“His crème de meth just wore off,” Mayhew explained. “Drops you in a hurry, doesn’t it, kid?” Miles mumbled, an inarticulate groan. Bothari growled something exasperated under his breath about “deserve,” picked him up, and slung him unceremoniously over his shoulder. “Well, at least he’ll stop bouncing off the walls, and give us all a break,” said Mayhew cheerfully. “I’ve never seen anybody overrev on that stuff the way he did.” “Oh, was that liquor of yours a stimulant?” asked Elena. “I wondered why he didn’t fall asleep.” “Couldn’t you tell?” chuckled Mayhew. “Not really.” Miles twisted his
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