Page 41 of Looking Grimm

Rather than answer his concern, I stooped to retrieve the whiskey bottle from beside my feet. Then I walked the alley between the Woody Wagon and the Bronco. Reaching the wall by the door, I searched until I spotted Donovan’s key fob on the wall hook, then grabbed them. I thumbed through the sparse selection, identifying the Bronco’s ignition key, one belonging to the houseboat, and the little rubber duck keychain he’d carried as long as I could remember. It was a silly thing bought from the quarter machine in the office at Lazy Daze. Four years spent rattling around in my brother’s pocket had worn the paint off the eyes and beak, making it more of a yellow blob than a bird. I pinched it between my thumb and forefinger, prompting a weak wheeze of a squeak.

Nash came up behind me. His hand barely grazed my shoulder before I spun into him for a crushing hug.

“I really do love you,” he whispered.

I thought for a moment I might say it back. But that took more bravery than I could muster with tears threatening to overflow. So instead, I buried my face in his chest and stood there until the need for whiskey consumed everything else.

A swift kick tothe ribs woke me the next morning. I never made it into bed and instead sprawled on the floor beside it. The whiskey bottle lay next to me in a nest of cigarette butts—two packs’ worth. After I’d gotten too drunk to inflict pain in other ways, I’d put out a chain of cigs on the Everett twins’ faces and arms. Now the hotel room didn’t just stink of piss and feces, it smelled like burnt flesh, too.

The stench was close and potent, and enough to roil my uneasy stomach. I swallowed a swell of bile and rolled from my side onto my back, looking up at the slim shadow of a man looming over me.

Ripley scowled. “You don’t have to be so goddamn determined to make me regret housing you.” He stubbed his foot into my ribs again. “Bloody hell, Farrow.”

“You must’ve seen the news.” My voice croaked up a painfully dry throat.

His brows dropped low over his bi-colored eyes. “About your late-night booze run? Yeah, I saw. Awful lotof trouble to get rat-arsed.”

Pain pressed on the sides of my skull, making my brain feel like it was caught in a vise. That and the knowing that I would be headfirst in the toilet emptying my gut as soon as I could crawl to the bathroom seemed punishment enough for last night’s misadventures, but Ripley’s unrelenting frown suggested otherwise.

A long breath whooshed out of me. “Was it unfathomably stupid?”

He stared at me, deadpan. “What do you think?”

I thought I was being evicted. I deserved as much, and I couldn’t say I hadn’t been warned. Even if I hadn’t completely fumbled the liquor store jaunt, my week was up, and my welcome was worn out.

The Everett twins grunted and scuffled a few feet away. Ezrah stomped his foot on the carpet, raising a muffled ruckus. Since we were on the ground floor, we had no downstairs neighbors to disturb, so he could stamp and snort all he wanted.

A yawn stretched my mouth wide and caused fresh pain to stab through my temples. I grimaced and squeezed my eyes shut. “Can I sleep off this hangover before I go?”

“You aren’t going anywhere. That’s what caused this mess. You were meant to stay put and stay put, you shall.” Ripley bent and snatched the whiskey bottle from the floor. “And you’ll do it clean.” He checked the discarded pack of cigarettes before straightening. “And sober.”

I groaned, lacking the gumption to chase after him or protest as he walked out of sight. The distant sound of fluid being poured down the sink prompted me to cover my face with both hands. The bottle dropped into the trash can witha distinctive thunk, and Ripley returned to stand over me again, barely visible through the cracks between my fingers.

“You may be interested to know your antics aren’t the only thing making headlines,” he mused. “It seems Grimm decided to dispose of your investigators sooner than expected.”

It was a relief to already be lying down because that announcement would have laid me out flat. My nausea peaked, and my skin washed clammy. There was no denying it: I was going to puke.

I was almost afraid to open my mouth long enough to ask, “Vesper and Felix?”

Ripley grunted confirmation. “Dead and nearly so,” he replied. “The young man is in critical condition. Barely survived, it seems.”

“He’s too lucky to die,” I muttered to myself.

Ripley cocked a brow. “Beg your pardon?”

“Nothing.”

Sitting up spurred on the volcanic eruption surging from my stomach. A loud belch rumbled out as I scrambled on my hands and knees in a clumsy crawl to the bathroom.

I barely made it to the toilet before draping over it, hands clutching the seat while I retched into the bowl. Painful, strangling heaves wracked my body, clear fluid and yellowish bile tainting the water and burning my throat with acid.

Between coughs and gags, I struggled to catch my breath. As I pressed the toilet lever, my head spun, making me wonder if I’d been flushed, too.

“How’d you get away from the police, anyway?” Ripley sat on the sink counter, watching for God knew how long while swinging his legs where they dangled inches above thefloor.

Unfolding my bent knees, I shifted to sit on the tile, close enough to the toilet bowl that I could reach it if nausea came back for another round.

“Nash picked me up,” I mumbled.

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