Chapter 3 #2
Kian side-eyes Teariki but adds, “Unsubstantiated rumors. They are assumed dead.”
No, nope! I need to get out of here!
“Miss Solis, do you mean to tell me that you have no idea what or who you are?” Kian asks.
I shove my fear and anxiety down, right into that place at the center of my body that seems to be crackling and flickering behind my rib cage.
I focus on a much more productive feeling: anger.
Who’s this man to come into my bar, in my (temporary) city, and talk to me about my mostly dead family?
Who’s he to try and tell me about my mother (who, sure, I’ve never met)?
Just to remind me that I have no one and that the only person that I’ve ever loved is dead?
Screw him and his designer fucking socks!
At this point, I’m fairly certain they aren’t trying to off me.
Frankly, I’m a lot of work that could be more easily dealt with by a long-range sniper rifle.
So I let my bulldozer mouth run full steam ahead.
“No, I know exactly who and what I am. I’m Lena, and sometimes Sunny, and sometimes other names, but not ‘Miss Solis,’” I say, using airquotes.
“I’m a stellar bartender, a so-so baker, a loved one in mourning, an avid gothic horror reader, and a damn good lay.
” I slam my drink down, standing in an attempt to move to the exit with my dignity intact.
But Big Man blocks my way. I stare up into his eyes, throwing every ounce of “I’m not afraid of you” into my expression.
Kian’s voice rings out behind me. “While all that might be true, and I will have to take your word for it, I have an opportunity for you…unless you would rather keep running?”
I don’t move, committing to the most intense staring contest of all time with Teariki. “Running is good, keeps you healthy.” In the figurative sense. In the literal sense, running is a nightmare—couldn’t catch me on a treadmill. Hard pass.
“It must be difficult, lonely, to live on the run, especially after losing your brother,” Kian says. “I can offer you another option.”
It is difficult, it is lonely, it fucking sucks. My shoulders sag just slightly.
“Humor me, Miss Solis,” he says. “Sunny, Vladlena…Which do you prefer?”
“Vladlena, or just Lena,” I say, still staring up into Teariki’s hazel eyes. It’s been so long since anyone has called me by my name. Even Dmitri rarely used it. I turn to face Kian, ending my stare-off, but I make no move to sit back down. “Well, let’s hear it.”
“Lena, I would like you to enroll in the Sidera Institutione Altiorem Magicae. It’s an institution for advanced study for magically talented people.”
I give him a suspicious once-over.
“We would have enrolled you in Sidera’s educational program sooner if we’d been able to find you.”
All this to go to college? What happened to a good old-fashioned brochure? “You want to send me to college? Why?” I cock a brow in disbelief.
“This isn’t a college. All of the other students would have already completed their collegiate education.
Think of it more like a graduate school.
Students specialize in a specific form of magic.
While typically it’s required that students obtain a certain level of practice before attending, we’ve made exceptions in the past. There are no records of you having formal primary or secondary magical education, but considering your unique circumstances, the institute’s chancellor is willing to make an exception for you, with a few concessions, of course. ”
“So what’s the catch?” I know how these things work—nothing is ever given for free. No one in designer shoes is going to all this trouble to track down a bartender who graduated from cyber school just to convince them to attend some fancy magical graduate program.
“Simple really, you get four years of tutelage, with fully funded tuition, in exchange for a four-year work contract with one of the Sidera courts.” He catches my questioning look and explains, “After you graduate, you will work for our government. The one I work for.” He cracks a smile full of egotistical charm.
“Yes, I didn’t lie about what I do. You will be paid a competitive wage and be assigned a position based upon your skills.
“All students are required to reside on campus for the duration of their enrollment. We have secured a needs-based scholarship for you that serves students who, like you, come to understand their relationship to the realm by uncommon means. Your room and board is covered by the scholarship. You will also be provided with a meal plan and academic supplies.” He swallows a sip of his drink.
“Additionally, the school takes the protection of its students very seriously. The students that attend are the future leaders of the realm, and as such, security is extremely tight. You will be entirely protected on campus. It’s the safest place you could be. ”
Somehow I doubt that. Dmitri taught me that there is only ever safety in following The Rules.
“So you’re like an army recruiter?” I regard him with suspicion, my bulldozer mouth doing its thing.
“Luring teenagers with the promise of an education and a good job in exchange for their life on the line?”
“Absolutely not, Miss Solis,” he admonishes me sharply.
“First, you are not a teenager—your prefrontal cortex is much closer to being fully developed. Second, the Realm of Sidera is long past bogarting marginalized people into enlisting in military service. Something the government of this country could learn from.” He flicks his wrist, gesturing around the room.
“And lastly, we take great pains to make sure everyone who devotes time to working in the courts is living up to their potential. If you are more talented at bartending than anything else, I’m sure we could find you a position in the events sector.
All we require is the opportunity to assess your other talents to determine the best position for you after you complete your education. ”
“And what other talents would those be? My mediocre baking or my killer bedroom skills?” I ask innocently, concealing my snark.
“Well, the courts have pretty high standards for both.” Kian meets my eyes without an ounce of amusement.
I can’t tell if he’s joking, but I think I’m a little turned on. Mostly confused and annoyed but still there’s a twinge of something sexy fluttering in my core.
“So what will it be, Miss Solis? A life of loneliness and frantic moves from state to state or an education and a community?”
“When do I have to decide?” I need to get out of this room to clear the haze from my head.
“The semester starts on Monday. You have fourteen hours. We leave for the institute tomorrow,” he answers, as Petra hands me a business card. “My number. Text me before noon.”
As Teariki walks me to the door, Kian adds, “Oh and, Miss Solis, if we were able to find you, others will too. I doubt we’re the only ones looking. Do be careful.” With that thinly veiled threat, I strut out of the room with Teariki on my heels.
The hallway lights are a bright juxtaposition to the cloudy dreamlike daze I’m in. A gentle tug on my elbow persuades me to turn around.
“Lena, take this offer seriously. It’s a good deal.” Teariki’s eyes have softened from the stone-hard glare he displayed in the suite.
“I will,” I assure him. I glance over my shoulder toward the elevator. I should make my exit, but not knowing will bother me. “Did you really like the drink I made you, or were you just trying to get past my defenses?”
“I really did like it.” He gives me the softest smile. “What’s Cynar anyway?”
A laugh bursts out of me. “It’s an amaro made from artichoke.”
“Seems pretentious.”
I let out an unbecoming snort, shaking my head. “It kind of is.”
I saunter down the hallway. “Goodbye, Teariki.” I wave a hand over my shoulder without looking back.
“Hope to see you soon, Lena.”
The moment the elevator doors close, the casual smile drops from my face.
Holy hairy shit balls! I yank my phone from my dress pocket.
Luke texted—he’s here. Fuck me, I can’t go to a freaking house party right now!
I need to put as much distance between myself and whatever the hell that was.
I have to go home, throw my duffle bags into my car, and bounce.
My car—which is currently parked outside of said house party.
Damnit, Eli! Why couldn’t you have a more convenient boring white-guy hobby like drinking craft beer or watching Matthew McConaughey movies?
I clock out, quickly emptying my locker of personal effects and shoving them into my purse. I hug Carley, promising (lying) to fill her in on all the details tomorrow before the brunch shift (that I’ll be ditching).
I meet Luke at the employee entrance, offering up a hello to the world’s most awkward twentysomething.
We drive across town in silence, and for once, I’m thankful for his lack of commentary; I’m too in my head to engage.
I’m dizzy with information, like I went thirty rounds on the Tilt-A-Whirl ride at Myrtle Beach and am now gripped with the urge to vomit.
On one hand, I can’t trust these rich assholes.
That deal can’t be the whole story. Can it?
On the other hand, an opportunity like that, if it’s real, could change the trajectory of my life.
He knew about my family, spoke their barbed names casually as if all those shrapnel vowels and razor-sharp consonants had no bearing on their tongues.
Monikers I swore never to utter because names have power.
And if magic is real, how can I possibly keep running?
I know nothing about how to evade those who can use magic.
It’s only been two years since Dmitri died.
Without his help, how long until someone else catches up to me?
I wipe the side window, which is fogged from the rain and Luke’s habit of smoking in the car. Wait, we’re no longer heading in the direction of the party.
“Did the location get moved?” That happens sometimes with these underground shows.
“Huh?” He side-eyes me, the hair under his beanie falling into his face. “Oh yeah, the party. They had a last-minute change.”
“Hmm. Glad you’re in the know because Eli didn’t text me.” That asshole. I pick up my phone to give him hell over text.
Sunny: Hey rockstar! The location of the party got moved? Wish you would have told me.
Eli: Hey babe! I’m on in 5, get those sweet cheeks over here! It didn’t move. House on Jefferson.
“Uh, Eli said it’s still at the house on Jefferson. We’re going in the wrong direction,” I point out, bouncing my foot in irritation, counting the minutes until I can go home.
“This is a shortcut,” Luke says confidently.
I roll my eyes, knowing full well it isn’t.
“I’ve lived in this city longer than you. You haven’t even been here a year.” He grits his teeth. Men and their apparent refusal to believe a woman could be better at directions than them. Wait, how did he know that?
“No, Luke. I grew up here.” A rehearsed lie that has been a part of my practiced personal history for the last eight months, so there’s no way I’d have slipped up. I look over at him distrustfully, the yellow light of the intersection casting his features in an eerie glow.
“Cut the crap, Sunny. Me and you both know you’re an orphan from New Jersey.”
I suck in a breath. Not exactly, but it’s close enough to the truth and nowhere near my practiced lies. “Luke, pull over and let me drive,” I demand as calmly as I can manage.
He says nothing, staring straight ahead and picking up speed, running a red light.
“You’re driving like a jerkoff. Are you high?
Pull the hell over, and let me out!” I pinch his side, the skin right above the ribs, with all my strength, which admittedly isn’t much.
I’m not about to become the victim of vehicular manslaughter because some dude with social anxiety decided to take the edge off while pregaming.
“Get off me, you slut!” he yells, while jerking the wheel, narrowly avoiding oncoming traffic.
“What are you, a fucking incel?” I shout.
“Pull. The. Hell. Over.” I articulate each word with a punch to his side.
It’s my first time hitting someone, and I’m not sure how effective it is.
But my fight-or-flight instincts are already activated from the interaction earlier tonight, and I really want to be the one behind the wheel.
“I didn’t want to have to do this, thought you’d be nice.” He yells, pulling out a gun from under his hoodie and pointing it at me.
“Holy fuck, Luke! A gun? This isn’t Texas! Put that away,” I screech, my eyes widening. Though, I’m glad to see I still keep my wit when I’m about to become the subject of a true crime podcast.
“Shut up and sit quietly, or I’ll put a bullet in your leg,” he threatens, his voice shaky and edged.
I face forward, racking my brain for what to do. I pull out my phone, trying to hide it under my leg. Do I call 911? Can you text 911? I should know this! Just as I’m composing a text to 911, my phone is yanked from my hand.
“I’m serious, I’ll fucking shoot you.” Luke rolls down his window and throws my phone out.
Are. You. Kidding. Me?!