Chapter Fourteen
Lai
Plotting revenge was great for my health.
I gathered up my bedding and slipped silently away from Ghost, giving the Challenger one final glance; his engine was silent, his lights dark, and no translucent cowboy appeared beside me to wish me a good morning.
Good. Better that way. I didn’t have as much luck as I tried to sneak past Al’s Mustang, though; Fox was already there, his shadow reclining on his hood with his legs stretched toward the bumper, his cooling engine ticking rhythmically beneath him.
His glowing yellow eyes were fixed on the tiny screen of a Game Boy console.
“You look like you’ve slept rough,” Fox commented as he looked up, loudly popping a mouthful of chewing gum.
“Morning, Fox.” I smiled. “Is Al already inside?”
Fox nodded, his attention immediately shifting back to the small screen, my presence apparently no longer of any interest to the rude little creature. I didn’t bother with a farewell, hoisting up my blankets and heading up the steps into the manor.
◆◆◆
I ignored the curious looks from students as I made my way back up to the family apartments, bundled up in my own bedding like an out-of-shape mummy.
The school occupied most of my family’s old manor, but the east wing’s second floor was still mine: three rooms of utter privacy, including my old bedroom, preserved as it had been before the first godling arrived at the manor years ago, before my home became an academy, a refuge, and occasionally an active war zone.
It was off-limits to everyone, even my husband.
There were a thousand rules in this school, put in place to protect the students and the staff, and not entering my old bedroom without invitation was number two on the list, sandwiched between ‘Don’t Make Deals With The Fae’, and “Don’t Steal The ‘Herbs’ From Klein’s Garden’.
I lifted the little bronze doorkey from its hook and twisted it in the lock, and the door opened with a familiar creak, releasing the ghosts of old perfume, lacquered wood, and dried flowers.
Al had been there plenty of times in the past, and always called the space overwhelming, but I found comfort in what he considered a hoarding situation.
It wasn’t a hoard; there was a difference between hoarding and curating a personal archive of emotionally significant debris.
I knew precisely where everything was. Every last scrap of paper, every broken clasp, every dusty memento from a life I refused to discard or organize.
I dropped the blankets beside the door, where they could patiently wait for me, then crossed the room.
After shifting a few cassette tapes, a tarnished goblet, and the preserved skull of a man I no longer remembered killing, I found an old lacquered chest beneath the coffee table.
I lifted it carefully and sank onto my old floor bed; dozens of cushions swallowed me at once, rearranging themselves around my weight like an old spiderweb, relieved to have their rightful owner back in its center.
“That’s a familiar sight,” Al commented lightly.
My head snapped toward the doorway. I glared at the intruder, unsurprised to find the usual suspect leaning against the frame with a smirk on his face.
Al’s hair was tied back, and his sleeves were rolled above his forearms as though he had already begun pretending to be a responsible principal, above the rules of this place, even rule number two.
“What do you want?” I sighed as I lifted the chest lid, my eyes drifting over the few antique vials nestled in velvet.
Al lingered on the threshold for another moment, clearly enjoying the fact that he had breached my sanctuary without immediately being stabbed.
Then he pushed himself away from the frame and stepped into the room, ignoring the warning curl of my lip pulling back into a snarl.
“I want to know what you’re planning,” he asked, as casually as if he was asking me about my lesson plan for the semester.
“Me? Planning?” I lifted a clear vial and held it toward the light; a thin layer of liquid gathered at the bottom, almost colorless apart from a faint blue sheen. Only a few drops remained, but that was more than enough for what I intended to use it for.
“You must think I’m an idiot,” Al chuckled warily, and I couldn’t help it; the snarl turned into a smirk. Al knew what the little vial contained, after all.
I measured him with a long look. “Oh, I know that for certain. In fact, I have years’ worth of evidence.”
“All just circumstantial,” Al chuckled.
I rolled my eyes, but Al was relentless.
He crossed the room, stepping around the myriad obstacles with ease.
He had lived with me long enough to have developed the instinct that warned him which piles were stable and which might unleash a minor avalanche.
A moment later, he lowered himself beside me, sinking among the cushions until half of him disappeared into the bed.
“So, who’s going to die?” He leaned closer, invading my personal space until I could feel the warmth of him against my arm.
There had been days, many years ago, when I would have given anything for him to be so determined to stay close to me. Back then, a glance had been enough to feed my obsession for weeks.
Thankfully, I had grown up.
“I don’t know yet, but I’m starting to think it might be you,” I warned, throwing another irritated glance at him.
“You can’t go out killing people.” His tone carried authority that I easily ignored. “You have make-up classes today. Most of your students have finally recovered.”
“That sounds like poor scheduling on their part.” I rolled my eyes, examining a second vial.
“Lai.”
I ground my teeth, then flashed Al my warmest, most mocking smile. “I won’t miss class. But I hope you’re free tonight, because I’m collecting on a favor you owe.”
Al’s expression tightened with immediate suspicion. “Which one?”
“Exactly.” I tucked the two vials into the breast pocket of my pajamas and got up out of the bed.
The cushions resisted, clinging to my legs trying to drag me back into the nest, and my injured ankle threatened to betray me and dump me back in, but I escaped them and moved back to the coffee table, where several folders had vanished beneath a pile of loose papers, unopened letters, and one jeweled dagger that looked a little bit like a peacock, the tail replaced with a patterned blade.
“Are you saying you need help?” Al asked.
I stopped searching and looked back. Al remained seated among the cushions, one knee bent, his arm resting over it.
There was no smile on his face now. One brow had lifted slightly, but beneath the familiar skepticism was a small flicker of concern.
It was no more than a tightening beside his eyes, a micro-expression most people would never have noticed, but I had once made a career out of noticing things other people wished to conceal.
“I might need help.”
Of course, I could do it alone, but having backup would make the job easier. I needed someone to create a distraction. Not too long- a few minutes for a private chat, and tragically helpful Al was the perfect candidate for the job. I was the God of Chaos, and he worshiped at my altar daily.
I studied him for another moment, weighing the consequences of involving him in what could very easily become bloody business.
Then again, Al had never had qualms about dragging me into his messes; I had broken him out of jail, hidden evidence, threatened judges, bribed officials, and once crossed several dimensions to retrieve him after his own poor decisions trapped him in an arranged marriage to a faerie queen.
It would be healthy for our relationship if he occasionally returned the favor.
“Want to go clubbing?” I asked.
Al’s smile appeared slowly, stretching across his lips as he nodded. There was no need for further explanation; he knew me too well. He knew I was not suggesting drinks and dancing. “Is it personal, or a contract?” He asked.
“Both.”
“Both?”
“Ghost’s last owner didn’t come back for him because he died in a burglary gone wrong. A gang wanted Ghost. It went bad. So we are going to find those responsible, and I’m going to let Ghost have his revenge.”
Al’s brows both shot upwards. No doubt he had expected a little recreational assassination, not a revenge mission involving a sentient 1970 Dodge Challenger and the group of men responsible for murdering his former owner. Still, he didn’t object. “Are they gonna be at the club?”
I shook my head. “No. But someone who knows who they are will be. Gangs like that can only operate with the blessing of law enforcement, so I’ll start by breaking the fingers of the hands they grease until I know exactly who is responsible.”
Al planted both hands against the mattress and attempted to stand. The bed fought back. Several cushions collapsed around his hips, briefly trapping him, while a length of silk tangled itself around one ankle. I smiled. My old web still knew its purpose.
“We should start right now, then. I’ll get Sparrow to take over your classes.” He grinned, clumsily getting himself free of my bed, the cushions desperate to keep him a prisoner. “Fox and I will be ready when you are.”