“I mean, a little.”
“Yeah, why’s that?”
“They’re all broody and mysterious and lethal. Kind of like you actually. Also, Edward keeps saving Bella’s life, which is super hot.”
I smiled and scratched my stomach. I must have removed my leg before passing out, though I couldn’t remember doing it. That happened sometimes when the drugs took effect, also why I only used them when I knew I was safe. As I was putting myself back together, I noticed Kitten scratching his head. At first I thought it was only an absent-minded habit, but then he kept at it, not seeming to realize he was doing it.
“Stay still,” I said, moving toward him.
“What is it?”
I angled his head toward the light and sifted through his cloud of curls to find the part in his hair. Suspicion confirmed. Lice. The little bastards had infiltrated and reproduced like maniacs. Suddenly, my scalp was itchy as well. We slept side-by-side every night, so of course, if Kitten had lice, then I probably had it too. I scanned our room–all the bedding, towels, and clothes strewn about, all of it had to go.
I reached for my two-way radio. “Attention, Assholes, we have a situation.”
* * *
Luckily,Kitten and I were the only ones who were afflicted. The girls were spared, thank God, as were Macon and Gizmo. Something like lice shampoo would have to be requested through the health department and it might take weeks to arrive. The easiest way to get rid of lice, as far as I knew, was to shave our heads. Gizmo had fixed a pair of clippers and Macon handed them off to me at our door. We’d bundled up all of our clothing and bedding into a huge pile to be laundered in the building’s basement.
Kitten was shuffling from foot to foot. He looked like he was about to cry.
“Why the face?” I asked.
“I feel like it’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault. This sort of thing just happens sometimes, especially in places like this where there are a lot of people living close together. Are you upset about having to cut your hair?”
“No, that’s fine.”
“I’ll go first, okay?”
He nodded and released a big sigh. I made quick work of the job, dragging the clippers over my head every which way until I’d given myself a short buzz cut. I trimmed the sides to a light fade, then asked Kitten to do the same in the back. It reminded me of when I’d first shown up at the youth shelter in D.C., alone, with only a duffle bag of my belongings. Fifteen years old with my mother and sister recently deceased and my leg freshly amputated, the first thing they did was shave my head, probably for this very reason.
“How do I look?” I asked Kitten.
“Scary,” he said. “More so than usual.”
I made my hands into claws and grabbed him around the waist, tickling his ribs and his tummy until he was squirming and giggling; the sound of it always cheered me up too.
“All right, Killer, your turn.” He stepped up to the plate with a brave face. I turned on the clippers, intent on making my first cut, but gazing down on all those golden-brown curls, the same ones that had grabbed me by the throat that very first day, I just couldn’t do it.
“Do you want me to do it myself?” he asked, probably noticing my hesitation.
“No.” I turned off the clippers and grabbed the two-way again. “Artemis, you there?”
“I’m here, Cipher, what do you need?”
“Do you know how to get rid of lice with, like, home remedies or whatever?”
A moment later she said, “Teresa does. Send him over here, and we’ll take care of it.”
Somehow, she knew I was talking about Kitten.
FOURTEEN
KITTEN
With a t-shirt tiedaround my head, I was marched over to the girls to get properly deloused, even though I told Cipher I was fine with having my head shaved. When I asked why he wouldn’t do it, he told me he was worried I might have a lumpy head.
