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“Of course. I did leave a rather indecently large tip for a bottle of water I ordered, but the food is one-hundred percent stolen. I’ve never stolen anything before, you know, because it’s more work than paying for it, but there are definite perks to it which I wouldn’t know if not for your peculiar neurosis, so thank you.” His smirk was so annoying, but I wouldn’t put bugs in anything he was eating, or in his clothes, or hair, no matter how much I wanted to.
“So, Percival?—”
“Call me Percy,” he interrupted. “Only my friends call me Percival.”
I gave him a flat, look then inhaled deeply. “So, Percy of No Mercy, tell me more about what to expect at this party. What kind of party is it, like a hunting party or a pizza party?”
He blinked at me, then smiled slowly and patted my head. “So cute and ignorant. Dancing, pretty little appetizers on glass trays, and mingling. It’s a power party where everyone exhibits their wealth through clothing, speech, manners, and restraint. That last one is the most important. No skateboarding through the crowds or dropping worms in anyone’s champagne glasses. I know that it’ll be difficult, but do your best.” He patted me on the head again, then took the cart, wheeling it out like an arrogant waiter. I smoothed back my hair while I scowled at his back. I hated him so much. If he patted my head one more time, I’d… take it and try smiling next time. Seriously, turning to stone sounded better all the time.
While he was gone, I went to the restroom, and then climbed onto the top bunk, the surprisingly cushy top bunk, wearing the slip like it was a nightgown, since I hadn’t packed pajamas. Was it a real down duvet? It was. Who puts those in train cars, and how much had Percy of No Mercy paid for it? It was fine, since he was getting what he wanted by meeting my father in the flesh, unless my father didn’t want to see me and killed him instead. Really, there wasn’t a single drawback to the whole scheme.
I smiled and pulled out the spell book, figuring that if it couldn’t put me to sleep, nothing could. It could, or the combination of full belly, soft down, and the rhythmic bumping of the wheels over the rails that lulled me into dreams. They were the best dreams, full of flying through stars with my gargoyle, him pulling me into his arms high above the cares of the world, cupping my face, and kissing me. It was stone at first, but then it softened into flesh. The kiss was a lot more passionate than the real one, and I was dream-breathless when I pulled away to see the face of… Rynne’s little brother.
I woke up with a start and a gasp, scrubbing at my mouth with my palm. Now that was disturbing. I shuddered and wiped my mouth again with my arm, then saw Percy staring at me with a raised eyebrow.
“You were eating worms in your sleep, weren’t you?”
I shivered. “Worse. I was kissing my best-friend’s little brother.”
“Does the witch janitor have a brother? I wasn’t aware. You’d rather eat worms than kiss him? Why? Is he hideously disfigured?”
I rolled my eyes and shoved the blankets back, wearing the slip that he found so shapeless and unattractive. Whatever, not like there was anything I could wear that would attract him. “Like I’d care about that. No, he’s fifteen, and he used to have a big crush on me and follow me around with big eyes and crumpled up flowers, which was super cute, but kissing him would be super creepy. I’d be like a pedophile.”
“Ah. You’ll have to wait until his eighteenth birthday, and then it’ll be just fine.”
I stared at him. “There is something wrong with your brain.”
“Brilliance is an unnatural state to most. I’m glad you woke up on your own, because the train arrives at our destination in forty minutes. We have enough time to go to the dining car for breakfast, which is complementary, came with the ticket, and having to say that makes it so difficult to not mention the wrongness in your brain, but as a gentleman, I will resist.”
I grabbed the black dress where I’d left it draped over the bench and pulled it on while Percival turned around, blatantly not watching me, like there was something inappropriate about observing someone put on another layer of clothing.
He continued talking with his back to me. “Our first stop will be the spa, where I’ll relax while you’re tortured, then a dressmaker, then to the hotel where we’ll meet with the makeup and hair people.”
“What are you going to do with your hair, Percy of No Mercy?” I asked, grabbing my backpack and heading for the door.
“You will need a cut, at least six inches. I will get a trim, half an inch, as usual, after my deep conditioning treatment.”
I grinned but didn’t tell him how prissy he was.
He frowned and looked at my hair accusingly. “You might like having hair that doesn’t feel like straw after you try it, Red of Bed Head.”
I scowled at him and tugged on my hair. “Forgive me for not having all the time and money in the world to look like a cover model first thing in the morning. It’s not even light out.”
“Oh, does that nickname bother you? How about Red of Surprisingly Not Dead? Or, Red Brains of Lead? I like that one because I feel it’s the most poetic, particularly how lead affects magic, as in you neutralize magic as well as intelligence.”
I tucked my head and didn’t look at him. True, I had started with the not-so-nice nicknames, but his were miles meaner. Whatever. He was clearly Percy of No Mercy, and his nicknames for me were no less true, which made them worse.
I was so busy not getting bugs out of my bag and dumping them down the back of the coat that I didn’t see the demon until Percy grabbed me and pushed me behind him. He spread his arms and chanted a bunch of sounds that meant nothing to me, and then the floor and walls lit up with circles and geometric shapes in neon blue-green and purple. The demon leapt at us, tail streaming behind him, claws and jaws extended, but he hit an invisible barrier that knocked him back.
“Give me the bugs,” Percy muttered, holding his hand back towards me while keeping his eyes on the crouching monster with burning red eyes.
I fumbled in the backpack, found the jar of bugs, unscrewed the lid and dumped them in his hand.
He flinched and dropped a few before he shot me a look of irritation. Apparently, he’d wanted the bugs inside the jar, but he hadn’t specified. I mean, seeing him flinch wasn’t worth getting ripped apart by a demon, even though there was definitely some satisfaction in it.
“Give me the girl and you can live,” the demon said in its awful voice of tearing worlds and sundering them into ashes.
“I am her guardian. You should give up now, because you can’t have her, not as long as I have breath.” His voice was full, swelling and very musical. I almost believed that Percy of No Mercy cared.
