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“You drugged me?” “We had to. You’re surprisingly strong for someone who dresses like the Tooth Fairy.”
“One: I don’t tolerate disobedience. If I give you an order, you follow it.” Magic 8 Ball says: Outlook not so good. “Two: you don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.” In what universe is that happening? Not this one.
“And who are you?” “The only one of me who ever has been or ever will be. Same as you. In a word: irreplaceable.”
But all I can think about is the green-eyed demon in my bed, wearing my clothes, lying underneath my body, smiling at me.
“You’re like cancer. Only not as fun.”
“You’re telling me I’m not interesting?” “You’re about as interesting as a koi fish. An old one. With digestive issues and a malfunctioning swim bladder.”
“And you must be the father.” Sloane bursts into raucous laughter. Rolling over to gloat at me, she says, “Burn! Yes, that’s my dad, Father Time, over there. He’s not nearly as young and handsome as he thinks he is.”
“No. I think you look like Rockefeller Center at Christmas, Japan in cherry blossom season, and the thousand vivid shades of green in the wild moors of Northern Ireland, all rolled into one.”
“You’re cursing an unusual amount, lass, even for you. What’s that about?” I let my smile unfurl, like a snake’s coils. “Don’t tell me you missed me.”
The air around her head shimmers with a rage bordering on insanity. I expect her eyes to pop from her head. She looks like she’s channeling the ghost of Charles Manson.
