Sam woke in a haze. It took her a long moment to realize she was laying on the same fainting couch the mage had recently occupied. Her head ached, pounding with the beat of her heart. She blinked a few times as she began to wonder how long she had been unconscious. She turned her head, wincing at the pain, as she glanced around the creepy room.
Heywood sat in the same seat as before. If possible, he looked even thinner than he had before she drained his power.
“You’re awake,” he grumbled.
Sam reached up to cradle her head. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that. Told you it was a bad idea.”
“I suppose you did.”
Sam opened her eyes again, taking in the puncture marks on her wrists. “You drank from me?”
“No more than you did from me.”
Sam let out the breath she had unconsciously been holding. “And how am I supposed to explain this when I go home? Speaking of home… what time is it?”
“About ten p.m. You’ve been out for a couple hours.”
Sam bolt into an upright position, regretting it instantly. The room spun around her until she thought she might vomit. Heywood reached out and gripped her shoulder, steadying her.
“You took quite a blow to your head. Lee patched it up, and with your hair over it, the cut isn’t even noticeable.”
Sam was only half listening to him—the pounding in her ears louder than his gentle voice.
“I need to get home,” she mumbled, slowly rising to her feet.
To her astonishment, Heywood stood with her, making sure she wasn’t about to fall over.
“We will be seeing you tomorrow night, ‘bout this time.”
It wasn’t a question, but Sam nodded, all the same, regretting the movement as the room spun again.
Lee appeared at the doorway and escorted her out of the house.