Forget About Midnight (Alexa O'Brien, Huntress #9)

I banged on her bedroom door and waited. Both voices fell quiet. The rustling of fabric was evident seconds before the door cracked open.

Jez peered out at me, eyes heavy lidded and unfocused. She clutched a sheet much the same way I’d grasped my towel not so long ago. “Alexa? What the hell are you doing here?” She giggled and glanced back at someone I couldn’t see yet. “Is this for real, or am I totally tripping?”

“Oh, this is real.” The narcotics in her system smelled rancid. Toxic. She looked pretty far gone. “I’m coming in.”

I shoved the bedroom door open, and she stumbled back, reaching for me as she tried to catch her balance. I grabbed her arm and steadied her, trying to keep calm. Getting angry wouldn’t help the situation.

An unkempt brunette sat in the bed, holding a blanket up over her nudity. She was as toxic as Jez, perhaps more so since she was human. The bedside table was littered with bottles, cigarette ashes, and a bag of white powder. One of the bottles was overturned, spilling beer onto the floor.

“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked, grabbing Jez by the shoulders so she was forced to meet my gaze.

It didn’t do much good. Her eyes darted about erratically, like she couldn’t look at just one thing. “Call you? Sorry, Lex. I know you’re a fan of the group thing, but I didn’t think you were into girls.” She cackled with far more enthusiasm than her stupid comment warranted.

The woman in the bed watched us with curious amusement.

“Jez, you’re the one who said we needed to help each other through this shit.” Because I couldn’t resist, I slapped her, hoping it would snap her out of it like it sometimes did on TV. It produced more giggles. I pointed at the woman in the bed. “You need to leave. Do you have somewhere safe to go where you won’t be alone?”

She stared at me with large, solemn, doe-like eyes. “I can go home. My sister should be there.”

“Fine. Get dressed. I’ll get you a cab.” I let go of Jez and turned to leave before I did something more drastic, like throwing a closed fist at the laughing leopard.

“Oh, come on, Lex,” she called after me. “Don’t be a party pooper.”

“Five minutes,” I said.

Out in the living room I paced. Dealing with a drugged out shifter was not my area of expertise. I was so angry at Jez for pulling a stunt like this so soon after the talk we’d had. Anger wouldn’t help, I knew that. But it was driven by worry.

I called a taxi for Jez’s lady friend and watched for it out the living room window. Bursting in like a glorified babysitter was not what I wanted. She was right though. We did need each other’s help. So much so that maybe some babysitting was in order. Sad but true.

I thought about what I’d just done with Falon. Again. Did that count as part of my addiction to blood, power, darkness, and misery? Maybe Jez was getting the better deal here.

The bedroom door opened, and her friend came out, shaky and off center. Jez followed her, now dressed in yoga pants and a tank top, a cigarette hanging from her lips.

“You stay here and make some coffee,” I said. “I’m taking your friend down to the taxi.”

“Aye, aye, Captain No-Fun-At-All.” She saluted me, cracking herself up.

When I returned from ensuring her friend got safely into a taxi, Jez had coffee brewing. She stood in the kitchen, leaning heavily on the counter, watching the coffee pot fill. Her amusement had vanished. In its place was self-loathing, something I easily identified.

“Are you going to be ok?” I asked, no longer irritated, just concerned.

She puffed on a cigarette, leaning over to flick the ashes in the sink. “Yeah. I’m not going to die on you or anything.”

We stood there staring at each other. It wasn’t awkward or tense, just two junkies sharing, not a drug of choice, but a weakness. A thought occurred to me. “Where are you getting all of this drug money anyway? Please tell me you’re not doing any weird favors for Arrow.”

Smoke spewed from between her red lips. “I don’t do the kind of favors Arrow’s interested in. Actually, I got my P.I. license. I’ve been doing some private eye stuff. Since Veryl died and the money died with him, I had to do something. It involves an element of the hunt, and I like that.”

Jez as a private eye. I could totally see that. “You scared me, Jez. I can’t lose you.”

Her disheveled golden ponytail bounced as she nodded. “I know. I fucked up.”

“You and me both.” I sighed, wishing I could feel bad about Falon, wishing I could feel anything.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” she said suddenly. Her voice caught as she choked on a sob. “But I don’t know how to stop.”