“I’ve never seen so many people use bread as a weapon,” Rogan observes, clearly referring to the French bread beatdown I gave Prek before.
“It’s a skill; feel free to be jealous,” I smirk at him.
“One passed down in the Osseous Chronicles, I’m sure,” Rogan teases, and my smirk turns into a dopey smile.
I like playful Rogan.
He reaches out and wraps one of my curls around his finger, his gaze heated and filled with so much promise and conviction it makes my toes curl.
“Will you go to war with me, Lennox?” he asks, his tone sultry and earnest.
I study his face for a moment, everything else around us fading away like we’re the only two people left in the world. He cups my face, and I lean into it, relishing the intimate touch and everything we’ve been through to get here. I press my lips to the palm of his hand and then straighten, ready for whatever is going to come next.
“Lead the way,” I assure him, and he nods once, his green eyes filled with fire and determination.
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to war we go.
7
Rogan holds theoh shithandle so tight that I question whether or not he can even feel his hand still. Clearly, I can be trusted with his secrets and his heart, but driving him safely from my aunt’s house to my grandmother’s shop is super questionable.
Please, I’m an excellent driver.
I roll down my window and scowl at a driver as I pass him. “Word of advice,” I yell at the gray Volvo. “If you’re gonna drive in the fast lane, drive fast, jackass!”
“Remember that little part of Elon’s instructions about keeping a low profile and not drawing attention to ourselves?” Rogan asks me.
I roll my eyes as I roll up my window. “I’m not screamingsuck my immortal exhaustat the dude,” I defend. “And he really shouldn’t be driving that slow in the fast lane, I’m just looking out for him.”
Rogan scoffs and looks behind us, offering an apologetic wave.
Traitor.
I gasp in outrage and narrow my eyes at him. “How could you? There will be no apologetic waves,” I scold.
“It’s a car full of priests,” he argues, and I balk as I look in the rearview to see for myself.
Crap, either they’reveryearly for Halloween or they’re definitely a car full of priests.
I cringe and offer an apology wave of my own. I’ve already got witches and demons gunning for me, no point adding Hosts of Heaven to that list too. I sigh, slowing down a little and trying to rein in the east coast road rage that’s practically a part of my DNA.
I feel edgy as hell.
There’s something about saying goodbye to your loved ones as they rush to pack their belongings because they’re about to be hurried off into hiding. I know Elon is with them, and right now they shouldn’t even be on anyone’s radar, but I can’t help but feel bad for the buttload of danger I just dropped on their doorstep. Elon promised he’d let them call me as soon as he got them settled in with all the proper protections in place. But the fact that we’ve gone defcon cloak and dagger makes everything feel entirely more real and threatening.
I mean, technically it was all of that before, but something about losing myself to the throes of passion and then laughing with the people I love over a home-cooked meal made everything feel so manageable.
Late afternoon light and lazy paint-stroke clouds give the familiar streets of my hometown a deceptively relaxed feel. Even so, I can’t stop looking around as though the High Priestess herself is going to zip past on a broom, a threatening cackle in her wake, while demanding a taste of the good shit, aka immortality.
“So exactly how are the three of us going to take down the ruling body of all known mancers?” I ask a little too casually as I turn right in the direction of my grandmother’s—dammit—I meanmyshop. None of it still feels like it’s mine, but Rogan and I did get a solid head start on Demo Day the first time we met, so I really need to stop thinking of it as Grammy Ruby’s.
“We expose the corruption,” Rogan answers, just as nonchalantly.
“Cool, cool.” I look over at him, waiting for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. “Not that I’m doubting that clearly very detailed and, might I add, brilliant plan, but don’t most magic users know that the ruling class is corrupt, like don’t those things normally go hand in hand in all civilizations? I don’t exactly see an angry uprising about it, so…”
“Maybe if we were dealing with run-of-the-mill corruption and degradation, I could see people turning a blind eye, but the High Council has been messing with some serious shit for a very long time. When my mother renounced us, she thought we’d come crawling back, begging for a place at the table we’d been spoon fed from our entire lives. But really, she forced us to see that what we were raised thinking was normal, was everything but.”
I nod in understanding, my head bobbing to the rhythm of my blinker as I wait for a green arrow. I think back to what Rogan told me about his childhood. About the abuse Elon survived. I recall learning about how the founding families passed along their magic, how they ensure their lines stay strong and formidable. I can see how being chucked out of that privileged world would be a shock to the system. It’s apparent that Sorrel Adair didn’t know who her sons were at their core though. They aren’t the power-hungry, heartless rulers they were created to be. They are good souls, who recognized evil and decided that would never be their legacy, no matter what the High Council tried to do.
