Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Lena
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I grumble, as I scroll through the brutal comments.
“Yeah, dude, you don’t look good,” Naomi agrees, way too readily for my liking. “I mean, this sucks, but is it really impacting you that much?”
“Yes!” I whisper too loudly. I let out a breath.
“No, not really. I’ve been feeling sick.
This has been the week from hell. I just need to sleep it off for, like, fifteen hours straight tomorrow.
” I scrunch my eyes up, trying to focus on my internal mantra.
I’m a fucking ray of sunshine. The harder I chant it in my head, the easier it will be to ignore this strange sinking feeling in my gut.
This swoopy feeling happens every time I see a clip of myself screaming on my Enchantagram feed.
Maybe I need to see a doctor? “I’m going to need a nap if I have any hope of making it to my date tonight. ”
“You have a date!?” Gemma grabs my arm from across the table, a wild expression painting her face. “With who? Details now!” Turns out the usually quiet angel transforms into a gremlin who was fed after midnight at the mention of romantic gossip.
“Um. Michi? I don’t know his last name. We’ve only spoken, like, twice.” I pick at my oatmeal, unable to eat.
“What does he look like?” she asks, with wide eyes as she clutches my arm tighter. At least her vise-like grip is distracting me from my twisting stomach.
“Damn, girl. Loosen the grip.” I pry her fingers from my forearm. “Hot, tall, big.” I make a bodybuilder pose with my arms. “Long blonde hair. Very Fabio of him.”
“Michi Gatti?” Aki asks, with a devilish smirk. I snap and give him a finger gun in confirmation.
“What’s a Fabio?” Gemma asks like I just mentioned the newest fashion trend she hasn’t heard of but intends to fully commit to.
“Um, how does one describe Fabio?” I ponder out loud, tapping my finger on my lips. “You know what, let’s go with Chris Hemsworth, like the guy who plays Thor.”
“OH, Michi! He’s very attractive.” Gemma sighs with a daydreamy expression. “And sweet!”
Naomi scrunches her face at Gemma’s description as she devours her bagel and lox.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, sipping my perfectly poured nitro cold brew and resisting the urge to read more comments on my phone.
“Nothing, he just doesn’t seem like your type, I guess.” She shrugs. “All muscle and ego. I picture you more with a brooding morally gray magica who can relate to your specific sense of humor.”
“Someone’s been hitting the dark romance section a little hard!” I tease.
“Hey, the heart wants what it wants.” She smirks over her mug of Earl Grey. “And mine wants a mysterious woman with questionable morals, a traumatic backstory, and eyes only for me.”
“She sounds perfect for you! And you are right, Michi’s not exactly my type.
” I laugh. “Well, I don’t really have a type.
I’m an equal opportunity dater.” I wink.
It’s true, I’ve never had a type. It’s very David Rose of me—I like the wine and not the label and all that.
The rules of my lifestyle don’t really allow for long-term commitment.
So most of my romantic encounters have been situationships and one-off hookups.
Eli the DJ was my longest relationship and that was primarily one of convenience.
If I stay here for four years, I might actually have the opportunity to date.
“Also, there aren’t really many people who don’t hate me, so my options are kind of slim.
” I continue to scroll through hate comments.
“Do you all have a type outside of the main characters in romance novels?”
“Meh, my dating prospects are nearly nonexistent.” Naomi rolls her eyes. “If you think your options are slim, try being an alpha’s daughter and a lesbian.”
“Ouch,” Aki agrees. “Glad I’m not so restricted.”
“Yeah, Aki, there are a lot of pretty fae princes around,” Naomi teases.
“Callum?” I ask in shock. Okay, not so much shock; I’ve caught Aki staring at Callum at least three times this week.
“Oh stop! We are not compatible at all. I just think they are nice to look at,” he whisper-argues. “They were my first kiss when I was twelve at fae camp, and I used to have a little thing for them.”
“I mean, how can you not? Their hair literally sparkles.” I sigh into my cold brew and thumbs-down a particularly nasty comment claiming that I peed my pants during my daymare fiasco.
“I’m not looking for anything beyond hookups right now anyway. I have my Faeflame account active,” Aki says in between bites of his scrambled eggs.
Naomi leans over after catching my confused look. “Like Tinder or Hinge but for Elementum.”
“I’m meeting up with this witch this weekend.” Aki pulls up a photo on his phone of a half-naked man with forest-green hair, and he and Gemma start dissecting their messages together.
“Gemma?” Naomi asks. We all turn to face Gemma, who turns bright red and busies herself with her smoothie bowl and mumbles something about wingspan and feather length.
My bones hurt; getting thrown around is starting to take a serious toll on my health. I woke from an afternoon nap, still exhausted, and hopped in the shower. I focus on the hot water pounding into my sore muscles. At least this creepy building has fantastic water pressure.
Mentally, all things considered, I’ve been handling all this very well, if I do say so myself.
In the last week, I’ve learned I may be some magical seraphim creature and probably am half something else.
Although I’m fairly certain I have no special powers and can’t fly.
I got kidnapped at gunpoint and then flown to a posh school in the middle of the woods in New Hampshire.
Now I’m surrounded by assholes who are hell-bent on torturing me for things out of my control.
All of that and I somehow have not completely dissociated. I’ll take it as a win.
I’m still undecided on what I’m going to do about this whole situation.
I know I need to get my things from Portland and access to my cash to have real decision-making power.
Weighing my options, I could either stay here for these four years and complete the contract I signed.
Or, once I’ve learned what exactly Dmitri was keeping from me, who we were running from, and how to avoid them—including what advantages magic can bring me and how certain members of my family play into this whole world—I could initiate a disappearing act and return to my life of following The Rules.
And while I know Dmitri always signaled that there were consequences to not following The Rules, being here feels right.
Now that the possibility of a stable home is on the table, can I even go back to my old life and spend the rest of it running, always looking over my shoulder?
Moreover, can I pass up the opportunity to live in this fantastical world?
No matter what, I need to find some actual shampoo and conditioner.
I stroll into Arcane Apéritif at 6:45, fully ignoring my curfew and avoiding Babysitter Boden, since it’s Friday and they can’t expect me to have no social life.
This cocktail and tapas bar in the Komarov Center is outfitted in rich red velvet curtains and jewel-toned sofas placed around low black marble tables.
It’s giving Modern Gothic chic, right up my alley.
The hostess escorts me to a corner table where Michi’s waiting.
“You look great.” He smiles, standing to greet me.
My outfit doesn’t look half bad. I cut one of my grandma A-line dresses to mid-thigh and ditched the sleeves, replacing them with spaghetti straps by using the ribbons from the bottom of the dress.
It’s pretty amazing what one can do with a pair of scissors, a needle and thread—which I commandeered from Gemma—and the driving need to look cute that only a twenty-two-year-old woman who grew up watching reality TV can have. I. Look. Awesome.
“Thank you, you’re not too bad yourself,” I flirt. He looks good in dark trousers and an oxford. His hair is combed back into a sleek bun. “This place is cool. I’m shocked this is on campus.”
“Yeah, the institute does a good job of catering to student nightlife. If they didn’t, we’d end up invading the rural towns, and you can imagine that wouldn’t go well.” He laughs and hands me a cocktail menu. “All the drinks are Sciathán themed since the pre-season just began.”
“I know very little about the sport, if I’m honest.” I peruse the drink list.
“Really? So I get to be the person to introduce you to it?” His face lights up. “I’m on our campus team.”
“That’s cool.” I don’t have a lot of opinions about sports in general, but I can tell it’s something he cares about. “What do you do on the team?”
“I’m the blindside flanker,” he says, as the server comes over to take our drink order.
“Well, in that case, I’ll order the Flanker’s Fizz.” I smile at the server. I turn to Michi. “It says it’s inspired by the flankers’ agility and speed on the field. I’m guessing you’re superfast, then?”
“I think so.” He beams and explains the different positions on a team, and while I don’t fully care, he’s so beautiful to look at that I find myself enraptured with his descriptions. “Shifters make good flankers because we’re larger. We do a lot of tackling and lifting of other team members.”
“You’re a shifter?” I ask and then quickly stumble, embarrassed and not sure of the social protocol. “Wait, is that rude to ask?”
“No. Though I’m not asked a lot. Usually people just know because of our naming traditions.
Plus, most of us grew up together,” he says, as our drinks are served.
Mine’s a pretty purple fizzy cocktail of gin, elderflower liqueur, and citrus.
Michi ordered the Ruck & Roll, which looks suspiciously like a pina colada. “But yes, I’m a lion shifter.”