Bargaining

Stumbling through the front door, she had the presence of mind to be glad that she wasn't someone who redecorated often. Had she moved furniture lately, she would have tripped over something as she crossed the room without turning on lights, blinded by tears. She hadn't cried again on the way back from the hospital in Steel Canyon, but something about the comfort of her own building, even the elevator that always smelled like someone's cigar, had loosed enough tension that the tears had started again.

She reached the corner near a window and sank against the wall. In short order, she wore herself out and sat curled up in the corner, staring blankly across the wall. She'd stayed at the hospital in one of the waiting rooms until the nurses had chased her out just before daybreak. No one had been able or willing to tell her anything. Phone calls had been one thing, but her presence had irritated them more. The only thing she'd managed to accomplish was gaining a hatred of vending machine coffee.

The slowly brightening light beyond the window glass gained her attention and she climbed to her feet, crossing the large room to the desk with the laptop on it. She turned on the computer while she stood, impatiently waiting for it to load.

Suddenly, she picked it up and threw it at the nearest window, yanking cords with dulled snaps. The computer bounced off the thick glass, making a muffled thud as it hit the carpet. Nothing on it helped. Megabytes of e-mails and copied research, and none of it accomplished anything.

Weeks. Days.

She felt heat in waves and smelled burning synthetic as the carpet around her smoldered. The smell intensified as she stood still, trying to regain control and catch her breath. The room shimmered through waves of heat and a glaze of tears.

It was too risky for her to drink now, but there was still the odd bottle of wine and liquor around that she hadn't bothered to get rid of yet. She walked to the kitchen, leaving a trail of slightly melted carpet. She found an unopened bottle of zinfandel and one of the large glass wine goblets, a corkscrew, and, after a moment of disorganized searching, a large butcher knife. On the way back to the living room, the burning slowed under her focused concentration.

She cleared the low coffee table of papers and a candle centerpiece with a sweep of the hand holding the knife. Calling a demon was something she'd never wanted to know how to do, but with an evil sorceress bumping around her head, it was something she hadn't even had to try to learn.

She knelt on the floor next to the table and took a moment to open the bottle, pouring a little wine into the glass. After a moment's hesitation, she raised her hand above the glass and pressed the blade to her wrist. After all, when the demon showed up, it would be thirsty.