Chapter 28
While Malek made a bunch of calls to Jocasta, everyone else went back over their planning.
They needed to fix their initial suspect list. Not only was George Cosner, the scavenger, someone they needed to watch out for, but Henri Bouchard, the man who took Caspar’s eye and the one remaining prisoner from the initial escape, was someone else who they needed to look out for now, too.
And Henri was much, much harder to predict than a scavenger.
He was one of the Chaos Mages, defected from the initial cartel because of his kooky beliefs—the exact same beliefs that made him obsess over Caspar’s eye.
When the whole thing was spelled out to Katja, Natasha, and William, it all seemed so obvious to Caspar.
His entire prison break had been put into motion by his eye being removed.
And despite all that planning, Henri Bouchard had still gotten out, and no one ever asked what happened to the eye itself.
“We thought he must have eaten it,” Katja had confessed. “But now, he may have had it tested and might know you’re a djinn.”
“Fuck,” Caspar said. “So he knows I’m alive. Has my death been faked at all? Or does this reveal now blow all that work?”
“It won’t blow it,” Malek had said. “Because if Henri wants you, he doesn’t want a million other people after you. You have to remain dead so he doesn’t have competition.”
“And from what I can remember,” Natasha said. “Your funeral is tomorrow.”
“What the fuck?” Caspar said. “How the hell do you always know these things? Jesus.”
Hurt flashed across Natasha’s features, but she didn’t say anything in return.
Caspar knew then that his words had been too harsh, but he was still reliving the feeling of his eye being forcibly removed from his face.
From ghoul to genie, he thought again. What a fucking crock.
Just when he’d started to feel okay with his parents, his powers, and his quasi-relationship with Malek, something had to come in and ruin everything.
“Wait, wait,” William said, holding up a hand. “So we have two enemies now? Two boss fights?”
“Yes,” Katja said. “It’s looking more like that. Henri is after Caspar, while George Cosner is baiting a trap for Malek, though he may not even know who he is dealing with. At least we have that small advantage.”
“Yikes,” William said. “So what about the car?”
“The chop shop, likely,” Katja said, realization dawning on her. “Scare tactics. We don’t have much time.”
It was at this point in the conversation that Malek stepped up and said he’d call Jocasta.
She used to work with gangs, she’d take care of it.
Malek’d disappeared in a huff without another word, and Katja had gone back to her notes on The Forgotten King, along with the best way to contact her cousin Ultima.
Even William went off to clean up the apartment, leaving only Natasha and Caspar staring at one another.
Without another word, Natasha left the table and flopped down on the recliner. Caspar felt her rejection like a wound. This day had gone on far, far too long, and he wasn’t ready to have someone who was supposed to be on his side flake out.
“Natasha.” Caspar approached the chair, voice thin.
“What do you want?” She barely looked up from her phone.
“What the fuck is going? Why are you so annoyed?”
She gave him a weary stare and then shrugged. “What does it matter?”
“It matters because if we’re going to fight this, I don’t want to turn around and see you swinging punches for the other side.”
“You really think I’m going to throw punches with gargoyles?”
“I don’t know what to think right now, honestly. There has been a lot of surprising stuff today. Not all good.”
“Fair,” Natasha said, some of her icy facade crumbling. “You’ve had a shitty day, but we’ve all had one, too. And that shitty day doesn’t give you carte blanche to treat us like shit.”
“I’m sorry I yelled at you before. It’s just a little creepy to think about my funeral.”
“And it’s a little creepy that I know about it?”
“Yeah, actually,” Caspar said. “And that you know about my first boyfriend, girlfriend, and everything else I ever wrote down in those journals.”
Natasha’s brown skin seemed to tinge with blush. “I know. I read them because I thought I’d never see you in person, and now I can’t erase that knowledge. At least it’s a little helpful today, right?” Natasha sighed, her bangs fluttering as she did. “I guess I’m good for something.”
“You are. But for more than just transcribing riddles and throwing punches. I… I don’t know what to say to you, and that’s the problem, because you remind me a lot of myself.”
“Really?” Natasha asked. “I used to think the same thing when I read your journals. Our birthdays are even two weeks apart. But after today, I’m struck by how normal I am. I’m the one normal person here, tossed into a realm of supernaturals.”
“I don’t really think normal exists,” Caspar said.
“We’re more alike than we are different, and that’s what fucks me up the most. We’re the same age—meaning that you got to live almost eight years that I never got to live because I was in prison.
And yet, even though you were in the real world, you were still imprisoned.
By me. By the museum. I think… I think I’m just angry and jealous of your freedom. ”
“Huh.” Natasha didn’t say anything for a while. “But you’re free now.”
“Pfft. According to the philosophers, none of us are free.”
“But you’re not in prison anymore.”
“I know. But with people like Henri and the gargoyles after me, it still feels like I am, except I gotta make my own food now.”
Natasha nodded, taking a long pause before speaking again. “Do you know the real reason why I can’t go home to see my dad?”
“It’s not just because you were fired?”
“No.” Natasha shook her head. “I’m supposed to get married in a month.”
“That’s good, right?”
“It’s an arranged marriage. Sometimes they work. I know my dad picked everything with the best intentions. The guy is nice. I’ve met him a few times now. Guys are nice.”
“But you also just want to live your life?” Caspar asked, and then remembered the way Katja and Natasha had been looking at each other. “With Katja?”
“I don’t know. Maybe with her. But I want to have the choice to explore that, you know?”
“I do. Trust me when I say it’s the choice that matters most of all.”
When Natasha glanced down at her phone again, she didn’t seem to be ignoring him, but trying to process her feelings.
Caspar still felt tinged with regret, as if he’d lost something integral to his freedom with Henri on their tail.
But when he looked up and saw Katja and William planning together over the kitchen table and Malek talking in circles on the balcony, he felt better.
Protected. Prison was terrible for many reasons, but the worst one was that he didn’t have a family anymore.
Even Anthony and his father had faded away behind glass.
Now, in this world, there was something to look forward to—and people to look forward together.
“I know this is weird,” Natasha said. “But I have details about your funeral. Should I send them to you?”
“Not now. But maybe let me know tomorrow. I’d be curious to see what people say about me.”
“All good things, of course,” Natasha said with a laugh.
“You’re lying.”
“I am. But Anthony’s going to be there. He’s delivering your eulogy.”
“Oh, that’ll be a sight. Remind me tomorrow, and maybe we’ll both watch it.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe.”