The Hero Strikes Back by Moira J. Moore

well, it was morning—or some time like it. I opened my eyes, cursed the evil blades of sunlight, and closed them again. I tried to ascertain my situation. I was in bed, my own. Alone, dressed in my nightgown and lacking any recollection of how I’d gotten there. My tongue was coated with thick fur, my throat was sticky, my stomach stretched and gurgled, and I wished my head would just carry on and explode so I wouldn’t have to feel anything anymore.
    Then the bed started swinging and spinning.
    In my mind I could hear Karish laughing, the bastard.
    What a stupid thing to do.
    I was still sitting there, and still miserable, when an aggravating Karish pounded on the door and taunted me, telling me I’d feel better if I ate something. The wicked liar. At the thought of food my stomach tried to curl into an impenetrable fist.
    But when Riley knocked on my door to tell me my mother had arrived, I knew there was nothing for it but to get out of bed. I washed my face. Dressed. Opened the door.
    The aroma of food wafted in.
    Close the door. Swallow. Lean my forehead against the door.
    Could I die now?
    Well, no, not now. After a moment. After I rested for a bit, I’d go back to bed. And die.
    Knowing my mother, she wouldn’t let me die. She’d just come to my room and berate me for still being in bed.
    I opened the door again.
    I never before would have described the smell of frying bacon as a stench. And I had to walk through it all the way to the kitchen.
    My mother was there. She was causing the stench. She was grinning as she watched me. She knew what I was feeling and she thought it was hilarious. “Sit down.”
    I was happy enough to rest my wobbly legs.
    Mother placed in front of me a plate of glaring yellow and rusty red. “It seems you had a very good time with Taro last night.”
    The plate had good timing. It provided an excuse for covering half my face with my hands, ostensibly to ward off the smell. Oh my gods. The whole night was not, unfortunately, lost to me. I could remember drinking. Every moment I was off the dance floor I was drinking. No intelligent conversation of any kind.
    And the dancing. Oh, Zaire, that was the worst. Because—ah, I hated even thinking about it. It hadn’t really been dancing at all. More like writhing. Against Karish. Body pressed to his, arms linked around his neck. No doubt he believed my behavior was the result of repressed yearning and the last thing I needed was for him to know I lusted after him. Damn it. Why couldn’t my memory block have extended over to that?
    Thankfully, it had only been Karish. I hadn’t danced with anyone else. I didn’t think. I couldn’t recall. But even if I didn’t, dancing like that with Karish was more than bad enough.
    Had there been anyone else I knew there? Had they seen us? What were they thinking?
    Not that appearing hung over before one’s mother didn’t have a humiliation all its own.
    â€œEat, Lee.”
    â€œUh—” I’d really rather not, thanks anyway.
    â€œIt’ll make you feel better. Listen to your mother. The voice of experience.”
    I looked up at her at that. Her face was completely blank. She couldn’t repress the twinkle in her eyes though.
    I stuck a tiny piece of egg on my fork and brought it to my mouth, trying not to smell it. I put the egg on my tongue, prepared for another slosh from my stomach.
    I swallowed. Nothing unpleasant happened. And it tasted really good. My next bite was more substantial.
    My mother snickered and tucked into her own plate.
    I did start to feel better. So my mother was right. Why did I feel irked rather than gratified by that? It made no sense.
    â€œSo,” said my mother. “Taro told me his mother is in town.”
    â€œSo he said.”
    â€œSo I’m going to invite her to the Lion to dinner,” my mother announced gaily. “A dinner for the four of us.”
    There was something