental health assessment at the very least."
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I had no idea what to say. What on earth had Kabita told my mother? "Mom," I finally managed, "Jeanne is family. Assessing my mental health would be unethical."
"Well, that's ridiculous." Mom mulled it over. "My friend, Margery, has an excellent therapist. I'm sure he can give you a discount."
"Um, great." I happened to know Mom's friend, Margery, was sleeping with her therapist. I wasn't about to tell Mom that, though.
I shot Kabita a glare. She smiled blissfully and sipped her coffee. Tommy sat quietly next to the door, completely ignoring the whole scene. I wasn't sure, but I thought he might be meditating. That, or he was sleeping with his eyes open. Either one was entirely possible.
"Those horrible, horrible thugs, mugging you like that." Mom shook her head. "What is this world coming to? Your grandmother keeps saying this is the end times. Maybe she's right. All this violence."
My grandmother was a religious nut who listened to too many talk shows on the radio. If there was a conspiracy wackjob out there, she was probably listening to him or her. I remember my grandmother once declaring barcodes were the mark of the Beast and a sign of the end times, despite the fact that barcodes had been around for ages.
"Listen, Mom, stop worrying," I cut her off before she started quoting Revelations or something. "I'm not going to get PTSD." Mostly because I pretty much already had it, thanks to the vampire attack that had woken my hunter abilities. "I've just got a little concussion. I'll be fine." At least, I hoped I would. The headache was nearly gone now and my stomach no longer felt like it wanted to jump out of my throat. Whatever had been in Tommy's flask was starting to work its magic. Even I couldn't heal quite that fast.
My mother took a sip of her coffee, as if trying to steady herself.
The clip-clop of sensible heels echoed in the hallway. Oh, gods. I'd know that sound anywhere.
My mother appeared in the doorway, a gently steaming paper cup in each hand. "Morgan! You're awake." She hurried to the bed, thrusting one of the cups at Kabita on her way. She set the other one down on the nightstand next to the bed and took my hands in hers. She looked pale and tired, her features drawn. I suddenly felt bad. She gave my hands a little squeeze. "How are you feeling?"
"Like hell."
"Language," she snapped, like I was a five-year-old.
"Sorry, Mom."
Kabita sat up, removing her feet from the bed so my mother could settle down next to me. The movement jarred my head, but the pain wasn't so bad this time.
My mother sat primly on the edge of the bed, smoothing her beige skirt over her thighs. She was perfectly dressed and coiffed, down to the pearls around her neck and the carefully applied lipstick in just the right shade of mauve. I detected the faint hint of Chanel No. 5 as she reached up to brush a lock of hair off my forehead. Even visiting her daughter in the hospital, my mother insisted on keeping up appearances. "I told you working the night shift was dangerous. I hope you've learned your lesson and you'll see about getting a decent, respectable position."
I must have looked completely blank, because my mother heaved a deep sigh. I had always been something of a trial to her.
"Sorry, Mrs. Bailey, but she's a little fuzzy about what happened," Kabita spoke up, sending me a sly wink. "Get a bash on the head like that, and you're bound to forget a few things."
"Oh, my." My mother looked horrified as she turned to Kabita, her face pale under her flawlessly applied makeup. "I saw that on Oprah once. People who've been violently attacked often suffer from amnesia and PTSD. You don't suppose Morgan will have PTSD, do you?" She turned back to me. "Does your insurance plan cover counseling? Don't worry. I'm sure your cousin will give you a free mental health assessment at the very least."
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I had no idea what to say. What on earth had Kabita told my mother? "Mom," I finally managed, "Jeanne is family. Assessing my mental health would be unethical."
"Well, that's ridiculous." Mom mulled it over. "My friend, Margery, has an excellent therapist. I'm sure he can give you a discount."
"Um, great." I happened to know Mom's friend, Margery, was sleeping with her therapist. I wasn't about to tell Mom that, though.
I shot Kabita a glare. She smiled blissfully and sipped her coffee. Tommy sat quietly next to the door, completely ignoring the whole scene. I wasn't sure, but I thought he might be meditating. That, or he was sleeping with his eyes open. Either one was entirely possible.
"Those horrible, horrible thugs, mugging you like that." Mom shook her head. "What is this world coming to? Your grandmother keeps saying this is the end times. Maybe she's right. All this violence."
My grandmother was a religious nut who listened to too many talk shows on the radio. If there was a conspiracy wackjob out there, she was probably listening to him or her. I remember my grandmother once declaring barcodes were the mark of the Beast and a sign of the end times, despite the fact that barcodes had been around for ages.
"Listen, Mom, stop worrying," I cut her off before she started quoting Revelations or something. "I'm not going to get PTSD." Mostly because I pretty much already had it, thanks to the vampire attack that had woken my hunter abilities. "I've just got a little concussion. I'll be fine." At least, I hoped I would. The headache was nearly gone now and my stomach no longer felt like it wanted to jump out of my throat. Whatever had been in Tommy's flask was starting to work its magic. Even I couldn't heal quite that fast.
My mother took a sip of her coffee, as if trying to steady herself.
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