Drake by Peter McLean Read Free Book Online Page B

bedroom?”
    â€œThe front door was open,” she said. “I came in.”
    Bloody Ally must have left the door on the latch when she swanned off last night, I thought. Oh that’s just wonderful.
    â€œI’m not really… y’know, awake yet,” I said. “Who the hell are you anyway?”
    â€œI’m me,” she said. “You just told me that.”
    â€œYeah. Wait, I mean… for fuck’s sake, what are you doing in my bedroom?”
    She smiled and opened a handbag that looked like it was probably worth almost as much as I owed Wormwood. She took out a flat silver case and extracted a cigarette, then lit it with a slim gold lighter. She smoked those weird Russian cigarettes, I noticed, the black ones with the gold filters that cost a fortune and stank to high heaven.
    â€œSmoking a cigarette,” she said.
    I massaged my temples with both hands and groaned. Now, as I think I said before, this woman was absolutely bloody gorgeous. I mean seriously, captivatingly, I-can’t-think-straight-for-looking-at you beautiful. I was a hell of a long way from being in any fit state to really appreciate her at that precise moment but I wasn’t dead, you understand? I started to get that weird feeling again, like maybe I wasn’t quite in my right mind. I probably wasn’t, all things considered.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” I asked her.
    â€œMy name is Meselandrarasatrixiel,” she said, almost singing the peculiar name. “Just call me Trixie, it’s easier.”
    â€œTrixie, right,” I said. “And you’re a… what, exactly?”
    â€œBreath of fresh air, I should think,” she said, “after the couple of days you’ve had.”
    â€œWhat the hell do you know about that?”
    She smiled and flicked ash on my bedroom carpet.
    â€œOh I know a lot of things, Don,” she said.
    I coughed. “Fresh air you’re not,” I said. “At least open the window if you’re going to smoke those bloody things in here.”
    She turned and did as I asked, giving me a moment to admire her behind in those tight jeans. Like I said, I wasn’t dead yet but I wasn’t completely daft either. Even leaving the aura aside, no human woman had ever looked like that no matter how much surgery or Photoshop was involved. My first thought was succubus, but she was way too classy for that. Succubi tend towards streetwalker-chic at the best of times, and this Trixie looked more like a princess than a prostitute.
    â€œCan I at least get dressed?” I asked her.
    â€œYou can do whatever you like, it’s your flat,” she said.
    â€œMaybe some privacy?”
    She laughed. “I want many things, Don, but seeing you naked isn’t one of them,” she said. “I’ll wait in your office.”
    She closed the bedroom door behind her on her way out. I swung my legs out of bed and sat there for a moment, my head pounding and my tongue curled up against the roof of my mouth like some awful cross between a rancid mothball and a dead hamster. At least I didn’t feel sick anymore, that was something. I worked my shoulders, trying to feel if my back was still bleeding. It seemed to have stopped again so I crawled into my dressing gown and dragged myself to the bathroom.
    I felt a lot better for doing the shit, shower and shave routine, and by the time I’d got some clean clothes on I was actually feeling almost human again. That meant it was time to worry about why there was a total stranger in my flat. A drop-dead gorgeous total stranger with an impossible white aura, at that.
    I wandered through to the office to find Trixie sitting on the sofa smoking another one of her posh cigarettes, her legs crossed and one of my clean cups balanced on her knee for an ashtray. I darted a look at the door to my workroom, but it was reassuringly still closed. Hopefully she hadn’t felt the need to be too