Bea fought the urge to twitch as the sticky, worm-shaped alien readjusted itself around her ear. She failed.
“You better stop that if you want me to stay attached during the final round,” the alien, a glottaalan, snapped. It settled into place with one last splitch.
I grounded my teeth as I laid in bed, trying to nap. “Infernal noise.” I considered searching for my staff to bang on the ceiling, but the bandages over my eyes made that difficult. For three days, my upstairs neighbors at the inn and tavern had been making more noise than a banshee in labor.
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