”Hey Hotpants, ya think I can have my hand back?” The sound of Kenzi’s voice brought her mind back to the cool, sour air of the first class cabin.

”Sorry, Kenzi.” Slowly, Lauren released her grip and reached for the flute on the table in front of her. A bottle of Veuve-Cliquot chilled in an ice bucket between them. Kenzi’s eyes were ringed red not only from crying but also from the effects of her third glass of bubbly. At least the intervals between Kenzi’s breakdowns grew from every five minutes to every twenty. ”Metallic, cold, and mind-numbing,” had been Lauren’s response to the flight attendant’s inquiry regarding her drink of choice, earning her a prolonged and confused stare. ”Champagne,” she sighed and the flight attendant turned quickly but not before Lauren spied what she thought was an annoyed eye roll.

Kenzi had wasted no time in acquainting herself with said bottle, no small feat since she had maneuvered the bottle to her glass with one hand, as the other had been in Lauren’s death grip until a few moments ago. Lauren turned in Kenzi’s direction. She appeared smaller, elfin even, dwarfed by the generously proportioned leather seat—her eyes closed and gripping the champagne flute the way a baby clings to its binky.

”You okay in there?” Lauren asked.

Kenzi’s eyes remained closed as she nodded and sniffed back her tears. ”This is the most impulsive thing you’ve ever done, huh Doc.”

”One could say that,” Lauren smirked. ”It’s amazing what one can do with an hour and a credit card.”

”An hour and the Russian mafia,” Kenzi toasted her glass into the air.

”An hour and the Internet.”

”An hour and a pile of laundry.” Kenzi lowered her nose to her shoulder and sniffed her sleeve, then shrugged looking at Lauren. ”Clean. We’re clean.”

Lauren looked upward, ”An hour and the Morrigan.”

Kenzi froze. ”What did you just say?”

”I think I might have killed her.”

”Who her?”

”Evony,” Lauren took a long, slow sip. Kenzi reached for the bottle and filled her glass to the brim, gulping its contents the way that fish gulp for water when plucked from the sea.

”You just killed my buzz, doc.”

”Easy there, tiger,” Lauren gently glided Kenzi’s hand—the one holding the flute, back down to the tray table. She leaned into her, ”Without getting all sciencey, I used her DNA to create a serum which, if it works, will either turn the Morrigan into a bonafide, death-becomes-her human, or—”