Once Darkness Falls (Preternatural Affairs #7) by SM Reine

Author:SM Reine [Reine, SM]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Red Iris Books
Published: 2015-12-19T05:00:00+00:00

Malcolm Gallagher’s quarters smelled like the toilets at my old UCLA dorm the morning after a party: a cocktail of piss, bile, and booze. It was about as cluttered as the dorms had been, too. Junk everywhere. Pile of clothes in front of the door, books scattered by the wall, guns all willy-nilly.

We hadn’t had guns at the UCLA dorms though. Copious amounts of weed, yes. Guns, no.

I found the commander himself curled up on the bathroom floor by the shower. Looked like he’d been trying to pray to the porcelain gods and missed. His ten o’clock shadow was caked in vomit.

“Dammit, Malcolm,” I muttered.

It was looking likely that whatever I reported to Lucrezia de Angelis, it would need to be “get Malcolm out of command.” And that was a conversation I wasn’t looking forward to at all.

I turned the shower on—not too hot, not too cold. Then I was extra nice and stripped Malcolm down to his skivvies before tossing him in.

He didn’t even wake up when the water hit him. I propped him against the side of the tub so he wouldn’t drown and watched him for signs of life. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing. Better still, the shower coursing over his skin was cleaning off all that nasty crap.

While he rinsed off, I did a quick sweep of his quarters to bring them up to regulation. Dirty laundry in the hamper. Trash in the can. Liquor emptied into the sink, bottles emptied.

That mostly left books behind—a collection of palm-sized volumes. I picked one up. “The Prophecies of Flynn?” I read aloud with a frown. “Volume…ninety-six? Jesus.” It was bound in black with text in white, so it was obviously a Union thing.

We dealt in weird shit in the OPA. But prophecies?

I shoved all the prophecies in a corner and decided I was done cleaning.

Malcolm still hadn’t stirred when I got back to the bathroom. I slapped him across the face a couple times. Hard.

He sat up with a flail, spraying water everywhere. A wild fist caught me on the jaw. I reeled back on my heels, catching myself on the sink.

“Hey!” I shouted.

Malcolm’s eyes focused on me. Then he shut them again, plastered a hand over his face, leaned back. “When I ask why the hell I’m wet and naked, the answer needs to involve a wet t-shirt contest in Florida.”

“You’ve got your briefs. You’re not naked.” I rubbed my aching chin. Damn. Even drunk and unconscious, Malcolm packed a mean punch.

“I’m naked enough to get on the sex offender registry, and that’s naked in my book.” He peeled an eye open again. “Turn off the lights, Hawke. What have you got in here, spotlights?”

I turned off the lights so that the only illumination came indirectly from his bedroom. “How much alcohol does it take to get a kopis blackout drunk, considering his preternatural liver?”

Malcolm tried to stand. He slipped. I supported him as he climbed gingerly out of the tub.

“Fuck,” he said. “Too much alcohol.

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