I couldn’t go to work that day. Whatever drug Bob and Lisa had used, it kept me incapacitated with a hangover worse than any alcohol I had ever consumed. The shock of finding the letter opener had dulled the effects at first, but after that died down, I could not even get out of bed, except to vomit on the floor.
Andrew grew concerned, so he brought in an emergency room physician to take care of me. The doctor gave me something in an IV, and Andrew paid her to look after me the entire day. Fortunately, thanks to the doctor’s care and my werewolf genetics, I had worked the drug out of my system by that night.
By 9 p.m., I sat alone in the dining room, trying to eat a peanut butter sandwich and drink a glass of milk. I stiffened when I heard someone enter the room but relaxed as soon as I
