Twenty-Eight
It turned out downing Nyquil and one of Belladonna’s pills was not the greatest of combinations when you wanted to do anything but sleep. March 19th was a complete blacked out space in my memory. I barely even woke up long enough to shovel some soup down my gullet before passing out again. But it meant I woke up the morning of the Equinox bright-eyed and ready to kick some evil a*s.
As I pulled on loose fitting pants and long-sleeved shirt a little after eleven o’clock, a knock at the door signaled I had visitors. I took in a breath and caught the honey scent of J.T.’s magic and the floral scent of Kayla. At least the Whisperer was starting to respect my boundaries and things liked a locked door. I tossed my hair into a messy knot at the nape of my neck and went to answer th
