I grin, and Orok winks at me, and that gnawing worry abates enough that I manage a clear breath.
I’ll make it to the brunch. I’ll get that grant. I’ll do my final project, complete my degree, and start at Clawstar next summer.
It’s going to be fine.
I grab the rest of my stuff as Orok plants his hip against the kitchen counter.
“No, Seb’s not been going to church with me,” he tells her and smirks at me like he’s tattling. “He’s still a heathen.”
Asshole,I mouth.
“You’re right, heispuny!” he says brightly. “That’s what I said yesterday.”
“I’m leaving,” I shout too loud as I open the door. “Have you told your mom you got kicked off the rawball team yet?”
Orok’s eyes peel wide a beat before I hear his mom shriek “WHAT?!” through the phone.
He hasn’t been kicked off the team. Shit-stirring is my love language.
I smile sweetly as I close the door.
Transportation spells are banned within city limits. It’s an underhanded political move by the transportation authority to stay necessary; but never in my life have I come this close to breaking the law, and that includes last night’s B&E and a few other questionable moments in my past.
The rerouted path to campus throws me on a trolley and two different buses, and since the closed bridge has mucked up more than my plans, everything’s overcrowded and traffic’s moving at a snail’s pace. By the time the bus clatters to my stop, every conceivablewhat could go wrongscenario has played through my head at least twice, and it isn’t until a dwarven woman with her two kids frowns at me that I realize I’ve been muttering to myself.
The brunch started ten minutes ago.
I all-outsprintacross campus. It’s humming with Friday activity as I zigzag between buildings and across the Quad, the massive grassy area that sits between a few of the biggest buildings. Bellanor Hall, the place I’ve seen more of than my own apartment the past few years, towers on the south side of it, playing host to the Evocation and Conjuration Departments.
The banquet room where the brunch is being held sits at the back of the building, on the opposite end from my TA office. I’d burn precious extra minutes rushing there to change when I know there’s a perfectly good restroom not far from the banquet room. Are the odds going to work in my favor and leave that restroom empty and not, say, packed with grant committee members doing up their flies at the urinals?
I roll the dice on the banquet restroom, the rubber soles of my Converse squeaking on the tile floor as I slide into the hall. At the far end, people in suits and nice dresses mill in and out of the banquet room. The only noise is chatter from conversation and the ting of cutlery, no official announcements yet—okay, I have time.
But I’m gasping and my overcaffeinated heart is doing its level best to sucker punch its way out of my rib cage, and part of me wonders why I never took Orok up on his offers to, quote-unquote,whip my ass into shape.I wheeze a pathetically shrill breath and heave into the bathroom off the hall—
—only for the gods to hatch their final plan at my expense.
Elethior’s at the sink, washing his hands.
He glances up when I none too gracefully plunge inside, garment bag and messenger satchel clutched to my chest.
He’snot wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt.
He’slooking like a walking advertisement for why suits should always be tailored. His long hair is slicked over the side of his head and he’s in a double-breasted black suit with a black shirt and tie, his shoes gleaming—
Fuck me up a wall.
I forgot my shoes.
My focus pings to my ratty blue Converse before I force myself to meet Elethior’s eyes, feeling every bit of the sweat drying on my skin, of my frizzed-out hair, of my pulse jackhammering in my wrists and throat.
I look around, desperately hoping someone else is in here to serve as a barrier, but nope. We’re alone.
Elethior scans me in a quick head-to-toe analysis and arrives at the same conclusion I would’ve come to had our situations been reversed: I’m screwed.
A satisfied smile unfurls across his face.
He calmly dries his hands, throws away the paper towel, and leans against the sink. “And here I thought you’d made the first smart decision of your academic career and decided to skip the brunch. I must say, showing up, having just rolled out of bed?Muchbetter. For me. For you?” He clicks his tongue.
