Free Grave Consequences by Dana Cameron

needed coffee.
    I hadn’t had a cup in nearly twenty-four hours. Hence the headache, hence the nausea. Hence my evil inclinations.
    I was going through withdrawal.
    Tea, I recalled, had more caffeine than coffee, but it came out in far smaller amounts when brewed. Assuming that some was better than none, I gulped down the entire mug.
    Greg watched in silence. “Come downstairs when you’ve had a chance to wake up a bit. We’ll have some breakfast and be off.”
    “Sounds good,” I said, but my head was throbbing worse than ever.
    “See you down there.”
    “Thanks, Greg.”
    I pulled on my digging clothes—jeans, layers of T-shirt, cotton workshirt, and sweater—and pulled on my boots. I realized that my hands were trembling and thought, if Jane’s drinking coffee, I’ll ask for some. Otherwise, there’s bound to be a Starbucks or something around here. I’m not going to make a nuisance of myself the first morning, I told myself firmly.
    What if there’s no Starbucks?
    Then I’ll buy a bag of coffee and suck the grounds, I replied, gritting my teeth. I’m not going to be sidelined by some silly addiction compounding the early hour. I went downstairs.
    Jane was whizzing around making another heap of sandwiches and calling out reminders to Greg, who was staring at his tortoise, which was out for a walk on the floor and slowly heading, with its snaky head outstretched and on little clawed elephant feet, toward where he stood in a patch of warm sunlight. I successfully resisted the urge to trip Jane, but not by much.
    “Morning, Emma!” she called briskly.
    “Morning, Jane.”
    “There’s toast and muesli and more tea on the table—you do eat breakfast?—and I’ve got lunch packed up for you already. We’ve got a lot of work today—”
    I picked up a triangle of toast and stared at it blankly as Jane listed the day’s many goals. My eyes were almost watering with the pain in my head and I couldn’t help but tune Jane out—it was as much for her safety as it was for my sanity. Nibbling at the cold, dry toast, I realized that Jane’s speech was in fact a monologue. Greg was as silent as I. He had returned Hildegard to her tank, adjusted her lamp, and was now slowly feeding her. He picked up a kale leaf and arranged it at the other end of the terrarium, ostensibly to give Hildegard something to look forward to.
    “—And Greg, will you leave that damned thing alone? I swear, you and Hildegard are two of a kind, poky and silent—”
    The comment, which sounded like no more than an observation, caught me like a slap in the face. I noticed that Gregory slid a hurt glance toward his wife’s back. She hadn’t even looked up from the sandwich making.
    “Jane, can I give you a hand with those?” I asked hurriedly.
    “No, thanks, I’m all done,” she said, turning and smiling at me. Then she realized what I was trying to do. “Oh, Emma, don’t worry. It’s just my way in the morning; Greg knows the claws aren’t really out, don’t you, dear?”
    “Yes, of course. Claws not out, noted.” He slid the top back over the terrarium and looked at me critically. “But I’m just wondering if our pet American isn’t actually desperate for a cup of coffee? You’re not one of those disgusting caffeine-crazed, can’t-find-the-floor-in-the-morning-without-a-cup fiends, are you, Emma?”
    “Oh, yes, God, yes,” I said with relief. “I didn’t want to ask, but is there a coffee shop or something I could run to real quick, before we get started? I won’t take long, but it would be really good and I’m sure I’d be much more useful—”
    My hosts exchanged a look and burst out laughing. I didn’t even care, so long as the hope of coffee loomed.
    “She’s gibbering, Jane. I’ll take her down the cafe, get her a fix, and meet you over there, shall I?”
    “Yes, good, go, don’t be late,” Jane said, but she’d already turned back to sorting out her notes for the day.
    “See you, pet.”
    She