Prince Stewart Johannes Percival Ashford rolled over in his antique sleigh bed, yanking the Egyptian cotton sheets over his head. “Humphrey, go away. I’m sleeping.”
Humphrey ignored the command, as he did every morning, and marched across the room. “It’s the Day of Thanks, Master Stewart, and your parents have a full day of festivities planned.”
I hated to see myself.
It happened from time to time. Living in the ruins of an old mall, there were bound to be a few mirrors around. Granted, I didn’t have much use for department stores anymore—I’d already raided most of the men’s departments for practical clothing
I wound my way through octahedron-shaped tables occupied by a variety of alien species and approached the only other human in the bar. “Fancy meeting you here, Flynn.”
As soon as his hazel eyes rested on me, I wished I’d dressed cuter than corporate casual. And taken more care with my hair and makeup.
I shut to door to the conference room behind us. “Sir, please calm down.”
“I’ll calm down when I get some answers.” Mr. Buxton rounded on me. “My boy went missing for more than twenty-four hours and no one can tell me where he was or what happened to him.”
I’d given up screaming. I was terrified and sick, but what was the point? No one could save me now. The descent seemed endless, like I was doomed to fall for eternity. The throb of my heartbeat in my ears had faded, and my nausea was subsiding, as though even my body had resigned itself.
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Blackish fluid drained from beneath my mangled Camaro. Darkness had long overtaken the desert skyline, but heat from the sticky blacktop still hung in the air. Sharp pain stabbed my side with each breath, and I tried to ignore the pulsing behind my right eye as I staggered toward a flame in the distance.
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