“Hey, where are we?” I coughed, spewing a little post nasal blood on his restraining hand as I looked around the motel room, “After burning down your favorite national park, I was scared we wouldn’t be Bronies anymore.”
“Harry, you’re my friend,” Michael said again, easing me into the stack of motel pillows piled against the headrest, “We took a vote. All of us agreed we’d rather have you than the park. Even Charity.”
“You mean,” I choked, blinking as hot, happy man tears burned my eyes while I laughed, “I get to keep the secret decoder ring?”
“I was thinking about calling Thomas, Harry,” Murphy cut in, reaching down to squeeze my leg, “but you pretty much killed that idea when you sleep-fried the phone. Any thoughts on how we should handle this?”
I stared at her for a few minutes, my head swimming with legions of naked Murphys doing Flashdance in their underwear.
From what I remembered of what Murphy had told me, I wasn’t in any condition to enjoy that. Which stung. I dashed the thought with a question.
“Where’s Maggie?” I slurred, closing my eyes, and sank further into the pile of crisp pillows with a whuff.
“Maggie’s safe with Charity, Harry,” Michael said, reaching to place a hand lightly on my shoulder.
“Sowut? Wonnaseeyer... Mm-ggie...”
I thought extra hard about trying to mimic Charity’s Sith Death Glare at my bedside’s lack of sproglet, but suddenly my neck felt like a strip of thin rubber. My head lolled, and my eyes rolled back into their sockets like white plastic hippo food.