Chapters (15)
- Contents
- About this book
- Chapter 1. Falling Out of Paradise
- Chapter 2. Chance of a Ghost
- Chapter 3. Valid I.D.
- Chapter 4. And Miles to Go Before We Sleep
- Chapter 5. Special Deliveries
- Chapter 6. The Consequences of Thataway
- Chapter 7. Street Smarts
- Chapter 8. Talking Heads
- Chapter 9. The Transformation Blues
- Chapter 10. Ghost of a Chance
- Chapter 11. Paradise Lost
- Chapter 12. Getting On with It
- About the Author
The first of the morning shift must have just come in; a blond, slightly chubby guy in his thirties and a halfie woman with forest-green hair and a Chinese dragon tattoo were passing papers back and forth while they dunked their tea bags. Vic was there; he was sitting backwards on a chair talking to the first two cops. I couldn’t tell from what I caught if he was filling them in on the night’s events or airing his prejudices.
Hawthorn was at one of the big oak tables, cradling a coffee cup. Just for a moment, he wore the closed, stony expression that highborn elves sometimes slip into, when they’re not being social. Then his eyes met mine, and grew wider.
“Sun and shadow, you’re awake! Are you all right?” At the alarm in his voice, the other two looked up as well.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty!” Vic called out. “You movin’ in here, or what?”
“Bad cop,” said the green-haired woman without looking up from her papers. “No promotion.”
I ignored them both. “I’m fine,” I said to Hawthorn. “Why didn’t somebody wake me up?”
“We tried,” Hawthorn said. “We couldn’t.”
I frowned at him, trying to make sense of that. I’m not a heavy sleeper, particularly.
“We tried quite hard, in fact. Finally Officer Saquash and I carried you in and put you on the cot, and he headed for home. I’ve been trying to wake you every hour or so, but it wasn’t doing a bit of good. I’d nearly resolved to get a doctor.”
“No, I don’t think I need a doctor.” No question, though; I still wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders. I once heard that it takes four hours for a bear’s body temperature to get back up to normal after a winter in hibernation. I felt as if I were about two-and-a-half, maybe three hours warmed up. I sat down in one of the straight chairs.
Hawthorn checked my pulse in fine professional style. “Have you had reactions like this to alcohol before?”
“Ye gods, it had better not be a reaction to alcohol. No. Maybe I’m allergic to something. Maybe it’s just that I was so short of sleep.”
He shook his head. “I suppose it could be. Look, there’s only an hour or two before Rico comes in. At this point, I think the best thing for you to do is go home and get a little more rest. I’ll send her to you as soon as she comes in.”