"Lucky for you, this sack of shit is gonna walk himself right out of here," Meg smirked, taking a step forward. "The blood might be a bigger problem, but I can only do so much."

Then, sitting on the edge of the bed and turning black eyes on Ilithyia, whom she knew wouldn't be easy to frighten, she tilted back her head, and with a wide-mouthed scream, black smoke poured from her mouth, traveling in a serpentine flow into the mouth of the dead man. Meg's body dropped onto the mattress, the man's eyes springing open in the same moment.

He stood, his wound bleeding only sluggishly now. "I expect that to still be there, when I get back," he said, looking toward the actress from Cheboygan, whom Meg had inhabited for years, now. "I'm kinda fond of it, you understand."