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Chapter 10
Sammi
12:10 PM SATURDAY
The tuk-tuks rumble over the pockmarked streets, rocking us wildly about as we go. The further we get from the city proper, the deeper the gouges in the streets become.
My stomach lurches in protest. My mind may be drawing a blank on last night’s festivities, but the stomach never forgets.
I press a hand firmly over my mouth, willing myself not to vomit.
I’m definitely rethinking that ice cream right about now. Just the thought of Percy’s corn flavor has me wanting to materialize chunks of my own.
I’m about to suggest we finish the trip on foot when the monastery comes into view.
I feel a wave of relief, and not just because the ride’s about to end.
The monastery is nice and calming even from a distance.
We can’t possibly have gotten into too much trouble there.
…I guess as long as they don’t perform marriages or anything, that is.
Our tuk-tuk comes to a stop just before a sprawling green lawn. It’s so inviting, I briefly consider lying down in the grass for a nap.
Until, of course, I remember exactly how deep into shit we are.
“Oh, wow. Pretty as a picture!” Mysti May hollers from her tuk-tuk, now pulling up beside ours.
“Hunky monks, too,” Percy adds, eyeing a troop of orange-robed eye candies as they pass. “I bet all that karmic detachment makes them fucking horny…”
I don’t know much about the hospitality of monks, but I gotta admit, I’m feeling a little optimistic.
How bad could it be? So we got some drunken tattoos, no big deal.
I just hope we told them where we were going after.
My relief lasts exactly as long as it takes the first monk to see us.
He rounds a corner, contented smile on his face, eyes sweeping the grounds as he goes. When his gaze finds us, though, it’s entirely another matter.
His lips flatten into a thin line, eyes becoming saucers in his head.
“YOU!” he yells, voice heavily accented.
One thin finger rises up in accusation, singling us out in a clearly unhappy point.
“NO! You go!”
I raise my palms to either side, the universal sign forWhoa, man.
“We just need to ask some questions,” I say. “Please. We don’t know what happened last night…but something tells me we ended up here.”
He ignores me entirely, instead roaming his pointer finger towards Mysti May.
A string of foreign language spills from his lips, angry, accusatory.
It doesn’t take a linguist to figure out that he’sreallynot a fan of Mysti.
