“We need to get downstairs.”
He groans and throws his head back. “But if I go downstairs, then I’m admitting I’m a victim of time.”
I grab him by the jaw and force him to face me again, sharpening my gaze and growling, “Better that than a victim of me.”
It doesn’t scare him, of course, because he’s a fucking menace.
He hums, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Maybe later?”
“Birthday spankings are definitely in order.”
“Okay, let’s go,” he says happily like he’s ready to get it over with so we can get to the fun part.
He escapes my hold and starts skipping around me. He moves a little too close to the wall of glass, so I grab him by his upper arm and pull him back, spinning him around so he’s walking on the other side of me from the window overlooking the atrium as we head to the door.
“What are you—” He gasps. “You decorated!”
No, I let Baz do it while I tortured your uncle.
“I promise you I did not.”
He squirms and tries to peer around me at the window. I grab him by the shoulders, turn him back to the door, and give him a slight shove.
“Walk.”
He scoffs as he opens the door. “This is kidnapping.”
“You would know.”
He stops, freezes for a second, and looks back at me as his jaw slowly goes slack. He blinks several times before saying, “Rude. Fair. But rude.”
The entire walk to the elevator and the ride down is like that. Complaining, speculating. Trying to peek around corners. At one point, he actually attempts to use the reflection in a framed photograph to see into the lobby.
I cover his eyes.
He bites my hand.
I don’t know why I’m surprised.
By the time the elevator doors finally open onto the first floor, he’s practically vibrating. We step out into the atrium with me beside him, still covering his eyes.
I lower my hands.
Cason freezes again.
It’s not a lot. He wanted small, and that’s what he got. But it’s very Cason.
A few tables have been arranged beneath the rebuilt kinetic installation that rotates slowly overhead. Bright green string lights are woven around sculptural supports and balcony railings. Boxes of pizza cover one table. Mostly Hawaiian. Because apparently he didn’t come back with better taste after he died.
A ridiculous balloon arrangement floats near the cake table. One of the balloons is green, and someone has drawn glasses on it. Another one has what I’m pretty sure is meant to be Felix’s face on it, but it’s not exactly a work of art.
Not like the cake, which is even more ridiculous. It’s covered by a frosting sheet printed with a tiny cartoon version of Cason being electrocuted while a shadow monster wraps around his leg. Across the top, it reads:HAPPY 30TH BIRTHDAY,MENACE.
Okay, the cake was my idea.
Fortunately, Rory is a pretty good artist.
Cason stares at it. Blinks. Then looks up at Rory on the other side of the table. He’s spent a little time with him over the past few months, so I’m sure he recognizes the art style.
