Chapter 11 #2
Running my fingers through my hair, I racked my brain to recall what had happened. Memories returned sluggishly. Ace had left me with that telekinetic Drakyn halfling. We were supposed to play a game that I inevitably would have won. But then everything went blank.
Part of me knew I had dreamt of something, experienced a vision maybe? I couldn’t be sure. Whatever had transpired in my head while I had been asleep was infuriatingly out of reach in my recollection.
Scooting to the edge of the bed, my body felt drained.
The movement knocked something off the mattress, and it hit the floor with a solid clunk.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered the unexpected sound but remained unable to divert my attention from the task of getting out of bed.
A task that felt far more difficult than it should have.
My brain felt like a terrible commercial for an anti-Glayze campaign.
There were commercials. Fucking awful commercials filled with vivid images of a warm glazed doughnut, then the words, “This is your brain.”
The image would flicker, strobing lights flashing and distorted club music playing, until that same doughnut was covered in a five-gallon-bucket-sized amount of glossy, liquid sugar.
It looked like fucking jizz…and it drowned that damn doughnut.
It left you staring at nothing but a soggy heap of congealed diabetes.
They’d scorch it with an open flame, and then the words, “This is your brain on Glayze,” would scroll across the screen.
Disturbing on so many levels. Effective, but disturbing.
The designer drug, Glayze, was for paranormal entities looking to escape the pressures of wreaking havoc.
It was for those who were tired of failing to live up to expectations of wicked delights, and those who bore the burden of awkward social interactions.
It supplied soaring confidence that dulled into a syrupy sensation in your veins—or so I had heard.
I had never needed artificial means to boost my sense of self-worth.
Still sitting on the edge of the mattress, my feet hovered above the floor while I waited for the haze to clear from behind my eyes. It wasn’t until I attempted to stand that I realized just how out of whack my body was.
I swayed slightly, my knees threatening to buckle, before dropping back down onto the bed. The trembling in my limbs became more noticeable, and the roar of blood rushing in my ears crescendoed to a point where nausea churned in my stomach.
Each ragged breath was a plea for the torturous sensation to pass.
Whether it was minutes or an hour, the disorientation eventually eased into something more tolerable.
Attempt two.
I managed to get onto my feet and even made it to the en suite bathroom. Using cold water, I shocked the last remnants of whatever-the-fuck-was-wrong-with-me out of my system.
Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I half expected a different version of myself.
It was illogical, but something in my subconscious braced for it.
Instead, it was just me—as perfect as I’d ever been.
Even if my strawberry-blonde strands were sleep-tangled, randomly falling wherever gravity so chose.
One detail stuck out that I hadn’t noticed before now—my clothes. Looking down the length of my body, I was no longer in the little black dress from the tournament but a set of silk pajamas.
The black shorts hung loose on my hips, and the matching button-up top remained unbuttoned, revealing the basic violet tank top underneath.
Who the hell had changed—
No. I didn’t want to know.
The hand towel I used to hastily dry my face was the softest I’d ever felt. Turning the white cloth over in my hands, I noticed an embroidered spade in silver thread. It fit right in with the rest of the bathroom, all white marble with lilac and grey veining.
Every fixture, every detail, all looked inviting at first glance, but the devil was in the details. At a distance, one might mistake the subtly shaped designs for hearts at a mere glance. Up close, however, the telltale stem of a spade always revealed itself.
This man was as obsessed with spades as he was with me. Though I’d argue that at least his fascination with me made more sense than a stupid suit in a deck of cards.
Returning to the bedroom, I finally noticed the object I had heard fall earlier. It must have tumbled off the edge of the bed closest to the nightstand, then rolled a foot away to come to a rest near a modest, two-shelved bookcase.
I crouched down, picking up the familiar cryptex—the same one Val had brought with him. My fingers skimmed over the ridges of the design, attempting to turn the blank dials with no luck.
Still balancing on the balls of my feet, I sighed at how damn useless this piece of junk was. Looking ahead of me at the books lined up along the top shelf, the collection was unexpectedly well-versed. Various genres were represented across both fiction and non-fiction.
One brow-raising title caught my eye: Ravished Realms. Setting the cryptex on top of the bookcase, I reached for the spine of the book but paused when I heard voices echoing from downstairs. Both were low-pitched, one smooth and placating and the other brusque and demanding.
I rose to my feet and padded over to the door.
Intentionally twisting the handle slowly to keep the latch quiet, I drew the door open just enough to hear pieces of the conversation transpiring on the first floor of the penthouse.
“…it takes time, it’ll happen when she’s ready…”
A lowly growl accompanied the sound of ceramic being set down against glass with impatience.
“…she’s been out for two days…”
Were they talking about me? No way. That amount of beauty sleep should have left me glowing like a goddess.
I slipped out into the hallway, my bare feet silent on the hardwood as curiosity drew me closer to the conversation that sounded like it was unfolding at the bottom of the stairs.
Voices halted into silence.
“Miss Bechette,” Val’s voice traveled up to where I stood at the top of the steps. “Glad you’re finally awake.”
But it was Ace’s voice that froze me in place.
“Little Spade, it’s rude to eavesdrop,” he chided roughly. Then a bit softer, he added, “Coffee’s fresh.”
Was that supposed to be an invitation? Pitiful.
Though the allure of caffeine was effective anyway.
Bastard.