Time to man up, cowboy. It was this, or more screaming. This, or more panicking. Face the insanity and the impossibility in front of her, or…don’t. And deal with whatever that meant. With a groan, she committed to her choice. For now.
She reached out her hand. “Just don’t bite me, okay? I don’t want to get super-rabies. Or some kind of eldritch, cosmic bubonic plague. Or whatever undead rats carry.” She smirked. “Although I’ve read that’s just a bad rap you guys have.”
Inching her hand closer, she turned it palm up. As she grew near, the rat held on to her fingers, and then…rubbed its head against her. A second later, it climbed into her palm. It was light—well, it was missing all of its organs and most of its flesh, after all—and then nuzzled into her thumb.
She pulled her hand into her lap and looked down at the freakish little monster that seemed absolutely content now that it was with her. Hesitantly, she touched it with her other hand. When it didn’t go nuts and bite her, she…petted it. It felt strange under her fingers—dry and bony, which made sense. But it wasn’t unpleasant. Just weird. Very weird.
“Hi there, little buddy.” She smiled. “Are we friends now?”
The rat seemed to be loving the attention and basking in it.
“I guess I did want a pet. At least you won’t mind if I forget to feed you, huh? Shit—” She broke off as the rat scrambled onto her arm and started climbing the sleeve of her hoodie. “Oh—oh, okay.”
The rat climbed onto her shoulder and immediately dove into her hair. She laughed as it tickled her neck with one of its few remaining whiskers. It scurried along to the back of her neck and then…climbed into her hood. She could feel it squirming around in there before it went still.
It was taking a nap, maybe? Did dead things take naps?
She had an undead rat napping in her hoodie.
She should be screaming.
But instead…she was smiling.
It was nice to have a friend. Even if it was an undead rat. And probably Gideon’s…spy? Familiar? Pet? She didn’t know. She’d have to ask him.
Speaking of friends. The proverbial lightbulb went off in her head. “Oh, shit, Harry!” Climbing out of bed, she looked around the room for her phone. Right. It was missing. Frowning, she sighed. The poor guy was probably worried sick about her. She had been so caught up in the insanity of, well, the insanity—that she forgot all about him. “Damn it.”
Gideon probably had her phone. It made sense. He probably didn’t want her calling 911 in a panic.
She should probably go see what the two people were yelling about downstairs, anyway. They had quieted down—mostly—but she could still hear one calmer voice and one louder, angrier voice that was clearly the instigator.
The quieter one must be Gideon. But who was shouting at him? Rinaldo? She cringed, hoping that wasn’t the case. If Gideon was a necromancer—the proof of which was currently napping in her hoodie—then he could protect her.
But from what?
And why?
There were too many questions. Why was Rinaldo after her? Why was Rinaldo after Gideon? Why was she important to them? Why was Gideon so invested in her?
What was she?
Why could she only remember dying, again, and again, and again?
Why was Gideon always the one who killed her?
Her stomach growled. She rolled her eyes. It didn’t care about her existential crisis. It didn’t care about the shouting voices downstairs. It only cared about whatever smelled so damn good. Heading out of the room, she crept down the stairs. She didn’t want to alert whoever was shouting to her presence.
That was until she got close enough to hear whoever was shouting.
“—cock-sucking, donkey-fucking, piece of—”
“Harry!” She burst into the kitchen where the two men were standing. Before her friend could react, she hugged him.
He hugged her back tightly. “Mags, holy shit—are you okay? I go to check on you, find your door wide open, the apartment a mess, then this douchewad texts me and says you’re fine and not to worry. I call bullshit.”
She put her cheek against his chest, enjoying the comfort. He made her feel safe, as silly as it sounded. She had a zombie rat in her hoodie, her psychiatrist was probably-most-definitely a necromancer, but a hug from her friend made her feel like everything was going to be okay. “I’m okay. I’m all right. It’s just—everything’s…everything’s really weird right now.”
Gideon huffed a half-laugh from behind her. “Ah, yes. The valiant hero arrives. Observe as he gallops in on his purebred steed named Uber to save the damsel in distress. Please.”