Page 43 of A Shadow in the Reaping
"I'm afraid that's not possible. We need to go to Cairo and find the apothecary. Night is already falling there."
I feel like crying. I love that city, I really do. I love it so much and it's been years since I've been there. But it's loud. And my brain hurts. It physically pains me to even make thoughts. I don't know how I'm going to survive music and talking and car horns and lights. No. Hard fucking pass.
I am dead. Leave a message. BEEP, I write, and then I pull all the sheets I can grab and smoosh them to my face. He's right, they're fucking luxurious and cold and I regret I ever talked smack about his silky sex sheets.
"Come on, vampire," Ashen says, and I feel the sheets slipping through my weak grasp. I try to roll myself in them like a burrito but it's no use, so I just curl myself into a pathetic ball instead. "There's bloffee."
Sleep only.
"There's a shower."
No hairdryer. Stinky soap. Only sleep.
"What about a Bloody Mary."
What do you think I am, a peasant? Only Bloody Caesars are acceptable.
"Lucky for you that I went and got some Clamato in that case."
I open an eye and shoot Ashen a suspicious glare through my tangled strands of hair. He points to the nightstand and I follow his smug finger. Sure enough, there's a steaming cup of bloffee, a tall Bloody Caesar with extra blood (obvs) and a random plate of bacon. I point to the bacon and look at him with a question in the crease of my brow.
"Everyone loves bacon."
Not vegans.
"Everyone but vegans love bacon."
Fair point.
I push myself up to a sitting position as slowly as possible. The room tilts at a disturbing angle and I reach out for whatever my fingers hit first on the nightstand. Booze it is, then.
"You look like I dragged you through the streets by your face."
What a charmer you are today. This is not one of those romantic comedies where the protagonist wakes up with perfect hair and fresh makeup, if that's what you were expecting. Although you don't have Netflix, so how would you know anything about romcom tropes,I write, taking a slice of bacon and dipping it into the Caesar.
"I have Amazon Prime Video, and Apple TV. And Disney+. On my laptop. In my bag," Ashen says, his nose crinkling as he watches me take a bite of the wet bacon.
What... the... fuck?..
"What?"
You're a Reaper. Why the hell do you have Disney+?
"I like the Mandalorian. He's... relatable. And baby Yoda is all right."
Who even are you? Did I die? I did, didn't I. I'm dead.
"Probably not far off, all things considered," Ashen says.
I finally realize that I'm only wearing one false lash and pull it from my eye. Ashen, on the other hand, looks rested and ready to take on the world. I watch as he pushes a cufflink through the sleeve of his midnight blue shirt and I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. I'm still in last night's dress, which feels decidedly less cute now that I'm barely able to sit upright.
Did you sleep?I write, whacking Ashen's elbow with my journal to show him my note.
"Yes."
I look around the room, but I see no pillows on the floor. I smirk as I think of him sleeping while standing in the shower. I could totally see that happening.
...Where?
