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“You bitch,” she spits, swinging a hand that slaps my cheek.

I stumble slightly, laugh loud, and punch her again, this time hitting her eye.

She screams.

Hurtles her body toward me.

And then . . . I black out.

Forty-Four

Lighthurts,somethingstinks,and this is where I’ve come to die.

I force my eyes open; a gritty tongue attacks me along with blinding light through a window. A bullmastiff.Thor. I’m at June’s. On her couch. My head is throbbing.What in the time traveling tunnels of hell is happening?

“You’re alive,” June says, standing in the middle of her living room, disapproving look of a mother on her face as she folds her arms over her chest.

I sit up, moaning as the pony-sized canine invades my personal space.

“Go away, dog,” I croak. The earth spins faster. “And no, I’m not.” I put my elbows on my knees and drop my head into my hands. “How did I get here?”

“Ben called.”

Her voice is blurry; I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Do you remember what happened?” she demands.

“I need water, Joo. And for you to lay off with the mom voice.”

“Lay off with the mom voice?” She scoffs. “You got in a fight. In a bar. With two people!”

Right.

“Your yelling hurts”—she glares at me—“and they deserved it.”

“God, Scotty!” she says in a half shout, half groan. “That’s not the point!”

“Seems like a good point to me,” I mutter, standing and taking slow wobbly steps to the kitchen, fumbling through her cabinets until I find a glass. “It was Jessicunt and Wanda’s abusive ex-husband. I should be knighted.”

“What happened?” she demands as I slam two glasses of water then dig through another cabinet on a quest from God for aspirin.

“I went to Liberty Tap.” I throw the pills down my throat. “And detected two demons then performed an exorcism.”

She scowls with another shout groan. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Thank you,” I say dryly. Even hungover, I know my best friend—she’ll drop it when she sees I’m not talking about the Ford-sized hole in my chest that I used alcohol to fill.

“This isn’t how it works, Scotty. You don’t get to-to-to get in one fight and then call it quits.”

I massage my forehead, leaning over the kitchen sink.I might puke.

“And it wasn’t even with Ford,” she continues. “It was with a teenager! They specialize in fighting!”

Shut. Up.

“You aren’t special, you know.” I splash water on my face, trying to drown her out. “You aren’t the only one who’s lost someone. Who-who-who knows heartache.” I blot my face with a towel, seeing it covered in black when I pull it away.How much makeup did I wear yesterday?

“Are you even listening to me?” she demands, leaning a hip against the kitchen island next to me.