“Here,” she said, dropping the pills into his hand. “I hope you’re not coming down with something. Didn’t you say a few guys in your office are out with the flu?” She held the back of her hand against his clammy forehead. “You’re burning up. How long have you felt sick?”
He popped the pills in his mouth and drained the glass. “I don’t feel bad. I just have this—” Violent, phlegmy coughs folded his body, and he gripped the counter to steady himself.
“That sounds horrible. You need to sit down.” She scooted a bar stool under his butt. “Sit before you start coughing again.”
“I’m fine,” he grunted weakly as he followed her instruction. “Just need a minute.” The coughing returned, doubling him over. Black specks sprayed from his mouth and peppered the countertop. “Gnats,” he gasped. “They’re just gnats. I ran through a bunch of them at the park.” Globs of spit dripped off of his chin and onto his sweaty shirt.
“Those are not gnats, and you’re definitely not fine.” She rushed over to the sink and unraveled a wad of paper towels from the holder. “I’m canceling our reservation, and I’m calling the doctor. Hopefully he can get you in on such short notice.” She handed him the fistful of towels, and he weakly dabbed them against his face.
The doctor. Overlapping voices sizzled and popped, their words hissing between his temples.
“Did you hear that?” he whispered, pulling the scratchy paper towels away from his face.
“Oh my God, Tyson, your nose.” Monica backed away from him slowly.
He glanced at the towels. A cherry red circle glared up at him. He touched his upper lip and looked down at his hand. “I’m bleeding.”
“And your eyes. You’re coughing too hard. They’re getting bloodshot. I’m getting the number for the doctor. Stay right there. I don’t want to get sick too.” She rushed out of the kitchen. Her fast footsteps hammered up the stairs.
The clump of paper towels dropped to the floor as more coughs ripped at his lungs.
I’m bleeding. The voices taunted.
“Monica,” he shouted, stumbling through the kitchen and into the living room. Terror and exhaustion sped his frantically beating heart. “Monica, can you hear them? They followed me. They’re inside.”
They’re inside. They’re inside. They’re inside. They chanted.
He tore at his hair and the heat behind his eyes. “Get them out!” he screamed, foam bubbling from his throat.
They’re inside. They’re inside. They’re inside. They screeched.
“Get them out!”
“Tyson, what are you doing?”
His body twitched as he glared at her. Clumps of scalp and hair clung to his bloody fingers.
“You’re really sick.” She gripped the bannister and carefully maneuvered backward up the stairs. “Stay there. I’ll call an ambulance.”
“They’re inside.” Red dissected the whites of his eyes, and he spasmodically jerked as he ascended the stairs.
“That’s okay,” she said shakily. “I’ll get someone.”
Frothy saliva fizzed from between his lips, and each breath was a gurgle.
“Tyson, can you hear me? Stay there. Tyson?”
He surged up the stairs with a growl.
“Tyson!” she screamed.
The End…For Now.
Acknowledgments
To the amazing House of Night fans who are joining me for this next journey, thank you!
Big thanks to my wonderful agent Meredith Bernstein. Thank you for believing in me and trusting me. Without you, there would be no Kristin Cast.
CZ and Dusty—thank you for the brainstorming help and for pointing me down the right path.
Thank you, Andrew, for being my rock, my North Star, my soft place to land. It’s cliché, but true. I love you.
A huge I HEART YOU goes to my fabulous Diversion Books team. Working with each of you has been a dream come true. I could not have chosen a better editor than Randall Klein. Thank you for helping me to transform each page into magic.