I WOKE SLOWLY, fighting every inch of the way. The more awake I was, the more I hurt . . . but I was alive. That would have to do. I’ve always run myself hard—it’s one of my worst flaws—but I’d never tried two major acts of blood magic that close together before, and I was starting to think I’d blown some sort of internal fuse. My headache was worse than ever. I groaned, raising my right hand to my temple, and the last of the comfortable darkness dissolved, leaving me inarguably awake.

Damn.

“Toby? Are you all right?” I didn’t recognize the voice. That wasn’t surprising. I barely recognized my name.

“Is she awake?” This voice was higher, although not high enough to be April. I sorted through the possible speakers, settling on Gordan. That wasn’t good, given my suspicions.

“Her pulse is steady,” said a third voice. This one I recognized: Tybalt. Once I allowed that moment of recognition, I realized I was on my back with my head on someone’s leg, and that something cool and damp was pressed against my forehead. Probably a washcloth. “I think we just need to wait.”

“I’ll wake up fast if someone gets me some coffee,” I said, not opening my eyes.

“Toby!” That was Alex. Oh, good. He’d stayed not-dead. “You’re okay!”

“No, I’m annoyed. There’s a big difference.” The inside of my mouth tasted like dried blood. Yuck. “Can I get that coffee?”

Shuffling footsteps on what sounded like tile. “Toby, this is Elliot. Can you hear me?”

“I’m answering you, aren’t I?” All this talking was making my headache worse. I was starting to seriously question the wisdom of not being dead.

“She’ll be fine if she doesn’t do anything else stupid,” said Gordan, tone making it quite clear that she wasn’t harboring delusions about my intelligence.

I considered my options. Movement was out—my head wasn’t allowing any argument—but I could open my eyes if I was willing to deal with the pain. I’d have to do it eventually.

When I worked at Home, I woke up with hangovers on a regular basis. Most of them made me feel like my skull had liquefied. This was worse. The light was too strong, and the colors were too bright. I winced, forcing my eyes to stay open as I looked around. My head was in Tybalt’s lap. Elliot and Alex were standing nearby, and Gordan was off to one side, packing things back into her first aid kit.

“How do you feel?” asked Alex.

“Like I’ve been through a meat grinder. Am I getting that coffee?”

“You lost a lot of blood,” said Gordan. “That’s twice I’ve had to tape you back together. Don’t make me do it again.”