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Authors: Lucy A. Snyder
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forced it down, held my breath to keep from tasting it any more clearly than I had to.
I waited. Swallowed again. Released my breath.
Nothing.
“I don’t think this potion is still—” I began.
And suddenly there was a heat like a small supernova exploding in the pit of my stomach, then a waveof adrenaline like a million tiny Maori warriors surfing through my bloodstream, and my exhaustion evaporated, my aches and pains gone like so many vampires drowned in liquid sunshine, and I could climb dragons, I could slay mountains—
I was on the floor. The inside of my mouth tasted like I’d drunk rancid chili from a dirty ashtray. A shaggy belly pressed heavily against my face. My whole body. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
“Mmmf!” I tried to wiggle out from under Pal.
“Are you sane?” He sounded cross. “Tap me three times with your toes if you understand me.”
My left foot was the only part of me that he’d left free. I tapped him. He stood up, and I took a gasping breath.
“What the hell?” I frowned up at him.
“You began bounding around the room like an utter lunatic.” He frowned back at me. The expression looked a lot scarier on him. “I thought it best to restrain you lest you hurt yourself or decide to start burning the hotel down.”
“No way. I don’t remember that at all.”
“You began shouting ‘I am the banana master now, bitches!’ ” he added.
I squinted at him. “You’re just messing with me. I did
not
say that.”
“Oh, you most certainly did.” Pal stepped aside and crouched down, seeming amused. “You also declared yourself to be ‘Queen of the Motherfucking Chainsaw Brigade’ and made a series of profane, scatological threats against all the ‘goat-faced jack-fuck haters.’ You might’ve actually said ‘moat bait Mack truck hatters,’ though in context that doesn’tmake quite as much sense. Our telepathy was garbled, and you do tend to flatten your ‘A’s, so it’s hard to be certain.”
“Um … wow.” I really needed to have a chat with my subconscious about anger management.
“ ‘Fuck’ does seem to be your go-to epithet for almost every occasion, doesn’t it?” he said.
I got to my feet. “My stepmother loathes that word. Like, even more than ‘cunt’ if you can believe it. I got in
so
much trouble the first time I dropped an F-bomb around her. Mouth washed out with Ivory soap and everything.”
I paused, remembering the incident. Normally my stepmother would never have done anything so physical as to drag a thirteen-year-old girl kicking and screaming into the bathroom for corporal punishment. But Deb was flush with first-trimester hormones, and I learned a valuable lesson that day: don’t provoke pregnant women. Especially if they’ve gone into a nesting, cleaning frenzy.
“I didn’t say it around her again,” I continued. “But once I realized it bugged her beyond human reason, it sorta became my favorite word in the whole urban dictionary.”
“Dysfunctional, yet oddly logical.” Pal’s tone was dry. “So how are you feeling now?”
“Good. Energetic. Like I can do
stuff
.” I looked around the room for the empty potion container; I’d apparently thrown it as hard as I could at the wall, which was now dented. The bottle lay against the baseboard, looking innocent. “But I should go easy on it next time, maybe just drink half the bottle at first.”
“A prudent plan,” Pal agreed.
I found a little sample of Scope in the bathroom and washed out the nasty taste of the potion. Then Pal and I went downstairs to see if Cooper and the Warlock had returned.
chapter
nine
Sara’s Mission
S ara Bailey-Jones was waiting for us in the lobby, her red plastic cowboy hat perched atop her prematurely white hair. Her .480 Ruger Super Redhawk revolver was still strapped in a brown leather holster over her baggy jeans.
A dozen housecats stood watch around her; if you didn’t have a magic sight-stone or some other
I waited. Swallowed again. Released my breath.
Nothing.
“I don’t think this potion is still—” I began.
And suddenly there was a heat like a small supernova exploding in the pit of my stomach, then a waveof adrenaline like a million tiny Maori warriors surfing through my bloodstream, and my exhaustion evaporated, my aches and pains gone like so many vampires drowned in liquid sunshine, and I could climb dragons, I could slay mountains—
I was on the floor. The inside of my mouth tasted like I’d drunk rancid chili from a dirty ashtray. A shaggy belly pressed heavily against my face. My whole body. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
“Mmmf!” I tried to wiggle out from under Pal.
“Are you sane?” He sounded cross. “Tap me three times with your toes if you understand me.”
My left foot was the only part of me that he’d left free. I tapped him. He stood up, and I took a gasping breath.
“What the hell?” I frowned up at him.
“You began bounding around the room like an utter lunatic.” He frowned back at me. The expression looked a lot scarier on him. “I thought it best to restrain you lest you hurt yourself or decide to start burning the hotel down.”
“No way. I don’t remember that at all.”
“You began shouting ‘I am the banana master now, bitches!’ ” he added.
I squinted at him. “You’re just messing with me. I did
not
say that.”
“Oh, you most certainly did.” Pal stepped aside and crouched down, seeming amused. “You also declared yourself to be ‘Queen of the Motherfucking Chainsaw Brigade’ and made a series of profane, scatological threats against all the ‘goat-faced jack-fuck haters.’ You might’ve actually said ‘moat bait Mack truck hatters,’ though in context that doesn’tmake quite as much sense. Our telepathy was garbled, and you do tend to flatten your ‘A’s, so it’s hard to be certain.”
“Um … wow.” I really needed to have a chat with my subconscious about anger management.
“ ‘Fuck’ does seem to be your go-to epithet for almost every occasion, doesn’t it?” he said.
I got to my feet. “My stepmother loathes that word. Like, even more than ‘cunt’ if you can believe it. I got in
so
much trouble the first time I dropped an F-bomb around her. Mouth washed out with Ivory soap and everything.”
I paused, remembering the incident. Normally my stepmother would never have done anything so physical as to drag a thirteen-year-old girl kicking and screaming into the bathroom for corporal punishment. But Deb was flush with first-trimester hormones, and I learned a valuable lesson that day: don’t provoke pregnant women. Especially if they’ve gone into a nesting, cleaning frenzy.
“I didn’t say it around her again,” I continued. “But once I realized it bugged her beyond human reason, it sorta became my favorite word in the whole urban dictionary.”
“Dysfunctional, yet oddly logical.” Pal’s tone was dry. “So how are you feeling now?”
“Good. Energetic. Like I can do
stuff
.” I looked around the room for the empty potion container; I’d apparently thrown it as hard as I could at the wall, which was now dented. The bottle lay against the baseboard, looking innocent. “But I should go easy on it next time, maybe just drink half the bottle at first.”
“A prudent plan,” Pal agreed.
I found a little sample of Scope in the bathroom and washed out the nasty taste of the potion. Then Pal and I went downstairs to see if Cooper and the Warlock had returned.
chapter
nine
Sara’s Mission
S ara Bailey-Jones was waiting for us in the lobby, her red plastic cowboy hat perched atop her prematurely white hair. Her .480 Ruger Super Redhawk revolver was still strapped in a brown leather holster over her baggy jeans.
A dozen housecats stood watch around her; if you didn’t have a magic sight-stone or some other
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