Cut and Run 7 - Touch and Geaux by Abigail Madeleine u Roux Urban

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    “What the hell just happened?” Nick demanded.
    “What is wrong with you gay people?” Kelly moaned, still out of sight on the floor. “Why can’t you just sleep in?”
    Nick looked down at him. “What?”
    “Where am I?”
    Zane sat up, torn between being amused and concerned. He could hear Ty retching in the bathroom. He’d been with Ty through allergic reactions, hangovers, and hospital stays, but not an actual illness. Ty was too damn healthy for the flu. Maybe it was something he ate. Like alligator. Or drank. Like five hurricanes.
    Zane had never seen Ty so hungover he was sick, though.
    Nick ran a hand through his hair and sat on the end of the bed. They could hear Ty in the bathroom, still throwing up. “Is that Ty?” Nick asked.
    Zane nodded. “He woke up sick.”
    “Where am I?” Kelly asked again, sitting up.
    After a few torturous minutes, Ty called out to them, “Check under the pillows!”
    “You okay?” Zane called back.
    “No, just look under the pillows!”
    “For what?” Zane asked as he glanced at Ty’s side of the bed.
    “Gris-gris. Hex bags,” Ty answered, his voice laced with pain. “Look all over the bed. Under the mattress. Little felt bags!”
    “You all right, buddy?” Nick asked. “Still drunk?”
    “Shut up and help him!”
    Zane snorted and shook his head. “Nutbar. I think we would have noticed a little bag of crunchy things, as much as we shook the mattress last night,” he said wryly.
    “Oh God, please,” Kelly muttered. He raised a hand as if to ward off the images.
    “Agreed,” Nick grunted.
    Zane laughed, but he started a slow perusal of the bed.
    Ty was muttering incoherently from the bathroom when Zane found a small felt bag beneath Ty’s pillow, wedged between the headboard and the mattress. He pulled it out and straightened, looking at the little bag with a frown as he reached over and flipped the lamp on.
    “This isn’t good,” he muttered, turning it over in his hand before squeezing it to try to get an idea of the contents. It was roughly two inches by three, tied with a simple cord. It felt like a tea bag, like there was something dry and shredded inside. With a few hard chunks. It looked like the bag in the dead girl’s hand from last night.
    He heard Ty stumble, gasping for breath. He was silhouetted by the light from the bathroom, bent over, clutching his side. “What color is it?” He was completely serious, as if the color of the bag would tell him anything at all. He bypassed Kelly’s legs and lurched toward the bed.
    Zane was starting to feel a little queasy too. “It’s red. Felt, I think.”
    “Wait, someone was in here?” Nick asked.
    “Housekeeping. Had to be,” Zane said grimly. “I knew those towels were folded wrong.”
    Ty lowered his head, biting his lip as he hunched against the wall beside the bed. “Take me to the hospital,” he said. “And let me have the bag.”
    “You don’t really think . . .” Zane let the words trail off and shook his head. It didn’t matter. Ty definitely looked ill, and Zane was more convinced by that than some fantasy about voodoo curses. “All right. Can you get dressed?”
    Ty nodded, but he didn’t actually seem to be listening. He was still clutching his side when he snatched the bag out of Zane’s hand. He fumbled with the string that bound the bag, and peered in. He didn’t have a chance to examine the contents, though. He doubled over with a gasp, leaning against the mattress as his knees started to fold.
    Nick rolled over the corner of the bed to come to his side, and Zane crawled over to put a hand on his shoulder.
    His entire body was trembling, but he was taking deep breaths, trying to fight through the obvious pain.
    “Do we need to call an ambulance?” Kelly asked. He was finally fully awake, though he looked almost as rough as Ty did.
    “You’re the corpsman,” Nick grunted.
    “Well, as a trained professional, I advise we call an