Page 19 of Grave Humor

“I don’t need magic for that. After you left the hospital, the nurses contacted the CDC to notify them you had wandered off, and one of the representatives got the appropriate remedies to make certain you don’t have to return to that place you so dislike.”

“I don’t dislike hospitals. I just don’t like paying the bill for medical care. A bill I couldn’t afford yesterday,” I muttered.

“It is a bill you are not paying because I am paying it. You need to take these remedies with your dinner, and I have been told they will help your arm heal and make it hurt less.”

Painkillers made my world go round, and the thought of having a dose motivated me enough I got out of bed. If he wanted me to change, he’d have to wait until after I took a long soak in my tub. “What’s for dinner?”

“Chicken stew. The doctors thought it would be good for you, and I have made many a stew in my lifetime. Gordon showed me the quicker alternatives, and I find them less than appealing, so I will only use them when I do not have the time to properly prepare food for you. Tonight’s offering is not as good as what you will enjoy in the future.”

Okay. Eoghan redefined what it meant to be handsome when wearing a suit, he had money, and he could cook. The instant word got out he was in town, every single woman would be knocking down my door to get to him. I’d have to get out the baseball bat to hold them at bay. “What’s wrong with you?”

He smirked. “Nothing, I assure you. I’m perfect with a few minor exceptions, including my ignorance on how to write modern languages. I will resolve these shortcomings soon enough. You’ll find I am a dedicated scholar when it comes to rectifying ignorance.”

“Well, you have a lot to learn, but if you’re good at cooking, you might be worth keeping around.” I yawned and headed downstairs to discover the vampire tending to a pot on the stove. “Do vampires need to eat?”

“We don’t need to, but we can, although in very limited quantities. A bite or two here and there is something we can digest, but blood provides everything we require.” Gordon took a bowl from my cupboard, filled it with stew, and set it on the table along with a spoon. “Eat, then you can explain these wretched bottles we haven’t been able to open.”

I laughed. Child-safety caps could defeat even modern adults, but I enjoyed the mental image of the two men fighting to open the caps. “Show me the bottles, and I’ll teach you how to open them. I’ll take the pills while eating, and I’ll translate how prescriptions work for you. It’s a little complicated.”

Gordon went into the living room and returned a moment later with a white paper bag. “There are many pages of instruction inside.”

“Warnings, mostly, to prevent them from being sued if a side-effect turns nasty. There’ll also be directions on how to take the medications.” I dumped the bag out on the table, checked the pages, and set them across the table from me. “As there’s no better time than now to start your English lessons, we’re going to use that as our starting exercise.”

“You are a force of pure evil,” Gordon observed. “Could you have picked drier reading material?”

“Maybe if I tried. It would be a challenge.” I checked the bottles, pressed down on the cap, and gave it a twist to access the pills, and I fished out the appropriate number of each. “These are child-safety caps. If you press down and twist, they’ll open. They’re a pain in the ass, and they’re kind of pointless, as children are typically better at opening these damned things than adults are. They do keep little babies from getting into the bottles, however.”

“That’s important.” Gordon picked up one of the sheets. “Amoxicillin?”

“That’s an antibiotic. It’ll help keep my arm from getting infected. I need to take it three times a day until they’re all gone.”

“And the other one?”

“Painkiller, the light-grade stuff.” I went for the third bottle, which would be my best friend for a while. “And this is prescription-level pixie dust. This is the good stuff. After taking one of these, I won’t give a shit if my arm hurts. Apparently, they feel Eoghan might flip his lid if I am in any discomfort at all. I now know my first line of offense when I have a condition that requires painkillers. I will make Eoghan deal with the doctors.”

“Pixie dust.” Eoghan wrinkled his nose. “In my time, that was frowned upon. Now, it is prescribed as a remedy?”

“It’s a safe recreational drug. Just don’t get the top-grade stuff. That’s how you lose your free will. Otherwise, it’s harmless. It just makes you happy for a while. The higher grade stuff, like this, makes you happy, oblivious, and generally inclined to do what others want. The next grade up makes you powerless to do anything other than what you’re told. I’ll have a great time. You? You might not. A side-effect includes a tendency to try to make everyone happy, too.”

“I do not see how this is a problem.”

“As long as I think you’re happy all of the time, it probably won’t be. If I think you’re upset for any reason, I’m going to try to make you happy, and I will be obnoxious about it. I was on this once growing up, and I was a menace. I’m surprised my asshole parents didn’t drown me from trying to make everything better for everybody. I don’t remember much about it, which is one of the side effects of this grade of dust for me. My parents wish they could get this stuff, but the government is aware people chase highs so restrict the higher grades. You need a permit to get this grade or a prescription. Most people have theirs with coffee or some other drink.”

“Yes, even in my time, the devil’s dust did the same. But then, we were not aware it is otherwise harmless.”

“It’s been studied carefully. It’s harmless. It’s also used to make neutralizer.”

“Neutralizer?”

“It’s basically a miracle drug. It can cure a lot of ailments, it stops most viruses, it can reverse things like petrification—it’s basically the most useful thing ever made. It uses pixie dust to make it, but it undergoes some process. Apparently, it doesn’t take too much pixie dust to make it, and the pixies are paid good money to shed wing glitter to produce it.”

“The pixies are willing?”

“Of course. They’re paid for their dust. The higher the grade of dust, the better they’re paid. It doesn’t hurt them at all, and it actually helps them. They can get sick if they don’t shed enough of their dust.”

“Interesting. The last emergence, they were considered winged devils.”

“Nah, Satan doesn’t want pixies. They’re far too nice and cheerful for his hells, or some such like that. Someone asked him once.”