I rolled my head to the side, turning my face away from him, and stared at the lone tarot card that had fallen from the table. Death. The image on the card came in and out of focus, Abigail riding on a pale horse, face gaunt and eyes the sightless color of moonstones. On the card, I knelt before her in supplication, or possibly begging for forgiveness. She stared down at me, holding her horse’s reins in one hand, a banner displaying that damn tail-eating snake in the other.

Traditionally, the Death card represents endings, but also the transformation and change that comes after an ending. When one door closes, blah blah blah. I had no doubt that it was significant that of all seventy-eight cards in the deck, this was the one that fell off the table. It was significant. It mattered. Only my alcohol-sodden brain couldn’t figure out why. All I could do was look at Abigail’s face. See the accusation in her stare. Hate myself.

Nik’s footsteps were quiet as he crossed the living room. I heard him toss his leather coat onto the table when he reached it. He didn’t seem to spot the bottle until he was almost on top of me. He stopped, standing over me, and nudged the empty bottle with his toe. “How long have you been here?”

I tried to lift my head from the side of the cupboard, but my neck didn’t seem capable of supporting it, so I let it bang back against the hollow wood. “Hour . . . dunno . . .” The words were slurred, my vision skittish. Even with my body’s ability to process alcohol quicker than a human ever could, I’d consumed a dangerous amount. A full bottle of liquor in that short amount of time might just be enough to kill me. “Wanted to forget,” I mumbled.

Nik inhaled and exhaled heavily, then crouched down beside me. He had a hand-shaped bruise on his neck and scratches that looked like they’d come from fingernails on his forearm. “Alright, Kitty Kat . . .” His arms slipped under my knees and around my back. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He lifted me like I weighed nothing—like I was as light as Abigail had been—and carried me into the bathroom, where he set me down in the bathtub.

Time skipped around in stops and starts. Getting black-out drunk will do that.

One minute, I was fully clothed; the next, I was naked from the waist up, and my jeans were covered in soured bourbon. My body’s natural defense against poison had kicked in.

Another skip forward, and I was naked, warm water spraying down on me. From outside the tub, Nik was holding me up in a sitting position, his hand jammed into my mouth, his fingers making me gag.

Another skip, and I was lying on my side in the tub, my abdominal muscles aching and my throat burning. The water raining down from the showerhead was cool, and I was shivering.