0.5 One Wilde Night by Jenn Stark Read Free Book Online Page A

floor…then the walls and ceiling for good measure. No one was there. Had I just been spooning with the Magician ? As in the Magician Magician, the Divine Trickster, Trump One of the Tarot? Did such a being truly exist?
    I hobbled into the living room, flailing for the light, but the sudden flood of illumination made me sag against the wall. “Make it stop,” I whimpered.
    The room went dark. Well, not completely dark. The same lamps flared, but at about a quarter of what I suspected their usual brightness was. “Do you also do windows?”
    “You need to trust more.”
    “Yeah, and you need to get out of my head.” I made it to the table and took a seat, putting said head in my hands for a long minute. I wasn’t sure what was happening to me here, but this was not the time for me to have a psychic meltdown. And more to the point…
    I scowled down at my body, swaddled in the hotel sheets. Leaning back, I peeled away the top layer to expose my chest. I’d surveyed this area when I’d hit the shower, but I hadn’t registered more than “ouch.” Now, based on my body’s reaction when the Magician or whoever he was had hit the area with his magic fingers, something was seriously wrong with my…
    I frowned. The skin was unmarked. There was the hint of pink, as if an old burn was fading, but unless you peered closely, there was no scar at all, barely a shadowy outline of a frog against my left breast, like I’d ghosted it in with makeup. I touched the skin, tensing up for the shot of agony…and nothing. I pushed a bit more firmly, right on top of the burn mark, and—nothing.
    “Well, that’s weird.” I dragged my fingertip over what was left of the frog’s head, and—
    Pain ricocheted through me so hard, I burst out of the chair, stumbling back several feet until I connected with the couch. My entire body hissed with electricity, the burst of energy complete and absolute and gone just that fast, leaving me lying in a heap on brightly colored cushions, breathing shallowly. My hands gripped the couch’s edge as if that hold was all that kept me tethered to this plane.
    “Um… Any idea what that was?” I asked the air around me.
    Silence.
    Apparently, the Magician was out for a smoke break.
    Nevertheless, I noticed something else as I lay naked and panting on the hotel room couch. Besides the fact that the ceilings were exceptionally clean in this establishment.
    I didn’t hurt.
    I stretched out my toes to double-check, as it seemed a safe place to start. Nope. I flexed my battered legs. Not a problem. I remained absolutely covered with bruises, scrapes, welts, and swelling, but the pain itself was gone. It was as if my nerves had been fried, no sensation at all passing their receptors.
    Well, that wasn’t quite true. I drew my fingers along my arms, hugging them to me. I could feel that. I pinched the skin ever so gently, and could definitely tell the moment my nails dug into my skin. So pain wasn’t off the table, at least not new pain. But all the pain of battles past…
    Slowly, gingerly, I sat up, trying to reconcile how I looked with how I felt. My eyes refused to ignore the fact that I was a Neosporin “Before” ad waiting to happen, and the bruises snaking along my skin did not inspire confidence. But as I lifted my arms up and extended them to their full length, nothing made me twinge.
    Even when my shoulder made an interesting crunchy noise, and then a wet pop, I could feel the blood drain out of my face, but not the pain that was surely causing that reaction. Bracing myself on the edge of the couch, I launched upright, then took an exploratory step. My swollen feet complied. I drew in a deep breath—my lungs obligingly expanded. I was moving normally. I was breathing normally. This was definite progress.
    My gaze swept the room, taking in the TV and its bright digital display. The clock read 4:16. By my reckoning, though I hadn’t realized it, I must’ve slept for more than three hours.