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I just needed to close my eyes for a second. I’d regroup and gather enough energy to make it down the hall.
“Keep moving.” The voice boomed in my head.
I jerked my eyes open to find Death standing in front of me. Her dark eyes were fixated on mine and her skin glowed eerily.
“Are you here for me? Am I going to die?”
“No. There is much death directed toward you, but you are not dying––yet.” She stared at me, looking over every inch of me again. “But you need to keep moving. He’ll be here soon.”
Even in my dazed state, somehow I knew she was speaking of Kicks.
“He’s not coming—”
“Yes. He is.” Her tone was too commanding to argue with.
She slowly lifted a finger toward me, as if she were unsure of whether to touch me but wanted to. I didn’t move. I stopped breathing, squeezing my eyes closed, afraid of what was going to come. My heart pounded, palms sweating, as acid welled up, burning my throat.
Something grazed my cheek for a fleeting moment. There was a soft gasp and then it was gone.
I slowly opened my eyes.
Death was still there, staring at me. “You should not be, but you are.”
“I didn’t do it,” I blurted out, not knowing what else to say. Ever since I’d killed Groza’s goons, I’d known intrinsically there was something unnatural about what I’d become. Now I had Death confirming it.
She had her hand raised, as if she wanted to touch me again.
“I don’t know. It was done to me.” I stared at her, my brain so muddied that the fear was slightly dulled. Did she know what had been done to me? I was feeling so dull-witted that I toyed with asking her, throwing caution to the wind. Before I could, her head whipped to the side, unnaturally fast and at an angle that wasn’t natural. Then she was gone.
The loud rumbling of a motorcycle overpowered the distant hum of voices. Had Death been right? Was Kicks back?
I stumbled slightly as I edged closer toward the lobby. My eyes blurred as I finally reached it, trying to find Kicks.
Someone said, “Looks like she might’ve had a glass too many.”
I didn’t know who it was, but I laughed weakly, feeding into their assumptions. I spotted Kicks as he was walking over to me, no humor on his face.
His hands went to my waist, steadying me. “What’s wrong with you?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. But I think I forgot which room I’m in. Can you help me find it?”
There was more soft laughter around us.
“Yeah, Kicks, help the little lady find her way,” someone else said, and the laughter grew a little louder.
Kicks’ head jerked toward them and suddenly all was silent.
“Sorry,” someone said, the only noise coming from them.
I wobbled into Kicks slightly, and he wrapped an arm around my waist, hoisting me up into his arms and heading to the stairs.
“What happened? You didn’t drink anything. I’d smell it.”
“I’m fine. I might’ve gotten something a little bad, but not enough.”
“What are you talking about? What does that mean, a little bad?” His tone was growing deeper.
“Just get me back to the room and check on Charlie and don’t let anyone near us until I feel better tomorrow.”
