I felt drunk.
Not 'had one too many'
drunk, when the world feels a bit blurred and dizzy, but 'ten times
over the limit' drunk, with the house spinning around me, coming in
and out of focus, unable to even sit up properly. Part of that was a
twisting feeling in the pit of my stomach, threatening to overwhelm
me with convulsions and retching.
Mum was crouched beside
me, stroking my forehead, which kind of helped until it didn't and I
found myself coughing and retching all over again.
“What can we do for
him?” she pleaded with Raven. I could see her face clearly, but
the rest of her washed away, indistinct from the room.
“Give him time to
recover,” Raven replied from somewhere behind me, his voice so
clear and strong, a fixed point in the room's turbulence.
“That's quite
enough,” another voice said, equally strong and assured. I
couldn't quite put a name to it, but I knew I'd heard it before.
“You three,” it commanded, “Stand away from them.”
