CHAPTER ONE
I woke up to a delicate tongue-slapping.
“What…what?” I said, pushing my hellhound away from my face. “I don’t need a tongue bath. What is it?”
<You were sleeping.>
<Yes, I was. Now I’m awake. What’s with the tongue-lashing?>
<You were making noise.>
<Noise? What noise? I don’t make noises in my sleep.>
<Did you eat some bad meat? The noise sounded like you hurt your stomach.>
<I didn’t eat bad meat and my stomach is fine. I’m fine.>
<I know. I licked you. Now you will be better. Stop eating bad meat.>
He padded off and left me alone.
I laid my head back on my pillow and realized how surreal my life had become. For once, there were no angry gods or world-ending cataclysms on the schedule. I had a moment to actually bask in doing…nothing.
I never anticipated being cursed alive by Kali, bonding to a hellhound, and working cases with a grouchy mage. I couldn’t even begin to explain my complicated relationship with an ancient vampire.
Despite my several near-death moments, I wouldn’t trade it in for a ‘normal life’. It was clear my brain was still tired. I had the perfect solution. Deathwish with a splash of javambrosia would right all wrongs this morning.
I jumped out of bed, and nearly faceplanted as I crashed into the immobile object known as Peaches. He had the bad habit of materializing in the oddest places and at the strangest times.
“What did I tell you about doing that?” I said, catching my balance before introducing my face to the floor. “Walk around the house…walk. Not ‘blink in-between and give me a heart attack’.”
<You said to stay out of the bathroom when you make it smell bad. This is your sleeping room.>
<Yes, don’t blink around my bedroom either. Not before I’ve had coffee.>
<This room smells too.>
<You realize it smells mostly of overfed hellhound, right?>
<Is this where you keep the bad meat?>
<What are you talking about?>
He sniffed the air around the bed and chuffed.
<Are you still sick? I can lick you again.>
Now I was getting concerned. It was one thing for him to accuse me of making noises when I slept (which, for the record, I didn’t), it was something else entirely when he started smelling things as off.
<Where does it smell? The room or me?>
He stepped close, sniffed me, and shook his head, slobbering my face.
<You smell different. Did you eat more bad meat?>
I wiped the slobber from my face.
<I didn’t eat bad meat. Let’s go ask Monty.>
<I’m hungry. Can you fill my bowl?>
<You just ate last night. Maybe you should give your bottomless pit of a stomach a break? I hear fasting is good for you.>
<Fasting? Is that when I eat meat and you tell me to slow down?>
<No. Fasting is when you don’t eat for a period of time, to let your stomach rest.>
<It’s a curse then?>
<What? No. Fasting is good for you.>
<Eating is good for me. My stomach doesn’t need rest. It’s not tired.>
<I’ve noticed. Where’s Monty?>
<The angry man is in the room with the big table.>
The room with the ‘big table’ was our conference room. I got dressed, washed my face of Peaches’ magical slobber, and headed to the kitchen. A kettle was whistling on the stove as Monty came in, holding a book.
“Peaches says I smell,” I said, pouring my Deathwish Extreme. “What do you think that means?”
“Perhaps it’s time for a shower?” Monty said, glancing down at my hellhound. “Animals have a keen sense for these sorts of things.”
“Morning English humor,” I said. “My day can’t get off to a better start. I’m serious. He says I smell different.”
“Different how?” Monty now asked, concerned. “Can he clarify?”
“Like I ate bad meat.”
“Did you?”
“You two are on a roll today,” I said. “I don’t eat bad meat.”
“Just eliminating the possibilities,” he said, putting a teabag into the water. “Your diet is questionable at times.”
“Just because I prefer to eat meat over leaves, doesn’t mean I eat poorly.”
<Meat is life.>
“Exactly. Meat is life,” I said, looking down at Peaches who held his titanium bowl in his jaws. “The Zen Meat Master has spoken.”
Peaches dropped his bowl with a thud, nearly crushing my toes in the process.
<I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten in so long. Are you trying to fast my stomach?>
<Hold on, you black hole. I’m trying to tell Monty what you said.>
<Meat is life?>
<No—I mean yes, meat is life—but I’m talking about the other thing. About my smell.>
<It’s not you. It’s the air around you.>
“He says it’s not me,” I repeated, feeling like any moment now I’d be sharing about little Timmy who fell down a well and needed rescuing. “It’s the air around me.”
“The air around you? Do you have gas?”
I stared at Monty.
“Seriously?”
“I keep telling you those late night snacks will be the death of you,” he said, wagging a finger. “It appears your creature agrees. You could stand to eat a salad every now and then.”
“Let’s forget about my eating habits for a moment and pretend this is serious,” I said. “Can you do your squinty Eastwood thing on my energy signature?”
“I do not do a ‘squinty Eastwood thing’, I shift spectrums by focusing my vision,” Monty said. “This allows me to see irregularities in energy signatures. All mages can do this.”
“Right,” I answered. “Your squinty Eastwood glare…can you do that?”
“If you insist,” Monty said, pouring the boiling water onto the tea leaves. “I still think a good salad will set you right.”
“Indulge me.”
Monty put the kettle down, narrowed his eyes, and looked at me. His expression grew serious, I mean it became more serious than his resting scowl face.
“What is it?” I asked, concerned. “Your face looks extra scowly.”
“Your energy signature.”
“What about it? What’s wrong?”
“It’s phasing, expanding and contracting,” Monty answered. “I’ve never seen anything like it in a non-mage. How did I not sense this?”
“That sounds bad. It’s not supposed to do that, is it?”
“We all vibrate at a specific frequency, everything does—”
“Can I have the non-Ziller explanation?” I asked. “I haven’t had my coffee yet. My brain is fragile right now.”
“Phasing only happens to mages when they shift,” he said. “Since you aren’t a mage, I have no concrete explanation for what is happening to you. Your frequency is fluctuating, which usually means you are dying, and leaving this plane of existence.”
“I don’t do the dying thing though,” I said, confused. “Kali made sure of that.”
“I know,” Monty answered. “That only leaves one other possibility.”
“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to be thrilled to hear this other possibility?”
“It could be that your specific condition has allowed you to absorb an abundance of runic energy,” Monty said, “causing a catastrophic breakdown of your signature as a side effect.”
“Oh, that’s all?” I said. “Would you mind explaining that in English now?”
“It appears you’re poisoned and dying.”
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