“Call you back,” the man says in a deep voice that rumbles from the bottom of his chest. He tucks the phone into his inside jacket pocket before tugging at his cuffs and adjusting the links. “Are you okay?”
I barely know at this point. The aura is just hitting its stride, and I know there’s a thumping headache not far behind. My shoulder aches where I hit him full force and on top of that, I’m a klutz.
The embarrassment stings worst of all.
“Hey.” His voice sounds alarmed, and I feel hands cupping my shoulders, guiding me backwards into a seat. Fingers snap in front of my eyes, and I knock the hand that’s doing it out of my way. “Have you had too much to drink?”
A laugh skips out of my mouth before I close my eyes and groan. “I wish. I have a migraine.”
“Taken anything for it?”
I shake my head and instantly regret the move. Zero out of ten stars. Do not recommend.
“Are you taking anything? Full stop?”
“No.”
“Come with me.”
Strong fingers grip my hand and tug me to my feet, leading me to a small room off the main hallway. I crack open my eyes to get glimpses as we travel, wonder vaguely if I’m being led off by a serial killer, decide I don’t care if he is so long as I get to lie down and veg out, then sigh with relief as he pats a cot bed covered with a mattress protector.
“This passes for a sick room. Lay down and I’ll fetch you a glass of water.”
Feeling woozy, I obey without question. The cool plastic feels good against my skin even as the noise drives me batty. The only light in the room comes through the open door, dim enough that it doesn’t turn the inside of my brain into a dazzling kaleidoscope.
My helper returns before I have time to miss him. My muscles tense as he sits on the edge of the cot, making my eyes seize even worse.
“Are you seeing an aura?”
“Yeah.”
“What about pain?”
“Not yet.” It’s close though. Close enough to hear its hooves pounding on the horizon.
He takes my hand and opens it, dropping two tablets into my palm. “Take these. They’re Paracetamol.”
I obey the instruction, following them with a sip of water that takes three attempts to swallow.
“Let me know when the pain hits and I’ve got something more. Have you tried triptans before?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“I get them, too.” His voice is as soft as the darkness. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”
He takes my hand as I lay back down. It’s warm and friendly, nothing predatory. Just as I start to relax, I sit upright again in a panic. “I need to tell my dad what’s happening. I’m ruining the party.”
A hand presses on my shoulder and I let him guide me back to a lying position. “You’re not ruining anything. The party will go on whether or not you’re there, and I’m sure it’ll still be in full force by the time you get back.”
“But I’m the guest of honour.”
The hand holding mine squeezes tighter for a second, then resumes its calm embrace. “You’re Crimson Petrovic?” His voice falters for a second, then takes on a teasing air. “Miss Moneybags herself?”
My face scrunches at the nickname. As though all I am can be reduced to the size of my father’s wallet. “Yes.” My eyes flutter open, trying to make out his facial features, a hard ask given the pulsating zigzag and the darkness of the room. “Who’re you?”
“Micah Webb.”
I sit upright again as the jolt of recognition hits at the same time as the headache, both doubling me over with their ferocity.
