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10
There wassomething cool and damp against her forehead. She was once again warm and comfortable, which would have been great, if what had put her there wasn’t so terribly wrong. With a slow groan, she rolled onto her side.
“Easy, now. Take it slow,” a deep voice said from close to her. It took her a second to register it as Gideon.
“Fuck.” Blinking her eyes open, she picked up whatever was on her forehead. It was a washcloth. Trying to sit up, she almost failed again before a hand on her back helped her. “Just…fuck.” Now she was dizzy and had a headache.
Gideon chuckled from beside her. “That about sums it up.”
She was still in the greenhouse. The smell of flowers and dirt was all around her, homey and sweet. She had been lying down on the bench by the wrought-iron table. Gideon took the cloth from her and placed it atop the glass surface. Two delicate teacups sat there, steaming even in the warm air.
Her first step was to look around for the undead taxidermy vulture. But it was gone. Pulling her knees close to her, she shifted to sit with her back against the arm of the bench. “What’s going on?”
“That is a question with a very long and complicated answer, I’m afraid.” He sat down beside her. There were smudges of dirt on his arms from his gardening.
“Then please start talking.” She felt shaky and weak. Her head was pounding, and all she wanted to do was crawl into a dark place and sleep. But she needed to know what was happening to her, and why.
“You…ah…well, how should I put this?” Gideon ran his hand over his white goatee. “You should be resting. You were pumped full of a lot of who-knows-what, and you by all accounts should still be sleeping it off. I didn’t expect you to wake up for at least six more hours. You caught me off guard.”
“I caught you off guard?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “And where am I? What is this place? What the fuck did I just see?”
“My home.” He smiled. She noticed he skipped the last question.
“You have fucked-up hobbies.”
His proud smile deflated like a popped balloon. “What do you mean? You don’t like my garden?”
“Your garden is beautiful. But.” With a flat expression, she pointed at the spot on the trellis where the zombie stuffed vulture had been sitting. “What the fuck did I see? Or am I hallucinating undead animals now?”
“Ah. Yes.” He paused and tapped his fingers on his thighs, clearly picking his words carefully. “You didn’t imagine what you saw.”
“So…either you’re really into freaky animatronics, or that thing I saw had every right to be dead but wasn’t.” She shivered. Curling tighter into a ball, she hugged her arms around herself, wishing she could crawl into her hoodie and stay there.
Gideon picked up one of the delicate cups of tea and handed it to her in a saucer. It was chai, and it smelled absolutely delicious. When she stared at it and hesitated, he sighed. “You can trust me, Marguerite. I mean you no harm. It’s not drugged. You’re safe here.”
“I get the sense that you haven’t been telling me the truth. Why would I trust you?”
“I have never lied to you. Not once.” He paused and cringed. “I have just had to withhold information for your protection.”
“My protection?” Now she was getting angry. She hated feeling small and weak. Sadly, that was the only way she ever felt—like she was only along for the ride and that someone else was driving the bus. “Excuse me?”
“Well, you did just faint.” He lowered the saucer and cup to his lap.
“I didn’t faint. I—” It was his turn to shoot her an incredulous look. She sighed. “Fine. Okay. I passed out. But I’ve been having a shit couple of days. I’m starting to believe that’s the only kind of days I have.”
“You aren’t entirely wrong.” He looked down at his lap. A series of emotions flashed over his face. Regret. Sadness. Grief. He shook his head and held the teacup out to her one more time. “Please. You should get something in your system. I’ll make you a sandwich. Whatever drug he used to take you out will probably leave you feeling rather hung over. Then, once you’ve eaten a little, we’ll talk.”
“That explains the headache.” Giving up fighting his hospitality, she took the cup and held it close to her. The smell and the warmth were comforting. Sipping it, the flavor had the same effect. It didn’t taste like rat poison or strychnine. Why do I even know what those things taste like?
More problematic pieces of information she owned.
“Sit tight. Relax. Drink your tea. I’ll be back in a moment.” He smiled at her, regret in his silver eyes once more as he stood and headed from the room. “Are you still partial to grilled cheese?”
“What do—how do you know that?” She groaned in dismay. “I want off this ride. Now.”
“I know. And I will explain everything once you aren’t on the verge of fainting a second time.”
“I’m not going to faint.” She said it with the conviction she wished she felt. Rubbing her face, she grunted. “Fine. Yes, please. Grilled cheese sounds incredible right now.”
