Bonus Chapter
Al
“Fox, sit still!”
The Mustang shifted away from me for the third time, his suspension rocking with an offended squeak as I tried to position the jack beneath his frame. I flattened one hand against the garage’s concrete floor and scowled up at him. “You understand that I’m trying to help you, yes?”
Fox’s engine grumbled as a nervous creak trembled through his chassis.
“It’s a jack; I’m fixing a flat tire, not removing anything important.
” As I dragged the jack two inches to the left, I noticed a spot of rust and decided not to mention it to Fox just yet.
He was already feeling delicate about his latest injury; the punctured rear tire had sagged almost completely flat as Fox had limped home on it, insisting the entire way that he was fine, that he didn’t need to use his embarrassing yellow-hubbed spare.
“If you don’t let me jack you up, you’re staying here tonight. No late drive. No pizza.” I reached for the handle; to my relief, Fox settled, although not happily. “Thank you.”
I was three pumps deep when a bright red sports car whipped through the garage and hit me hard enough to lift me off my feet, tearing the jack handle from my grip.
For one disjointed second, there was no pain, only the bizarre sensation of the world moving sideways.
Then my back slammed into the concrete floor, and the car rolled over my thighs, pinning me beneath half a ton of deliberate malice.
Blood was pouring from my nose down my throat, the bitter, metallic taste snapping me back to reality.
Every inch of my body was throbbing with pain, and I let out a groan.
Fox’s engine roared, ready to defend my honor; his headlights blazed, and he lurched forward despite his collapsed tire, ready to ram the intruder broadside.
“Fox, no.” I held out my hand towards his bumper as I struggled to sit up, carefully sliding out from under the car. Fox’s tires bit into the concrete, his body trembling with the effort of holding still, engine snarling.
“I’m all right,” I told him, which was a little bit of a lie. “Let me deal with this.”
My femur throbbed furiously, but it took my weight.
Not broken, but badly bruised, as if the universe had decided I had not suffered enough lately.
I forced air into my lungs and looked up at the red steel that gleamed beneath the garage lights.
I wouldn’t have been too surprised if it had been Ghost and Lai, but Ghost was getting his panels repaired, and Lai didn’t hate me enough to run me over most days.
Besides, come to think of it, no one at the school owned a red car.
I blinked through watering eyes and focused on the emblem positioned inches from my face—crossed flags, one with black checks, one as red as the rest of the car.
“Who the Hell drives a Corvette here?” I wheezed.
The Corvette’s idling engine purred, as if it was pleased with itself, and I suddenly knew exactly who was behind the wheel, even before the driver’s door opened and a scuffed boot struck the concrete.
Axle unfolded himself from the cramped interior with all the menace of a switchblade.
He was still as scrawny as ever, but a hard life had pared him down to barbed wire and sharp edges.
His red hair stood in uneven tufts as though he had cut it with a knife.
One hand rested on the roof of the Corvette, two fingers missing above the third knuckles.
He was a far cry from the immaculate little bastard I had known at school; life had not been kind to Axle.
To be fair, though, Axle had gotten his licks back in, too.
He leaned over the open door and laughed.
“Fuck you,” I managed; his grin only widened. “Since when is attempted vehicular manslaughter an acceptable greeting?”
“Manslaughter?” His wickedly green eyes traveled lazily over me. “Don’t flatter yourself. If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead right now.”
Fox revved again, furious, and Axle glared at him with open contempt.
◆◆◆
If you thought I had history with Lai, well.
Lai and I had met as adults– young, stupid adults, but without too much baggage, all things considered.
Nothing like the past I’d shared with Axle.
Axle had been in my orbit since the very beginning.
We were magnetic: we either clung to each other or desperately tried to shove the other away, with no middle ground.
Every time one of us tried to leave, the other found some new grievance to drag us together again.
We went all the way back to middle school: we used to be best friends, then enemies, then friends again.
High school had made everything worse. He was a First Ring Nepo Baby, born into privilege; I was Third Ring trash, in a place where status mattered above all else.
Then my father got a promotion, while Axle’s family fell into disgrace.
He didn’t take the role reversal very well.
I’d honestly believed that Axle was finally a thing of the past, but last summer he’d crashed back into my life like a stray meteorite.
Since then, we had resumed our usual pattern of insults, sabotage and reluctant cooperation.
I didn’t know whether we would fight forever, just like I didn’t know whether the old scores between us could ever be settled.
Nevertheless, I still called him my friend, and he insisted he hated me.
I was certain he was lying, but he had just hit me with his car.
“Move the car, please,” I growled. Axle rolled his eyes, but slid back into the driver’s seat.
The Corvette reversed just enough to let me squeak past it, which I did, leaning against a concrete pillar to take my weight off my aching leg.
I gingerly touched my nose, and fresh blood flooded over my fingers. “Why the fuck did you do that?”
“I couldn’t let you have all the fun,” he said with a shrug, glancing around the garage. “You and your crappy little Mustang.”
Fox’s engine rose dangerously.
“Is that what this is about?” I wiped my face with the back of my wrist; blood spread across my skin in a thick smear. “You couldn’t bear to let me have something that didn’t involve you?”
Axle shrugged again, leaning over the Corvette’s open door as though he hadn’t just driven it into me.
I studied the Corvette. It was beautiful.
I hated to admit that, but lying to myself would not make it less true.
The sweeping body sat low and predatory, all long snout, raised arches and dusty red paint: a Stingray.
An older one, too, judging by the worn windscreen and the faint cracks feathering through the rubber seals.
There was no way Axle could have afforded it, not honestly. A smile pulled at my aching mouth.
“So, where did it come from?” I asked. “I know for a fact your Third Ring ass can’t afford a Corvette.”
Axle grinned, bright and feral. “I stole it.”
Of course he had.
“You stole it,” I repeated, an eyebrow cocked.
“Yes.”
“From whom?”
“Someone who had too many cars.”
I stared at him, then at the Corvette, then at the dark pool of blood spreading slowly across the polished concrete floor.
In hindsight, it was a very stupid idea, but I was angry, and I had the perfect response to the nonsense he’d just pulled. I could regret my choices later, like a deadbeat dad regretted neglecting a condom in the heat of the moment.
Axle saw the change in my face. His smirk faded a fraction. “What?” He demanded, as I looked down at the blood smeared over my hands.
The Corvette was old enough to have history, but it was obviously in too good a nick to have been truly loved. It was old enough to remember every road it had been denied, every year spent locked away. Old enough to develop preferences.
More importantly, it was old enough to have developed a grudge.
I stepped towards the Corvette.
Axle straightened. “Al.”
I ignored him, running my gaze over the faded weather stripping and the subtle imperfections in the car’s paint. I was no expert, but the car carried its age in strange ways. Brand new, but covered in dust. Barely driven. Carefully stored. Starved.
It would wake up hungry.
I was careful with my position as a Godmaker; much more careful than anyone realized.
The people who knew what I was imagined that a Godmaker must be free to reshape the world at a whim, drowning in pleasure and authority.
The truth was considerably less entertaining: power demanded balance.
Abusing my powers would invariably backfire spectacularly.
That was why I was working a crappy-paying job as a headmaster; if I tried to use my power to make myself wealthy, I’d probably just end up being audited and arrested.
The cosmos kept tabs on everything, even petty childhood feuds.
But I was angry, Gods damn me.
I pressed my bloody palms against the Corvette’s hood.
For half a second, nothing happened.
Then, slowly, the car drank the blood off my hands. Its headlights flickered, and Axle’s eyes widened. “What the fuck are you doing?” He asked, suddenly wary. I thought I could even hear a hint of fear in his voice.
“You said you didn’t want me having all the fun,” I reminded him with a sneer.
The Corvette’s engine ignited with a roar.
Axle jumped as the door slammed shut beside him, the locks snapping down.
The windows lowered and rose again in rapid succession, as if the car was testing its muscles.
Its tires spun half a rotation before catching against the concrete, kicking up blue smoke.
“Al!” Axle backed away, his missing fingers curled into his palms. “What did you do?”
“Brought you in on the action,” I laughed. “You’re about to find out exactly how much fun a living car can be.”