Chapter Forty-Five Four Jean-Jerks and A Lie
For some reason, Jude looks completely nonplussed that it’s his turn, even though it’s no different from when it was anybody else’s. But before he can say anything, a knock sounds at the door.
“Who do you think that is?” Simon asks. “Everyone we like is in this room already.”
Ember snorts. “And some we don’t.”
I try not to take it personally that she’s looking straight at me when she says that, but I’m pretty sure she means it personally, so…
“Be nice!” Simon admonishes with a shake of his head.
“Probably a teacher, checking to make sure we’re where we’re supposed to be,” Mozart says as she gets up to answer the knock. “Looks like this party’s over.”
Izzy looks at Jude. “Saved by the knock?” she asks, brows raised.
He gives a little you-said-it-not-me shrug, then jumps to his feet when Mozart steps back to reveal all four Jean-Jerks at the door.
“Can I help you?” Mozart asks, brows raised so high they almost touch her hairline.
“I know the manticore is in here,” Jean-Luc snarls. “We want to talk to her.”
If possible, Mozart’s brows go even higher. “Careful who you talk to like that, fae.” Her tone stays mild, but there’s a subtle shift in her body that says she’s not looking for trouble, but she’s more than capable of handling it if they want to bring it.
“Careful who you hang out with, dragon,” Jean-Claude taunts. “You might wake up with fleas.”
“Pretty sure that’s not how that saying goes,” Simon comments as he moves to stand behind Mozart.
“Dragons don’t get fleas,” Mozart tells him with a smile that shows an inordinate amount of teeth. “Maybe you should go find a few trolls to ply with your brilliant witticisms.”
“Get the manticore,” Jean-Luc orders in a voice I’ve heard too many times not to be wary of. “Now.”
Jude has moved so that his big body is blocking mine from view, but the last thing I want is for him or anyone else here to get into an altercation with the Jean-Jerks to protect me.
Eva shakes her head at me, but I ignore her as I stand up so they can see me. “I’m right here.”
Jude snarls at me under his breath as he moves to once again position himself between the Jean-Jerks and me.
“Where is it?” Jean-Jacques demands.
And since I don’t like his tone or his inquiry, I play dumb. “Where is what?”
But that must only piss the Jean-Jerks off more, because all of a sudden Jean-Luc snarls and shoves Mozart out of the way so he can plow, uninvited, into her cottage.
Which sets off every other person in the room.
“Don’t you fucking touch her,” Simon growls in a voice I’ve never heard from the playful, easygoing siren before.
Meanwhile Jude is across the room before Jean-Luc can even step one more foot into the cottage.
Ember and Remy are right behind the two of them, and even Eva has her fists clenched as she moves to stand next to me.
Izzy is the only one who stays where she is, but she’s running her tongue over her fangs in what I’ve learned is a sign of her irritation. Knives have also materialized in each hand.
As for Mozart, well, she looks like she’s about to turn the Jean-Jerks into fae flambé for her next meal.
As I move around them to get to the Jean-Jerks—I don’t want any of them getting hurt because of me—I suddenly have a glimpse of what my mother is trying to prevent with the magic lockdown. Because something tells me if Mozart had access to her dragon right now, the faes would already be flame-broiled.
Because these people who I’ve just been eating chips with, who’ve been playing games and teasing each other, suddenly look a lot more like the troubled teenagers who landed themselves at Calder Academy to begin with. Dark, dangerous, and more than ready to do whatever needs to be done—they’re more than just scary.
They’re downright terrifying.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” Ember tells Jean-Luc. Her tone is low, even, and somehow much scarier because of it. “Now.”
His eyes meet mine and narrow to slits. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, Calder, but you need to rethink it—before we make you.”
“Get. The fuck. Out,” Mozart says, echoing Ember. Only she adds the same shove to Jean-Luc’s chest that he gave to her.
Which pisses him off enough that he comes out swinging. He aims for her face with his balled-up fist, and I throw myself forward to stop him. I’ve been hit by him enough to know what it feels like, and I sure as hell don’t want it to happen to Mozart for trying to protect me.
But I’m about two steps too far away to reach him in time.
Jude isn’t, though. His hand darts out in front of Mozart’s face at the last second.
Jean-Luc’s fist slams into Jude’s palm, and he curls his fingers around it in response. Then he starts to squeeze.
It only takes a second or two for the fury to drain from Jean-Luc’s face and pain to take its place. It takes even less time for that pain to turn to fear as Jude continues to squeeze.
“Come on, man. We just want the tapestry,” Jean-Luc gasps as he struggles against Jude’s grasp. “Give it to us and we’ll leave.”
But Jude barely seems to notice—his struggle or his words. He just keeps squeezing, even as Jean-Luc’s knees buckle and he hits the ground, hard.
“Come on, man. That’s enough. Fucking let him go.” Jean-Jacques steps forward.
When Jude doesn’t even bother to look at him, Jean-Jacques throws himself at him, fists raised. At the same time, Jean-Claude and Jean-Paul move in from the sides and try to grab him.
But none of them lands so much as a finger on Jude.
Simon grabs Jean-Jacques and sends him spinning across the room.
Mozart lands a very solid kick to Jean-Claude’s balls.
And I stick a foot out just far enough to trip Jean-Paul and send him flying. I don’t mean for him to end up careening into Remy, but when the time wizard lays him out with a well-placed elbow to the throat, I can’t say that I’m particularly sorry, either.
The Jean-Jerks spring up—way angrier than they were to begin with. Not that that’s exactly a surprise.
They’ve spent their whole lives getting everything they want. They capitalize on their reputations, their money, their power, and the fear that comes with it. They do whatever they want. And when someone tells them “no,” which doesn’t happen very often, they use whatever means necessary to turn that “no” into a “yes.”
Which is why I’ve had more than a few fists to my face and other body parts over the last three years…but it’s better than just lying down and letting them walk all over me.
“We’re not leaving here without that tapestry,” Jean-Luc snarls. And this time, when he takes a swing, he’s now wearing brass knuckles on both his hands.
Jude dodges the first punch, but it turns out he wasn’t Jean-Luc’s real target. Instead, he whirls around at the last second and throws a second punch straight at me.
I stumble back in an effort to dodge, but I know I’m not fast enough. There’s no way I’ll actually avoid the hit.
But then Jude moves faster than I ever imagined he could, sliding in front of me at the last second and blocking me with his body. Jean-Luc’s fist connects solidly with Jude’s ribs.
And I swear I hear a bone crack.