Hold Me Closer, Necromancer - Lish McBride [69]
19
Kick-Start My Heart
I didn’t want to open my eyes. My week so far had consisted of some pretty nasty awakenings. Between the cold floor against my cheek and the pain in my head, I didn’t think this one was going to go any better.
I opened my eyes only to shut them immediately when it felt like the light was slicing into the back of my skull. This awakening sucked already.
I hate it when I’m right.
“Try putting your shirt over your head, and then open your eyes,” a female voice said. It was a nice voice, young and light. I held on to the slim chance that I might have been captured by friendly but possessive nymphets. I needed something to hope for, and that scenario seemed as likely as anything else pleasant.
I moved to pull my T-shirt over my head.
“Slowly,” she warned.
Slowing down helped, and soon the shirt blocked some of the light. I enjoyed the relative darkness, trying to ignore that the inside of my mouth felt thick and cottony. If it’s not one thing, it’s another.
“Now open,” she said. “Once your eyes have adjusted to that, you can start to remove the shirt.”
“Thanks,” I said.
I lay there quietly for a moment and tried not to think how stupid I probably looked with my Batman T-shirt cocooning my head. I needed to figure out where I was and what was going on.
“You smell odd.”
“Again, thanks,” I said. “I’ll change deodorants.”
“No,” she said, “the deodorant is fine. It’s something else.” I could hear the soft whoosh of breath as she breathed in and out. “Spices,” she said. I could hear the amusement in her voice. “Did they season you for me, or do you work in a kitchen?”
I didn’t want to think about the fact that she could smell me, or that she’d just joked about eating me. At least I hoped she meant it as a joke. Maybe she was some new beastie that ate human flesh. The way things had been going, I really couldn’t be sure, so I just answered her question and saved my thoughts for later. “Both are fairly possible, but it’s probably the ointment on my back. Where am I?”
“A basement.”
“I don’t suppose it’s the kind of basement with a freezer full of Popsicles and an old Nintendo or something?”
“No such luck. There’s a freezer, but knowing the owner, it’s probably not full of Popsicles,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“Horrible. But compared to a few minutes ago, better.”
“Try lifting up the shirt.”
I tugged the shirt off. Too fast. The light stabbed, and I rolled to the side out of instinct, which was a mistake. I passed out before I could throw up. Lucky me.
This time, when I woke up, my head was on something soft. Which was good because someone was smacking me.
“Sorry,” she said, “but I think you have a concussion. You need to stay conscious.”
I grunted and looked toward the voice. I saw a single dusky thigh, the color some fair-skinned people turn when they get sun. The lucky few who don’t burn. I came from fair stock, so I was well versed in sunburns. I tilted my head and looked up. Slim shoulders and a pointed chin.
And naked. No way. I had to still be unconscious. “This is my favorite dream.”
She laughed one of those laughs that made you feel lighter inside, like you had to join in. Infectious.
I felt my face burn. “I’m not asleep, am I?”
She shook her head, still laughing. Her auburn hair swayed with the movement. She’d cut it short in the back, letting it hang down to her chin in the front. Strips of green and purple intertwined with the red, a curtain she hid behind when she stopped shaking her head. But I didn’t get the idea that she was shy or nervous. It made me think of a lion or some other predator peeking out through the bushes. Looking at her hazel eyes made me feel like a bunny.
I needed to say something cool. If I could be smooth now, then the stupid thing I’d just said might be forgotten. “Come here oft en?” Ouch. Maybe I could blame that on the head injury?
“Every third Wednesday. How do you feel?” Her mouth still twitched from laughing.
“Like an idiot.”
“I meant physically.”
“Like an abused idiot. My head