Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Lena
“Iam not leaving right now! By my calculation, I still have thirteen hours and twenty-five minutes left to make my decision. Even if I did decide to take this deal, I need to make arrangements.” Lie, I’m an excellent escape artist. “And pack my things.” Lie, I’m always packed.
“I have to give notice to my job.” Lie, I’m a slip-and-dip virtuoso.
“And say goodbye to my friends.” Lie, I ghost like my name is Patrick Swayze.
“And just so we’re clear, I don’t fully trust either of you! ” Truth.
“You shouldn’t fully trust anyone, Miss Solis,” Kian says with the utmost sincerity. “But unfortunately, returning to your apartment isn’t the wisest course of action. They might have eyes on your home. We can have someone send your things once you’re settled at the institute.”
Balls! He’s probably right.
“You and I both know you are an expert runner.”
Touché. Can he hear my inner monologue? “Who sent Luke? Who’s after me?” I push. “I’m not going anywhere until I know that much.”
“Who specifically?” Kian gestures to Teariki to turn. “It could be any number of magicae. But there are individuals known for kidnapping untrained magicae to utilize their power.”
“Shit!” I yell. “Damnit! Are you seriously kidding me with this absolute load of elephant excrement?” I throw my hands up in the air, pulling out my most liberating Russian phrases.
“Gah! Idi na hui! Chtob tebe deti v’sup srali!
” Translation: Fuck off! I hope your children shit in your soup!
And I really, really do. As much as I want to fight them on this, as much as I want to presto chango alakazam myself out of here and go back to my life of rule following on the run, I don’t think I can.
“Alright!” I scream, reluctantly and full of vitriol, conceding to Kian’s logic. I glare out the window, pouting, as the SUV speeds through the damp city streets.
Okay, glass half empty: This is completely absurd, and I may be about to get stuffed into a van and murdered.
What’s that saying, never go willingly to a second location?
But glass half full: They did halt my kidnapping, and they’re going to a crap ton of trouble to get me to this school.
Alternatively, glass half full but it happens to be full of Luke’s urine: These men have the answers about the Solis family and who’s hunting me.
Unfortunately, in order to get those answers, I’ll have to wade through the intricacies of a secret, ominous, and likely dangerous magical realm and try not to break The Rules along the way.
Call me Dana Scully because I’m clearly in an X-file.
“How do I know this ‘deal’ is genuine?” I ask and then mumble to myself, “I didn’t even get a chance to stalk you both on social media, and Luke tossed my phone.”
“We have a contract drafted. You can review it on the plane,” Kian replies.
I guess that’s as good as anything.
“So to the airport?” Teariki asks.
I steel myself and wave them on with an irritated flick of my wrist.
“Good, because we’re already halfway there,” he replies with a wink in the rearview mirror. “I guess we won’t miss the welcome luncheon after all.”
“You seem a little too happy by that development,” Kian taunts.
“Fuck yeah, I am. I love those little tiny mini quiches!” Teariki pantomimes holding a small hors d’oeuvre in his large hand.
I’m tired. I’m irritable. I’m itchy. And I’m covered in the blood of an antisocial, impotent kidnapper. Not to mention I’m being dragged across the city by two annoying (albeit very attractive) know-it-alls in a car that smells like pee.
I cross my arms with an exasperated huff and look up out of the moonroof. How did I go from thinking I was about to get dicked down by the cover model of Lumberjack Monthly to this full-scale operational debacle? This is what I get. This is what happens when you don’t follow the bloody Rules.
The SUV pulls through an industrial chain-link gate somewhere outside of the city and right up to a jet on the tarmac of a small airport.
Petra’s waiting, looking completely put together—and not at all terrified—for someone about to go on a red-eye flight, with a shopping bag in one hand and a garment bag in the other.
I follow her and Teariki up a set of boarding stairs.
Well, this is swanky; the cabin’s full of light wood veneer and plush cream carpet.
Large reclining seats and sofas made of the lushest-looking beige leather are spread throughout, with all the legroom I could ever desire.
Teariki takes a seat in one of the recliners.
I’m hesitant to touch anything out of fear that I’ll soil the fine materials.
I am, after all, to my horror, covered in blood.
So I just stand in the center of the aisle like a debauched Spirit Halloween mannequin in a gratuitously graphic window display.
“Wheels up in five. Here.” Kian throws a ball of clothing at Teariki. “We don’t need the jet to absorb that odor.” He hands me a first aid kit and the shopping bag his assistant was carrying. “Petra did the best she could.”
“Uh, thanks.” I glance in the bag, finding clothing. “That’s really kind of her and you.”
He smiles briefly and directs me to the luxurious bathroom.
After I’m no longer sporting blood like it’s the next trendy accessory, I change into the matching set of sweats and slippers—all embroidered with the logo of the Huxley Hotel Spa. It’s official; I look like a walking, talking billboard—really cementing my potential career as a mannequin.
I settle into the cabin, curling up on a soft sofa.
I’ve never been on a plane before, due to my lack of legitimate legal documentation.
I got by with counterfeits for jobs. Anyone can fake a background check.
But I never trusted my ability to get past airline security.
I know flying isn’t typically like this.
Kian is clearly rich rich. Not even like “doesn’t have to check the menu prices” rich, more like “buying out a private box on his favorite pop star’s next world tour without thinking twice about it” rich.
The engine rumbles.
I grip the armrest for dear life.
Teariki glances over at me from his seat across the aisle.
“Fearlessly and repeatedly punches a dude with a gun, but takeoff makes you nervous?” He chuckles, shaking his head.
I try to think of some smart-ass comeback about being unaware Luke had a gun until after I started hitting him, but I’m too busy trying not to vomit up that glass of champagne, so I just grimace and promise myself I’ll find a way to get under his skin later.
After a while, when the plane seems to even out and my stomach has stopped planning its revolt on my body, I nod off.
I wake cocooned in a blanket. I keep my eyes closed, reluctant to emerge fully from my half-asleep daze and the softness of the cozy throw.
Is this what cashmere feels like? I give it a little sniff, I don’t know why.
Do I think I know what cashmere smells like?
If it smells like saffron and amber, then this is definitely cashmere.
I tune into a conversation of tense whispered voices.
“They’re not going to be pleased.” The deep murmur at the front of the cabin rises over the recognizable sound of the shifting of ice in a glass.
“I’d say that’s the understatement of the year. We can’t guarantee her insignis,” a second, slightly deeper, timbre counters.
“She’s been enrolled with what we know. That’s all we can do without further observation,” the first voice qualifies. “I’ll handle the Cross-Kingdom Council. They’ll need to understand this is better than the alternative.”
A feminine voice chimes in, “The alternative where she continues pretending to be human?”
“No, the alternative where she ends up in the wrong hands,” the deeper voice corrects.
“To be used against us,” the first voice adds.
I try to keep listening, but I’m too exhausted and comfortable, still cocooned in this gentle blanket. I’m rapidly rocked back to sleep by the glide of the plane.
“Lena.”
I’m awoken by a soft touch to my arm.
“We’re about to land.”
I open my eyes to Teariki crouched next to the sofa.
“You need to sit up for descent.”
“Oh, we’re at the institute?” I ask.
“No, just a quick pit stop to pick up the others in NYC,” Teariki explains as I sit up.
I blink the sleep out of my eyes as we land at a private terminal in a large commercial airport just in time to see the sunrise begin to peek through the skyline of New York City.
Landing’s not as terrifying as takeoff, but I can’t say I’m signing up for SkyMiles anytime soon.
I stare in a daze out the window as a black car pulls up.
Its chrome details refract vivid shades of reds and golds as baggage handlers load luggage into the hold.
Two people about my age exit the car. The first is tall—at least six foot—lean, and slender with pale skin and a mop of copper wavy curls with wisps shining rose gold in the early light.
Their face is strikingly delicate, yet still strong.
Their high cheekbones sparkle with a dusting of copper freckles accentuated by a sweep of iridescent gold highlighter, which is an exact match to the gold makeup lining their lash line.
They’re almost too beautiful. It nearly hurts my chest to look at them, as if on some unconscious level my body wants to protect that beauty, keep it safe at all costs.
Ethereal, there’s no other word to describe that kind of heart-wrenching radiance.