“Stop. Scot, stop now,” she managed to say as white and blue blobs of light flashed in front of her eyes.
“Why?” he said, annoyed. “You think Tristan isn’t doing exactly the same thing right now?”
“What do you mean?” Lily asked.
“You really have no clue, do you?” Scot stood and pulled Lily up after him. “Okay. Let’s go find your brand-new boyfriend,” he said with a sneer. “Let’s see what he’s up to.”
Scot nearly dragged Lily after him. Her legs were heavy and clumsy. As she stumbled down the steps, Lily heard a few bystanders on the landing say the word “drunk” and something clicked in her fuzzy head. Lily stopped dead and yanked on Scot’s arm, turning him around to face her.
“Did you put alcohol in my drink?” she asked. She must have said it louder than she’d intended because the room got quiet all of a sudden. “Did you?” she repeated, intentionally raising her voice this time.
“A little vodka,” Scot admitted with a casual shrug.
“How could you do that?” she asked. The only other time Lily had tried alcohol, she’d spent the night in the ICU with a fever of 115 degrees. She ran her hand across her forehead, and it came back dripping sweat. “Oh, no.”
Scot’s eyes widened with fear when he registered just how pale and sweaty Lily was. “It was half a shot. I swear,” Scot said, pleading his case to the gathering crowd.
“Are you okay?” Breakfast asked in her ear.
Bleary as her vision was, Lily felt Breakfast take her arm before she actually saw him do it. She leaned against him, her head spinning and her vision bending sickeningly around the edges.
“Tristan. I need Tristan,” Lily whispered desperately. She felt a building sensation in her body, as if she were a roller coaster reaching the top of its climb. She knew that in a moment she would be powerless to stop the descent.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Breakfast said gently.
“I need Tristan now!” Lily insisted, shouting over him.
“He’s in there,” Breakfast said, pointing to a door a few steps away from where Lily was standing. It was the bathroo
m door.
Breakfast kept a steadying hand on Lily’s arm while she knocked. Tristan didn’t answer her, but she could hear him talking to someone else in there. His voice sounded low and urgent. Something was terribly wrong. Lily pulled open the door.
At first it didn’t make sense. Why would Tristan be half naked in Scot’s bathroom? Then Lily saw Miranda behind him. She had her bare back turned away from the door, but Lily didn’t need to see her face to recognize her long, bleached-blonde hair.
“What?” Lily started to ask, and stopped herself. She knew what was going on—she just couldn’t believe it.
Tristan finally managed to pull his shirt over his head and noticed Lily’s condition. “Lily,” he said, taking a step toward her.
Revolted, Lily backed away from him, plowing into Breakfast. She latched on to Breakfast when her legs gave out. It felt as if her own clothes were smothering her. Her muscles began to twitch as the electrical storm in her overheated brain took over. Her arms and legs went rigid, and her entire body convulsed with the superhuman strength of a seizure.
Frightened voices rose up from the crowd that had gathered around the humiliating scene. “What the hell is wrong with her? Is she’s having a fit?” the voices murmured.
Breakfast guided Lily gently down to the floor as the seizure descended on her in earnest. Blobs of light in her eyes and a clanging in her ears crowded out all of Lily’s other senses. She couldn’t feel anything. She was on the floor, her fever eating her up inside, and then it all shifted.
She saw herself lying there, teeth clacking together, spine bowing and arching as her muscles pulled her bones and joints to their limits. She hovered there, above herself, watching her body tear itself apart. Then—she didn’t hear a girl’s voice, not exactly. It was fainter than that, like it was coming from far away, and the words were being placed inside her head.
You are sick in this world.
Lily wondered if she was talking to herself.
Come to me and be the most powerful person in the world.
But … I don’t want to go, Lily thought. The faint voice went away, and Lily fell back into her body.
She saw Tristan’s face, desperate and yelling over hers, but all she heard was the whoosh of the blood in her veins. She tasted leather and blood. Hands held her down. She felt herself being lifted and carried. Pale faces, frightened faces, flashed past her.
“Tristan?” she lisped. Something was in her mouth. She got her fingers to obey her enough to pull it out, and stared at a leather strap. A belt.