Ramona grabbed clothes from her dresser. Clean underwear. Jeans. A sweater that didn’t have any obvious stains. “If I start to feel pain from the tether… what do I…” She saw the unimpressed look on the demon’s face. “I guess I’ll just come back.”
Azareth’s eyes grazed her bare legs, and Ramona felt heat in her cheeks and… other places she was not going to think about. Wow, she’d been single for far too long if demonic judgment was having such an effect on her.
Azareth blinked. “Or you could just scream. That works, too.” Again with that slow, catlike grin.
Ramona arched a brow. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m absolutelynotenjoying this.” But there was something in Azareth’s eye that was sparkling. “Go shower. You smell terrible and this room is very small.”
“Those are strong words coming from someone who lives in brimstone,” Ramona muttered.
The hallway felt longer than usual.
Ramona walked slowly, paying attention to how her body felt against the tether, counting each step. At first, nothing. Just the normal sensation of being hungover and exhausted and questioning every life choice that had led her to this moment.
But around thirty feet from her bedroom door, something changed. A tightness in her chest. Like a rubber band being stretched.
At forty feet, the tightness became uncomfortable. Not painful, not yet, but wrong. Like her body knew she was going too far.
At fifty feet, it felt like someone had wrapped a hand around her ribs and was squeezing.
She paused. Turned around. The sensation immediately eased.
Sixty-six feet was not a lot of space.
The bathroom was within range, but she could feel the tether pulling, that uncomfortable tightness that suggested if she went much farther, it would start to hurt.
But she could shower. She could use the bathroom. She had that much.
Small mercies.
Ramona locked the bathroom door behind her and turned on the shower as hot as it would go. Steam filled the smallspace, fogging up the mirror. She stripped off her T-shirt and yesterday’s underwear and stepped under the spray.
The hot water felt heavenly.
She stood there for a long moment, letting it run over her face, her hair, washing away the night’s mistakes. Or at least the physical evidence of them. The existential mistakes — like summoning a demon — were going to be much harder to rinse away.
It was only for three weeks.
She shampooed her hair, worked conditioner through the tangles. She should try the glamour spell again. Maybe sober, in daylight, with actual focus, she could fix her hair. Make herself look professional. Make herself look like someone who had their life together.
But that seemed like a lot of effort for a lie no one would believe.
When she finally turned off the water, she felt almost human again. The pain meds had kicked in. The shower had washed away the worst of the hangover fog. She could do this. She could go to work, pretend everything was fine.
She just had to figure out what to do with the demon in her bedroom first.
After her shower, she emerged from the bathroom dressed and feeling marginally more functional to find Cammie in the kitchen making tea.
“Morning,” Cammie said without looking up. She was wearing her café uniform — black pants, obscure band T-shirt. Her dark hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, her multiple earrings themed in celestial symbols of suns and moons for the day. She glanced toward Ramona and nearly startled. “You look like death.”
“Thanks, Cam. You’re not opening today?” Ramona asked, leaning on the kitchen island.
“Nah. I get to go in when it’s not vampire o’clock. What a treat,” Cammie joked, pouring a cup of coffee and sliding it across the counter to Ramona. “You feeling okay?”
Ramona mumbled a thanks and clutched the mug gratefully. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Mm.” Cammie took a sip of her own coffee, not pushing further.
