Listen, I’d rather be licking my wounds by playing games with Jude and watchingTom and Jerry—hey, don’t judge, they’re funny.
Better yet, I’d rather be pestering Jude and Kane like the goddamn parasite I am, but my father said, “Not today, bitch.”
I mean, not in those words, since he’s a robot and only speaks in monotonous sentences, but the intention is there, because I see his chauffeured car waiting for me at the arena’s parking lot.
“Fuck,” I say, making the smoothest U-turn known to man, but then I’m blocked by a literal giant who shakes his head at me.
Lenin.
Daddy dearest’s muscle, so to speak.
“Double fuck,” I whisper.
Lenin has no reaction, looking like he crawled out of a tax audit. Tall, stiff, permanently unimpressed—the human equivalent of a bruise you forgot you had. He doesn’t talkmuch, just stands there with that “time for your punishment” stare, like I’m his full-time disappointment. Honestly, if people came with return policies, I’d send this one right back.
With a sigh, I trudge to the back seat of the car, and greet the driver, “Yo, Nelly.”
She nods at me through the rearview mirror but doesn’t remove her hands from the wheel, her white gloves as crisp as the night air. “Tough luck tonight.”
“Don’t talk about tonight. We don’t talk about tonight.” I stare at Lenin. “Unless I can go?”
He doesn’t reply.
If a ghost, a prison warden, and a wet blanket had a baby, that’s Lenin.
My very own personal nuisance.
“Your father really wants to see you,” Nelly says with an apologetic look, smoothly pulling out of the parking lot.
“Can you drop me off at Jude’s? Thanks. I’ll buy you ice cream. Or maybe the latest drugs on the market. I know a guy.”
Lenin and Nelly aren’t amused, though Nelly smiles at me because she’s cool like that. What’s uncool is that, like Lenin, she can’t be bribed, and unfortunately, my chirpy suggestions fall on deaf ears. So, what do I do?
What I do best, of course. Annoy the fuck out of them.
I spend the entire drive whining and talking nonstop about the most random shit.
What?You make my life difficult, and you can sure as hell expect that I’ll reciprocate.
An eye for an eye and all that poetic bullshit.
Unfortunately, we arrive at the dreaded place, and that’s how I find myself in hell on earth.
Just kidding. It’s only the Armstrong estate.
Sprawling at the top of Ravenswood Hill, this is where my ancestors decided to start the witch coven after immigrating from Europe.
Sorry, the family. They decided to start thefamily. Silly me for always thinking of it as a cool witch club.
I stare down at the black ring on my right index finger. The sun and crescent moon symbol engraved within looks ominous under the night lights.
Armstrong.
The ruling kings and pioneers in the energy sector—that’s what this symbol I was shackled with since birth means.
Every male heir in my family has this ring—Grandpa, Dad, Uncle Atlas, and finally, me.
Kane and Jude have the same kind of ring, just with different family symbols. Kane’s has a compass rose because the Davenports basically run the world’s import-export cheat code. Jude’s has a caduceus strangled by thorny vines, a very subtle wink at the Callahans owning the entire pharmaceutical scene.
