23. The Looped Reality Of The Wicked Part II
23
THE LOOPED REALITY OF THE WICKED PART II
~GWENIVERE~
" Y ou're both insane," I whisper, but there's no heat in the words. Just wonder, and perhaps a touch of fear at how quickly everything is changing.
Nikolai's laugh fills the room, bright and genuine.
"Probably," he agrees easily. "But sanity is overrated, especially in a place like this."
"Besides," Cassius adds, his shadows reaching out to brush against my skin with surprising gentleness, "you infiltrated an all-male academy, challenged its most sacred rules, and somehow managed to bond with both a Duskwalker and a Fae prince in less than forty-eight hours." His lips twitch. "I don't think you have room to question anyone else's sanity."
The absurdity of it all hits me then —— this entire situation, my life's sudden sharp turn into the impossible ——and I can't help but laugh.
The sound starts small but builds quickly until I'm practically doubled over with it. Tears stream down my face, though whether from mirth or relief or some combination of both, I couldn't say.
When I finally catch my breath, wiping at my eyes, I find them all watching me with varying degrees of amusement and fondness.
"I suppose," I say, still fighting back giggles, "this means we're stuck with each other?"
"For better or worse," Nikolai confirms, his golden eyes dancing with mischief. "Though I have a feeling it will be mostly worse, given your talent for chaos."
"Probably," I agree, unable to suppress my grin. "But at least it won't be boring."
Cassius sighs heavily, but there's a warmth in his expression I've never seen before.
"No," he says softly, his shadows curling around me like a protective embrace. "It definitely won't be boring."
Mortimer clears his throat, drawing our attention back to him.
"Within these closed walls, you can be yourselves," he says carefully, adjusting his glasses. "The safety these quarters provide allows for that freedom. But Gwenivere..."
His pale eyes meet mine with an intensity that makes me straighten.
"When you're taking classes outside, with the wicked world watching over you, things will be completely different."
I frown, trying to understand his meaning.
"Different how?" I ask, nervously tugging at the hem of my borrowed shirt. "Like the trials, where everyone was a douche?"
Nikolai's expression darkens, his golden aura flickering like a flame in wind.
"Like that," he confirms, "but worse."
My frown deepens as I look between them, searching for an explanation.
"The reason Wicked Academy is deemed unforgiving," Mortimer elaborates, his tone taking on that scholarly quality I'm beginning to associate with him, "isn't necessarily the challenges bestowed to make us stronger. No one truly objects to becoming a more powerful force in a world where hierarchy matters." He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. "It's the abuse received from fellow attendees, matched with the complete lack of genuine commitment and friendship."
"So it's like being an outcast all the time?" I ask, wrapping my arms around myself. "Never knowing if someone's being friendly because they mean it or because they're plotting something?"
Cassius nods, his shadows writhing with increased agitation.
"Yes," he says softly, gesturing to the mark on my neck. "Those who are bonded can't necessarily betray one another because you'd feel it. If we're ill, it affects our partner as well, though to a lesser degree."
A thought strikes me, making my stomach clench.
"Wait," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Does that mean if you guys die, I die too?"
They exchange glances before nodding slowly.
"Yes," Nikolai confirms, "but both Fae and Duskwalkers have practically infinite lives as long as we maintain our magical energy."
I process this for a moment before another realization hits.
"So technically," I say slowly, "I'll live longer than the average vampire's thousand-year lifespan because of our bond?"
They both pause, seeming to need a moment to process the vampire age reference before nodding in agreement.
"How old are you?" Mortimer asks suddenly, his scholarly curiosity evident.
I shift uncomfortably, aware of their focused attention.
"I think I'm twenty-two," I admit, "though my documents say eighteen." At their confused expressions, I continue, "The orphanage I stayed at burned down in an incident. When our documents had to be recreated, a lot of information was missing, so..." I trail off with a shrug, grateful when they don't press for more details.
Nikolai studies me for a moment before asking.
"If you're royalty, how do you know? Given the circumstances you've described..."
A smirk tugs at my lips as I meet his gaze.
"That's my secret," I say, enjoying the way his eyes narrow slightly. "But I simply know I am."
Mortimer and Cassius look to Nikolai, clearly expecting him to challenge my claim. Instead, he smirks and crosses his arms, leaning back against the kitchen island with casual grace.
"Well," he says, his voice carrying that infuriating mix of arrogance and charm, "it doesn't matter, seeing as she's my mate. She's royalty in my book regardless."
I cringe exaggeratedly, my nose wrinkling in disgust.
"Eww," I say, giving him my best sneer. "How romantic."
His chuckle fills the kitchen, rich and genuine, making the bond mark above my heart pulse with warmth.
"There's another reason for the discernment and cruelty between students," Mortimer interjects, his scholarly tone returning. "It contributes significantly to the point system."
I frown, wrapping my hands around my coffee mug.
"Point system?" The words taste bitter on my tongue, reminiscent of childhood games where the rules always seemed designed to ensure certain players could never win. "What's that all about?"
Mortimer rises from his seat with fluid grace, his movements precise as he crosses to a nearby drawer. He retrieves what looks like an oversized tablet, though its surface gleams with an otherworldly sheen that suggests it's far more than mere technology.
Magic ripples from his fingers as he waves his hand over the surface, igniting essence that coalesces into a complex chart.
The display spans four distinct sections, each labeled Year 1 through 4, and color-coded in ways that seem to pulse with their own inner light.
Year 1 catches my eye first, its mixture of green, purple, and blue creating an almost hypnotic swirl. The colors dance and merge like oil on water, beautiful yet somehow unsettling.
Year 2's section glows with golden undertones that remind me of Nikolai's aura, though there's something harder about these hues, less warm and more... competitive.
Year 3 blazes with striking red that seem to burn into my retinas, the shade mimicking the shade of blood that glows with luminosity.
Year 4 presents a vibrant blend of purple, blue, and pink that shouldn't work together yet somehow creates a mesmerizing display that gives me a vibe of rebirth.
Mortimer's finger hovers over Year 1, and the section expands to fill the entire board. The colors shift and swirl before settling into a more focused display —— a line graph that spikes dramatically upward before plummeting below a glowing red line that pulses like a living flame.
I feel rather than see Nikolai move to sit beside me, his presence warm and solid against my right side. Cassius slides off his stool to claim the seat on my left, his shadows curling around us all in a protective shroud.
The three of us face Mortimer as he positions the board, its display casting ethereal lights across his features. The moment feels heavy with significance as if we're about to learn something that will fundamentally change our understanding of this place.
My fingers tighten around my coffee mug, seeking warmth and comfort in its familiar weight. The bond marks pulse gently, responding to my unease with waves of reassurance —— Cassius's cool shadows and Nikolai's golden warmth working in harmony to steady my nerves.
Why do I even feel nervous when I know nothing about this?
The room falls silent while we listen for the soft hum of magic emanating from the board.
Mortimer adjusts his glasses, his pale eyes reflecting the dancing colors of the display. His expression carries that particular mix of academic fascination and grim acceptance that I'm beginning to associate with discussions of Wicked Academy's darker aspects.
The red line continues to pulse, drawing my attention like a beacon. Something about its rhythm feels wrong, almost predatory, as if it's not just a visual representation but a living thing waiting to devour the unwary.
"Before I explain," Mortimer says carefully, his voice cutting through the tension, "you need to understand that this system has been in place since the academy's founding. It's not just about measuring progress or ranking students." He pauses, his gaze meeting mine with unexpected intensity. "It's about survival in its most fundamental form."
A chill runs down my spine despite the warmth pressed against either side of me. The way he says 'survival' carries weight, suggesting consequences far beyond simple academic failure.
Nikolai shifts slightly beside me, his golden aura flaring protectively.
"Perhaps we should start with the basics," he suggests, his tone carefully neutral. "Before we dive into the more... complicated aspects."
We nod together, awaiting his vast knowledge which would give me a bit of a headstart in figuring out how I’m going to trend at the academy.
"The Years," Mortimer begins, "don't work based on time as you might expect. Inside Wicked Academy's walls, time flows differently than the outside world." His fingers trace the glowing lines on the board. "A normal day here could easily be a week or more in the outside realms, depending on which one you're measuring against."
I feel the blood drain from my face as the implications hit me.
"Wait," I whisper, my grip tightening on my mug. "Are you saying the two days I've spent here could already be..."
"Two weeks in your realm," Mortimer confirms with a slight nod. "Give or take a week or two. It's similar to how time works in Faerie —— where a single day there might equal a month in the mundane world."
My mind races with this new information.
Two weeks... Elena continues to be ill for two weeks while I've experienced only forty-eight hours. This means if I spend a week here, that could easily be two months.
Now that I can think straight, the implications are daunting.
The thought makes my stomach churn.
"So," I say slowly, piecing it together, "the students here know this. That's why they're so desperate to gain points quickly. So they can go home?"
Mortimer's expression grows more complex.
"Yes and no," he says carefully. "The point system rewards... certain behaviors. The more 'misbehaved, rude, and wicked' you are to an individual, the more points you can gain." He adjusts his glasses. "However, it depends entirely on how the individual reacts to the bullying. If they maintain emotional control and don't react initially, no points are awarded."
My gaze shifts to Cassius, understanding dawning.
"Is that why you try not to show emotions?" I ask softly.
He shakes his head, shadows rippling.
"I've always been like this," he says quietly. "It's more of a Duskwalker trait, though it doesn't mean I'm emotionless all the time. Very few individuals ignite any emotional response from me." His silver eyes meet mine. "You're probably one of the newest who can prompt me to actually talk."
Warmth blooms in my chest at his admission, making me feel oddly special.
Before I can dwell on it though, another thought strikes me.
"Where's Grim?"
As if summoned by his name, Mini Grim poofs into existence, complete with a tiny scythe and —— are those pajamas?
I can't suppress the squeal that escapes me as I scoop him up, admiring his adorable sleepwear.
"Were you sleeping?" I ask, completely charmed by this diminutive version of our usually imposing companion.
Grim raises his scythe in the air and declares, "Greee!"
The sound makes us all freeze. Cassius tilts his head, shadows writhing with increased agitation.
"He talked," he says, surprise evident in his usually controlled voice.
"Is he not supposed to?" I ask, glancing between them.
Nikolai shakes his head slowly, golden aura flickering with interest.
"Beings of shadow like him don't normally progress or change forms like this," he explains. "His development has been remarkably quick."
"It could have something to do with your bond," Mortimer muses, studying Mini Grim with scholarly fascination. "We'll need to research this in the library once we gain access."
Mini Grim responds with another cheerful "Gree!" before yawning widely. He floats from my hands to my shoulder, where he promptly curls up and falls asleep, a tiny scythe clutched to his chest.
"So cute," I whisper, trying to keep my voice down. I look at Mortimer with mock seriousness. "We have to talk quieter now."
Cassius shrugs when Mortimer glances his way.
"I can't control whether he appears or disappears apparently," he admits.
"Apparently as in you haven't had much control of him since the trial," Nikolai observes, his tone caught between amusement and curiosity.
The morning light catches on Mini Grim's sleeping form, making his pajamas sparkle faintly. The sight is so incongruous —— a being of death and shadow wearing star-patterned sleepwear —— that it perfectly encapsulates how strange my predicament continues to grow.
"Returning to the matter at hand," Mortimer says, adjusting his glasses, "the 'no' part of my earlier statement stems from the fact that most students are here because their families enlisted them."
I frown, my gaze darting between them as the implications sink in.
"Your families SENT you here to suffer?" The words come out sharper than intended, dripping with disbelief and something close to outrage.
Nikolai smirks at my obvious disgust, while Cassius remains characteristically calm.
"It's not necessarily to suffer," he says quietly, shadows writhing.
"Well, it sure looks that way!" I argue, trying to keep my voice down for Mini Grim's sake. "The whole place seems designed to make you either suffer or perish early. Why would any family send their offspring here?"
I pause, pointing at Cassius and Nikolai while being mindful of my sleeping shoulder companion.
"You two are royalty. Heirs, right?" When they both nod, I continue, my frustration building. "Then why would they possibly send the children who will one day take the throne to a place where time moves like molasses while the outside world races by? Not to mention the tiny detail that you can DIE! Did we just gloss over that part like it's not a life or death situation?"
Nikolai leans back in his chair, glancing at Cassius with amusement dancing in his golden eyes.
"She's kind of cute when she gets all annoyed about shit."
Cassius crosses his arms, nodding in agreement.
"Neither of you are taking me seriously!" I throw my hands up in exasperation, only to feel Mini Grim slip from his perch. "Oh no!"
My squeal of panic is cut short as Nikolai smoothly catches our tiny companion, gently returning him to my shoulder. Mini Grim doesn't even stir, his tiny scythe still clutched to his chest.
Relief floods through me as Mortimer clears his throat.
"Most parents are offered certain...benefits for sending their children here," he explains carefully. "For instance, families drowning in debt can receive a clean slate. Others, particularly royal families, view it as a proving ground for potential rulers." His expression darkens slightly. "And some simply want to rid themselves of unwanted offspring, hoping they might perish along the way."
I gawk at him, horror and fury warring in my chest.
"Then they're no better than parents who abandon their kids for having the wrong colored eyes!" The words burst from me, bitter and sharp. "That's utter bullshit!"
Nikolai sighs, his golden aura dimming slightly.
"It's very common among the Fae, actually," he says, his voice carrying centuries of resigned acceptance. "We exist in a culture obsessed with perfection. Looks, talent, skill, and the ability to rule. Without all of these, you're considered no better than an outcast."
The casual way he describes such cruelty makes my heart ache, especially given how easily he could have rejected me —— a hybrid of questionable lineage —— yet chose to accept our bond instead.
Some things, it seems, are universal; the capacity for both incredible cruelty and unexpected kindness.
"My family knows I'm heir by birthright," Nikolai continues, his tone deceptively light. "But I was sent here because I refused to submit to having a mate chosen to their liking."
I pause mid-retort, his words sinking in.
"Wait? They do arranged marriages? Fae?"
"All the time," Cassius answers, his voice carrying a weight of understanding. "What better way to continue the trend of perfection than by controlling who your offspring marry? They test DNA and genetics from youth, monitor vitamins to ensure no defects occur throughout development stages."
Horror creeps through me as I look between them, finally turning to Mortimer, silently pleading for him to say they're joking.
His sad smile and slight nod only confirms it.
"The Fae are exceptionally strict about their lines of power and perfection," he explains carefully, glancing at Nikolai with something like sympathy. "Those who are..." he pauses, measuring his words, "more defiant to family rules and requests are usually sent here as punishment, in hopes they'll survive long enough to be retrieved."
I stare at Nikolai, pieces clicking into place.
"So when you say you've lived for centuries, you're not joking. How long have you been here?"
Nikolai's expression turns thoughtful.
"I can't remember, to be fair," he admits. "I arrived around the same time as Cassius. We just adapted to Wicked Academy, hoping for an opportunity to leave. Since we weren't officially enrolled in the curriculum, we didn't face the constant trials."
The memory of Lord Bartholomew's disdain suddenly makes more sense. They weren't just troublesome princes — they were essentially squatters, using the academy as refuge without fully committing to its system.
"But when you return," I ask slowly, "won't you age?"
Cassius shakes his head, shadows rippling.
"Our paranormal cells are slowed exponentially here," he explains. "We don't really age much, even over extended periods."
"So you voluntarily remained here without enrolling," I say, connecting the dots. "That's why Lord Bartholomew said this was your final chance. Either properly enroll or face becoming outcasts, doing the walk of shame because they won't let you benefit from the academy anymore without participating."
"Checkmate," Nikolai confirms, looking pleased at my deduction.
His smile carries a hint of pride, but I can see the weight behind it —— centuries of avoiding arranged marriages and family expectations, using this place as both prison and sanctuary.
"But isn't it bad for you to stay here too long?"
Nikolai chuckles, the sound dark and bitter.
"That's part of the punishment," he explains. "They chose me, the one with the most potential to be heir, to send here. After my rather vocal disapproval of all potential suitors, what better way to get even?"
I process this, pieces clicking into place.
"So you stayed here," I whisper, "using the excuse that you'd enroll 'when the timing was right.' Centuries passed out there while only years went by in here, leaving your kingdom without an heir because they're too strict to break their own rules." My eyes widen as understanding dawns. "They can't put someone else on the throne because you're still alive and technically attending the academy they sent you to. Until you return, they can't do anything."
"Bingo," he confirms with a smirk. "Savage, don't you think?"
"Wickedly savage," I admit, unable to suppress my smile. "Wow. You're bad."
"A menace to society," he agrees proudly.
I turn to Cassius, catching his eye.
He holds my gaze for a moment before speaking.
"I didn't enroll because I had nothing to return to," he admits quietly. "My kingdom... they don't particularly like me. I'm an odd Duskwalker, not like the usual heartless ones." His shadows writhe with subtle agitation. "No one likes difference or change, so I'd rather deal with being an outcast here than return before finishing enrollment."
He pauses, then adds, "When we complete the program, we receive special documentation allowing us to travel between realms. Like a paranormal passport."
"Is that what you want to do?" I ask softly. "Travel the realms and learn about different species in our world?"
"Yeah," he mutters, looking away. "Seems fun."
The admission feels precious like he's sharing a secret dream he's never voiced aloud before. I can't help but smile, touched by this glimpse of vulnerability.
My attention shifts to Mortimer, wondering if he shares a similar story despite his position among the Seven.
"I'm still present because I haven't been given final permission to depart," he says carefully.
All three of us frown at this revelation.
"What do you mean permission?" I ask, confusion evident in my voice. "You can't just leave? You're one of the Seven, part of the fancy council of power here. When you're ready to retire, you can't just go?"
Mini Grim shifts slightly on my shoulder, reminding me to keep my voice down despite my growing concern. The implications of Mortimer's words send an uneasy chill down my spine.
Even the Seven aren't truly free here.
"That's why you're wanting to speak to the Headmaster," Nikolai whispers, realization dawning in his golden eyes. "You can't leave Wicked Academy otherwise."
Mortimer nods slowly, confirming our growing suspicions.
"The only way a member of the Seven can leave and be 'replaced' is through the Headmaster's approval," he explains carefully. "And they must have contributed to a graduating student's success."
"The survival rate of enrolled students is slim," Cassius mutters, shadows writhing. "Basically meaning you're stuck unless you get the Headmaster's approval."
Mortimer's smile doesn't reach his eyes, which carry the weight of countless years.
"You can't go empty-handed either," he notes. "You must present research or an artifact discovered on the property that holds value. Otherwise, why should the Headmaster grace you with freedom if you bring nothing in return?"
The logic makes sense, despite its cruel implications. It's heinous, but apparently par for the course in this place.
"What if," I say slowly, an idea forming, "I found the chalice, and after using it to heal my sister, I gave it to you to present to the Headmaster?" The plan builds as I speak. "That could be our priority, and if we have to finish the years here to leave, we'd be deemed as graduating students. You'd be the professor associated with our success and finally free to go."
When you piece it together, it fits perfectly.
"That...would work," Mortimer admits thoughtfully.
I clap my hands together, enthusiasm building.
"Then we'll just have to get enough points to excel through the years, and along the way we'll get the chalice for my sister!" The plan unfolds in my mind like a beautiful strategy. "Then voila – Nikolai can say fuck you to his family and claim his throne, Cassius can travel the world, and Mortimer will be free from Wicked Academy's shackles to do whatever he wants!"
My diabolical grin fades as I notice them all staring at me.
"Why would you help us graduate?" Cassius asks quietly, his silver eyes intense.
"Well, we're bonded, aren't we?" I pause, glancing at Mortimer. "And I don't mind helping you because you're really knowledgeable, like a true professor. I'm basically a weird nerd girl who thrives on studying, so helping is just a bonus."
I turn back to Nikolai and Cassius with a shrug.
"You two are in predicaments against your will. Being kind gives you no points, while being assholes barely moves the needle on the point board. If we work together, we can beat these trials and deal with all the mean bullshit faster." My enthusiasm returns. "Hell, we could be the first to graduate in who knows how long! Surely the trial already helped us get loads of points, right?"
Mini Grim stirs slightly on my shoulder, letting out a tiny "gree" in his sleep as if agreeing with my plan.
"How close are we to passing Year 1?" I ask Mortimer, hope threading through my voice.
He studies the chart thoughtfully.
"We actually surpassed Year 1 stage," he admits, "but must have missed a requirement, which caused this slight descent toward the line."
I nod, determination rising.
Whatever requirement we missed, we'll overcome it.
"Today, it doesn't matter how shitty Wicked Academy is," I declare. "As Gabriel, I'll take all the bullshit they throw at us until we're back past that line and done with Year 1!"
Proud of my resolution, I plant my hands on my hips.
"Now we just need that hissy vampire. Where's Damien? Haven't seen him all morning. Did he go get blood packs or something?"
Their silence makes my smile fade.
"What? What happened?"
"Damien left our group," Nikolai says quietly. "Which is probably the missing requirement we need for Year 1 graduation since he's a royal vampire."
"What do you mean he left?" I frown. "Why would he leave? And I'm a vampire and royal. Why don't I count?"
"It's about power dynamics and balance," Nikolai explains. "Damien has potential pureblood qualities, which over-qualifies him beyond normal royal status. We need someone with a unique blend of traits to stabilize us." He gestures around the room. "Cassius has Lord potential. I'm a Fae Heir with a secured throne. You're a triple threat – vampire, magic user, and royal. With Mortimer as our Seven guide, we would've been complete, but Damien left."
"Why?" I huff, crossing my arms. "What, is he jealous or something?"
Their silence speaks volumes.
"He likes you," I say to Nikolai, whose frown deepens.
"Our dynamic is...fluid," Cassius explains carefully. "There are times when vampires crave fresh blood. I'm emergency-only since my blood needs magical filtering. Nikolai was the usual choice."
Nikolai sighs, shrugging.
"Blood retrieval gets both parties... aroused," he admits. "We've had our share of one-night things. Guess he assumed it meant more because I let him feed when needed."
"No," I shake my head firmly. "That's not how it works. Just because I fuck someone I like for sexual needs doesn't mean we're in a relationship." I gesture to our bond marks. "This is different…fate, destiny, all that madness. But realistically, he can't assume you two were a thing without asking. Can't gatekeep without an official claim."
Nikolai's slight smile shows appreciation for my understanding.
"Damien thinks differently," he says. "Probably thinks your 'powerful coochie' will steal me away."
My face burns red as Mortimer clears his throat.
Cassius just smirks.
"Anyway," Nikolai's expression turns serious, "stay away from him."
"Why?"
"Because Damien's an ass otherwise," Cassius explains. "At home he's the seductive prince with an explosive temper, but at Wicked Academy, he's intentionally insufferable. And vampires band together. Now that you've taken what he considers 'his'..."
"Right. Vampires and grudges." I sigh heavily. "Don't worry about it. If I have to be a bitch…er, asshole douche…so be it. I've been bullied plenty. Tripped, pushed, thrown off a cliff..."
"What?" they chorus.
I cringe.
"Pretend you didn't hear that. Just know I have a bad reaction to water, so avoid that and I'm good."
"What, like you'll melt?" Nikolai asks.
I give him my best 'are you stupid' look.
He shrugs defensively.
"Long story short," I summarize, "I had a man. A good one I thought would be mine. Another guy didn't like that, so he orchestrated some bullying. One thing led to another, and apparently dunking my head in water for 45 minutes was hilarious."
Their horrified stares make me shrug uncomfortably.
"Just fun and games, right? Watch the silver-haired bitch they deemed worthless fight for breath, makeup streaming... apparently entertaining for paranormals." I force a casual tone. "So yeah, slight PTSD there. Help me avoid those situations and I won't spiral into maddening chaos."
"Maddening chaos?" Mortimer questions.
"Oh, I have bipolar disorder. From the witch side. Don't worry, I only summon the dead worthy of enacting my revenge, so no big deal."
They gawk at me again.
"Maybe I should stop talking," I mutter. "Let's just put our hands in and cheer to a new academic year?"
Nikolai approaches instead, asking for my wrist.
Confused, I watch as he raises it, snapping his fingers. Vines materialize, wrapping around his hand first, sprouting thorns that draw his blood.
The crimson drops fall onto my pulse point, transforming into an intricate tattoo like a thorned rosary.
Cassius appears behind me, offering his hand wrapped in black thorns. His blood joins Nikolai's at my pulse point, forming a miniature scythe symbol.
The gesture feels sacred, and significant in ways I don't yet understand.
The tattoo finalizes with a pulse that sends shivers through my entire body.
"Why...did you two just do that?" Mortimer asks, surprise evident in his voice.
"What exactly did they do?" I look between them. "Because I don't know shit."
"The mark claims official ownership," Nikolai explains. "The symbol will make it very clear to anyone, royal or not, that you belong to royal suitors and can't be messed with unless they wish to ignite a war."
"W-War?!" I stutter, looking between them in shock. "Like your people," I gesture to Nikolai, then Cassius, "and your Duskwalker masses will literally start a war with anyone who crosses me? Why would you do that?"
Nikolai's expression hardens.
"No one messes with what I claim as mine," he says simply but the power pulsing in his voice is very clear. "Even if I have to be an ass outside these walls, there's no way anyone is dunking you like a basketball for entertainment."
"This will project such consequences," Cassius adds darkly, "and we'll fix that with the mere thought of hurting you."
"How?" I ask. "Find and haunt them until the reaper claims their soul?"
Their serious expressions make me pause.
"Wait, you can do that?"
"Cassius can," Nikolai confirms. "And I have more than enough money to pay it off."
"I knew you two were possessive motherfuckers," Mortimer mutters, "but your loyalty is rather nice to witness firsthand."
"Hey," Nikolai protests, "you've been a loyal pet to us."
"Why do they call you a pet like you're an animal?" I ask Mortimer.
"Oh. Isn't that obvious?" Cassius points at him. "He's our group's pet dragon."
I stare, dumbfounded.
"Pet... what now?” I must have misheard or hallucinated that mention because there ain’t no way. “DRAGON?! Like the breathing flames of fury type?!"
"A King Dragon, to be fair," Nikolai adds casually. "And yes. By supernatural law, we must claim him as our 'pet' for security and protection. Other paranormals like hunting royal beings – they're harder to catch outside but easier to kidnap here. If they survive long enough to escape with them."
"Well shit," I whisper. "Duskwalker prince, Fae prince, and a Dragon King under one roof?!"
"GREE!"
We all flinch as Mini Grim announces his presence, now awake and sporting an adorable cloak ensemble complete with oversized glasses. He floats upward, beginning to chant.
Just when I think this place can't get any more surreal...
"So... I guess we just have to find one more member for our odd equation of powerhouses and we'll enter Year 2," I say brightly. "That should be easy! Think happy thoughts."
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, hanging in the air like a challenge to fate itself.
Even Mini Grim pauses his chanting to give me what I swear is a judgmental look from behind his new glasses.
I can only hope I didn't set myself up for failure with such lines of hope.