Page 22 of Feral King

“Hey, Mama.”

“Hey, baby. How are you? You sound tired.”

She does, too, but I don’t say anything—being tired is a part of her life now with Dad in the shape he’s in.

“I’m fine. Long day. How’s Dad?”

There’s a pause. I know what that means. My stomach tenses, ready for bad news.

“He’s… fine. Been sleeping a lot. Dr. Broussard wants to move the surgery up if the insurance comes through. He says waiting isn’t doing your father any favors.”

“How much sooner?”

“Three weeks, maybe four. But Lyra, the co-pay alone?—”

“I’ll cover it.”

“Honey—”

“Mama, I got my job back.” I say it with more confidence than I feel, weaving through a cluster of commuters at the corner of Lex and 51st.

“The CEO brought me back. Even increased my salary. So I can handle the insurance, the co-pay, all of it. You just focus on Dad.”

“You got your job back?” Her voice lifts, the relief in hertone bringing a big, broad smile to my face. “At the Volkov company? But I thought after Alexander?—”

“It’s a different situation now. New management. They want me there to rejuvenate the foundation.”

“And Alexander? Is he still?—”

“It’s fine, Mama.” My smile turns to a wince. She barely knows about what’s going on with Alex, just that the engagement is off. “Alexander’s not involved in my department.”

It’s a vague-as-hell way to describe the situation, but she doesn’t need to know the full picture of what I’ve just walked back into. Mama’s got enough on her mind.

“Well, praise God,” she says. I can actuallyhearher smiling. “Your father’s going to be so relieved. And not just because of the co-pay. He worries about you up there, all alone in that big city.”

“I’m not alone. I’ve got you and Dad, and a rent-stabilized apartment. I’m good.” I force a laugh. “I’ll call again tomorrow, OKAY? Just wanted to tell you the good news. Give Dad a kiss for me.”

“I will, baby. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Mama.”

I hang up and slip my phone back into my bag. As I walk, I feel the weight of everything pressing down on me—Dad’s health, the cost of his surgery, the premiums and the co-pay, not to mention the rent on an Astoria apartment I can barelyafford.

Julian’s bump in pay will definitely help, but Ihaveto stay onboard.

The entrance to the Lexington Avenue-53rd Street station is half a block ahead. I’m reaching for my MetroCard, when a figure steps out from between two parked cars and falls into step beside me.

“Lyra.”

I don’t need to look to know who it is. It’s the voice that used to yell across the quad to get my attention back in college, the voice that used to sing along—badly—to Taylor Swift in our old apartment. The same voice that told me she’d been sleeping with my fiancée.

Sophia.

She looks different, and not in a good way, not like the other night at the gala. Her hair’s pulled back into a severe ponytail, she’s wearing barely any makeup, and she’s got on jeans and an oversized Louisiana State hoodie. She looks tired and worn.

She holds up her palms. “Before you say anything?—”

“No.”