She answered without checking the caller ID—which she regretted as soon as Doug Morrell’s voice rattled across the phone lines. “Annja! Good afternoon!” It wasn’t good. And—she glanced at the bedside table—the LED clock flashed 1:00 p.m. She had slept past noon? And why did her head ache? She’d only had two pints last night. “How are things going? Is Eric doing well?” Doug asked. “Yes,” she muttered groggily. Sitting up on the bed, she winced at the bright daylight shining in. “What’s wrong, Annja? You don’t sound so good. Is it late at night there? I thought I figured the time zones right this time. No matter. Guess what?” “You’ve decided faeries don’t exist and want me to come home?” “Wrong. I’m scheduling shows for next month, and guess who agreed to be interviewed for the Halloween special? Rob Zombie! Doesn’t that rock?” “He’s a rock star, Doug, not a monster.” She dropped backward across the bed, but the thud of skull to blanket flashed bright auras behind her eyes.
