Chapter 22

“I have a headache,” I griped.

Dara grinned. “You know that’s impossible, my love.”

My grin mirrored hers. “The centuries-old zombie drag queen is telling me about impossible?”

“Touché.”

So an expedition was planned, with me and Dara, VaVa, Flo, Ginger and Topaz as the scouting party. And suddenly we had a floating drag bar, albeit one that was insanely well-armed. I stared at them all—dresses and blouses and caftans blowing in the breeze, fabulous wigs as well, and enough makeup to stamp every last pore into submission—and I couldn’t help but smile, remembering my life as it once has been.

Dara held my hand in hers. “They’re beautiful, yes?” She turned and kissed my cheek. “Though not half as much as you.” I started to object when she touched her free hand to my chest. “Where it counts, I mean.”

My smiled widened as I kissed her back. “Were you always this schmaltzy?”

She shrugged. “Just the last couple of hundred years. Like whiskey, I mellow with age.”