Chapter Eleven
Morning News: “Welcome to One Shot, your number-one source for the latest in pro rawball news. I’m your host, Diamanda Blacktalon.
My cohost, Vaknox of the Lizard People of Tesh, is not yet back from his sojourn—during his molting process, he was chosen by the lizard god Chaxloakka to seek the eternal flame of the Lizard People.
We wish Vaknox all the best on his divine quest. Joining me as temporary cohost is Begmi, the pixie prince from the Forest of Neetand in the Fae Plane.
Begmi, you—oh. Where’d he go? He’s—oh that’s him?
That speck of dust? That’s his pixie form? Oh, I’m so sorry, Prince Begmi.”
*the softest tinkling sound ever*
“Wow, that’s so kind of you to say. I did recently have my tusks polished, thank you.
Now, we’ve had quite the active twenty-four hours in the rawball world!
But what I want to focus on is—you guessed it—Beauty and the Beast!
Our favorite It couple, Orok and Alexo, strutted their stuff at the gala for Thrive Children, and wow, did they steam up some cameras! I—”
*the softest tinkling sound ever*
“Oh, yes, there was also an abduction by the Galaxrien cult. But did you see Alexo’s outfit? We have a clip from the red carpet; can we pull it up?”
*the softest tinkling sound ever*
“I … I hadn’t thought about the ramifications of Galaxrien cultists attacking an Urzoth worshipper in terms of the larger ecumenical association of those two religions, Begmi.
How—oh, oh, that’s what you came on here to talk about?
Um. Well. I guess we can save the outfit breakdown for after the commercials. ”
Bel has to ride back to Philly on the cheerleaders’ bus. I have to ride back on the players’ bus. I haven’t seen Gulus since he vanished from our room, but he’s probably lurking around somewhere, right?
It’s only a two-hour trip. More or less.
I can handle that.
It’d draw unnecessary attention if I suddenly insisted on changes—we’ve had team travel before, and I was always fine with us being separated. But now?
I’m twitchy and keep glancing out the bus window to spot the cheerleaders ahead of us.
Next time we have an away game, I’ll … figure something out.
The coaches like the team to travel together; unity and shit, and yeah, that does matter—Darian’s strumming his guitar in the back, and half the team is valiantly attempting to sing along to “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Aaron’s actually nailing the falsetto parts; who knew?
Phei’s taken the form of a coconut tree, and they’re rattling around on percussion.
But Bel’s away from me, vulnerable unless Gulus is hiding on his bus, and it’s fucking me up.
The separation is only for a few hours, then we’ll be back in Philly and he won’t need to leave my side.
Speaking of which.
I message Seb about laying wards around my apartment.
I haven’t done spell work since college; if I want it done right, I need Seb and Thio.
Given I provide no context for my sudden urge to lock down my place, his responding texts are appropriately confused.
But I didn’t get a chance to tell Bel about Seb yet, to ask if I can bring him in. I will today.
I also shoot off an email to my building’s owner to start ramping up their security.
And I ignore the messages from Roesia Sombercrown, and Treva, and Reverend Drach’s people. They want to talk about the cultist attack and how it affects Urzoth’s church now that a member was abducted.
But talking about that will force me to acknowledge what I’ve done in committing to protect Bel. How it affects my ties to Urzoth.
I’m not ready to think about that yet.
I order components for every conceivable safety spell I can think of, all on overnight delivery—
Darian plops onto the seat next to me. “No time for losers,” he says, strumming his guitar.
I look up.
To see the whole damn bus staring at me.
Feels like I’ve missed something.
“No time for losers,” Darian says again, harder, and I recognize the chords for “We Are the Champions.” “You’re the only one not singing,” he stage-whispers at me.
“I didn’t think your god liked me singing his songs,” I stage-whisper back. “Something about inflicting emotional damage on the unknowing public.”
He smirks, all straight white teeth and potent charm. “He’s in a good mood; we won, and we’re on track to be rawball champions!” He shouts the last words and the whole bus roars ecstatic agreement.
I laugh. “Should we say that? Could jinx us.”
“Meh.” Darian wrinkles his nose. “Confidence cancels out the jinx. Sing. My god’s hoping the rest of these turds singing will cover up your screeching.”
“Hey,” Aaron mopes.
“You all sound like shit to me,” Marlow signs, and someone lobs a water bottle at her.
“No time for losers,” Darian prods again. “Don’t be a loser.”
I throw another glance out the front window. The cheerleaders’ bus is still ahead of us on the highway.
With a deep breath in, I bellow out the next line of the song.
Darian grins, and soon the whole bus is back to belting out the song. Even Marlow’s signing the lyrics, bending her body dramatically to stretch the words.
Darian kicks his feet up on the chair in front of him, fingers dancing over his guitar.
Aaron and another tank get into it, singing the chorus at each other in a way that feels like a threat.
A thought hits me square in the chest.
The Chimeras would never.
Never make fools of themselves like this. Never have fun like this. It was serious game play, we are intense and intimidating always, or nothing. That attitude is why someone connected to Urzoth should have fit right in.
I lean over to Darian. “Your god’s happy?”
What I want to ask is, You’re happy with your god? But that answer’s obvious.
He flicks a look at me along with a slightly confused smile. “Yeah.” Aaron hits a note I wasn’t sure humans were capable of reaching, and Darian winces. “Well. Debatable.”
I watch Darian perform and I sing along with my team, and it isn’t envy that I feel. I just feel glad for him, but ultimately, nothing for me.
Because I don’t want a relationship with Urzoth like Darian has with his god. If I had that kind of relationship with Urzoth, I would never have had a problem with the Chimeras.
But this? Singing all together, laughing at each other?
It’s so much better.
By the time the buses pull into the Hellhounds HQ, I’ve almost stopped worrying about Bel. About the Galaxrien news. I’m a little more centered, and as I disembark, I give fist bumps to my teammates. They all return them eagerly, making jokes about the ride or the game.
Off the bus, Darian pulls me in for a hug, which surprises me enough that when I step away, I cock my head at him.
“We got you,” he tells me, looping his guitar case over his head. “Next week, with the Chimeras. We all got you.”
My brows vault up. I haven’t told them—anyone—how I feel about the Chimeras. Is it that obvious? There were enough reports speculating about it, and the Chimeras players haven’t exactly been subtle over their feelings in interviews about losing me to the Hellhounds.
“I … thanks,” I manage. And smile. “They won’t know what hit ’em.”
“Fuck yeah!” Aaron clambers off the bus. “You’re our O Monroe now. Vegas can kiss my ass.”
Marlow follows him down the steps and winks. “They’ll need to get in line, hot stuff.”
Aaron blushes. Full-on chin-to-hairline blushes.
Marlow seems oblivious and prances away. Darian shares a you caught that, too, huh? look with me before he also heads off.
I smile. At all of this. And I take their assurances, the team’s parting Hellhounds barks, and tuck them safely away.
Maybe we’re not so cordial after all.
Maybe we’re almost … friendly?
Bel’s across the lot, digging through his bus’s luggage compartment for his bag. He used the illusion spray before we left, so he’s in his human form now, but his pink hair is the same.
He turns, hiking his bag over his shoulder, and his eyes lock with mine.
He smiles.
And I tuck that away as well.
At the edge of the parking lot, sitting on a bench under a tree, Gulus is dressed in casual clothes, reading a newspaper.
Okay. That’s going to be kind of creepy.
Treva appears in front of me as I take a step toward Bel. “Mr. Monroe, you and Mr. Warden are needed in Ms. Sombercrown’s office. Now.”
My stomach knots. I want to get Bel to my apartment. I need him somewhere safe.
But that exact attitude is why I told Ilbryen to let him stay with me, so Bel could get out and live.
“Yeah,” I say, beckoning Bel over. “I figured.”
It’s only Roesia in her office, and I breathe a little easier that I won’t have to deal with an Urzoth rep through this.
Not that anything’s going to change. In fact, Drach will be thrilled by the progression of mine and Bel’s relationship. It’s only in my head that I expect a bit of gloating, like he’d known I was trying to weasel my way out and somehow ended up even more committed to Urzoth than before.
I have Bel’s hand in mine where we sit on the couch. Treva is taking notes on a tablet while Roesia leans back in her chair, legs crossed, her orange eyes going from my face to our joined hands and back.
Next to me, Bel shifts.
And shifts again.
And makes a low, pained whimper.
Oh.
We only had sex, like, five hours ago, plus the long bus ride. He’s sore.
Half of me wants to find him something softer to sit on.
The other half of me is ragingly turned on, wants to caveman grunt and beat my chest.
Neither half can do jack shit right now without things getting really, really weird.
“Reverend Drach apologizes for being unable to join us,” Roesia says, yanking my focus to something significantly less boner-inducing. “Had you responded to any of my assistant’s attempts to reach out last night, we would have been able to set up something more formal.”
My grip on Bel clenches.
I told Ilbryen we need to double down on Bel’s association with Urzoth.
So I will.