“It’s because you don’t eat enough McDonald’s.”
“I d-don’t think—”
“The special sauce is like lube—”
Tean’s eyes got extra big behind the glasses.
“No!No.Nope.Not what I meant.Like, for your, um, arteries.Like a lubricant for your arteries.”
“P-please stop,” Tean said.
“Why didn’t you tell me how bad it was?”Jem slapped the keycard against the lock.It flashed green, and he shouldered the door open.“You’ve got to warm up before we go back out there.”
“J-Jem, I’m f-fine.I d-do this a-all the t-time for work—”
“With your big, butch coat.And that cute hat.And those gloves, the ones like you’re about to climb Mount Everest.”
“The h-hat’s n-not c-cute—” Tean tried to protest as Jem planted him on the fireplace’s hearth.Jem tapped the remote control, and flames sprang up, followed a moment later by a wave of heat.
“Sit there,” Jem said.
Tean opened his mouth.
“Sit!”Jem offered a lopsided grin.“Stay!”
“Oh m-my g-gosh,” Tean mumbled, but he was chafing his hands and angling his body toward the fire.
“I’m going to get your coat.Do you want anything else?”
“W-we d-don’t h-have anything else.”
“I know, but it’s polite to ask.”
It was hard to tell with the glasses sometimes, but Jem was pretty sure Tean rolled his eyes.
Jem moved toward the bed and, beyond it, the closet.The room was even more of a mess than he remembered.The sheets had been pushed down to the foot of the bed.One of the dresser drawers was pulled out partway.Even the stuff on the desk—the informational materials for the hotel, the lamp, the phone—looked like it had been moved.He must have bumped it when he’d answered the phone half-asleep—
The back of his brain was still catching up with him as he reached the closet and stretched out a hand.
The closet door flew open.A hanger shot through the air in the direction of Jem’s head.He dodged, but another followed, and he stepped back.He had a vague impression of a person inside the closet—the shadows, and the hangers, made it hard to make out anything more than a general shape and size—and then something bulky landed on his head, and he couldn’t see anything.
Jem did the smart thing: he moved backward.He waved an arm, but that was instinct: knives, fists, kicks to the balls.With his other hand, he tried to yank off whatever was covering his head.
Someone shoved him, and he lost his balance.He caught something with the back of his leg, and his knee buckled, and he went down.
Footsteps.
Tean shouting, “S-stop!”
A door slamming.
Drag it off, whatever the fuck it is.
The smell of wool.
Fresh air.
Light.
