Page 42 of Fatality on the Field

“They already are,” Channing says. She flips her tablet, and the screen lights up with the big, red banner of a pending board meeting; it’s like my personal doomsday clock, helpfully imported to my calendar as well by my efficient assistant. “It was pushed up because of the game. Have you read the new agenda?”

I snort, remembering that no, I haven’t checked my email since seven a.m. My phone is somewhere under a landfill’s worth of papers. “Send it to my personal and I’ll look it over tonight,” I say. “My inbox is… Well, to get it clean, I’d have to nuke the building.”

She smiles, shaking her head. “I’ll send it to you, but I shouldn’t. Even if there’s a mountain of things to do, take time for yourself and with your guys when you’re at home. Just because fixing this place is your punishment doesn’t mean it has to be your albatross, M.”

The baklava isn’t very healthy, but I eat it anyway, tearing off chunks with fierce efficiency. It’s food, and whether it’s good energy or not, it will help me continue working until it’s time to go home. I don’t have a response for my friend, anyway, because she’s nailed it. I shouldn’t be working at home, and I definitely have other things to focus on that aren’t this crap for the university. Those things are important, as they will help me keep my mates out of jail and protect my family.

And she damn well knows it, which is why she said so.

“While you were… off the grid, a few major things have come up. None of them are emergencies—yet—but one is going to become a problem if you don’t address it immediately.” She fixes me with a look that I know is prefacing innumerable horrors of administration.

I raise my eyebrows, sipping the coffee and letting it burn its way down as I ask. “What fresh hell is going on now?”

She leans in, keeping her voice low. “You have an athletics situation, and it’s not budget-stuff you’ve been working on. At least, not exactly.”

“Damn it. The sports at this place are more of a problem than a benefit, if you ask me. I don’t care how much the fucking alums love it.”

Channing continues, “You know how State U football is in the Division One supernatural leagues? And how, for the last decade, the only thing that kept the alumni donations flowing was the sports program, according to your overlords on the board?”

I nod, trying to catch up to whatever ungodly mess she’s about to lay on my desk.

“Well. Our football team —” She pauses, and for the first time, I see actual uncertainty creep into her face. “Our football team has made it to a bowl.”

“Bowl,” I echo, looking confused. My lack of knowledge about American sports is going to be a problem; I feel it in my bones.

“Not just any bowl, but the Tantalus Bowl. It’s hosted here this year, and we have three weeks to make sure that the university doesn’t eat itself alive before then.”

Her words just hang there in the dead air of my office—three weeks?! The baklava is suddenly a paste in my mouth, but I force it down and chase it with a gulp of coffee. Des gives a low, drawn-out hiss, either in solidarity or to express the precise level of my horror.

“We’re hosting the Tantalus Bowl,” I say. “Which is… a big deal, I guess?”

“Yes.” Channing’s fingers dance over the tablet, pulling up a spreadsheet that looks like someone murdered a sports schedule in cold blood. “The Board expects you to chair the next round of committee meetings, get the media day ready, and attend the VIP alumni event next Friday. You also need to finalize the hosting budget and the additional security measures by Monday. Magnus left all of this in such a state that if you even sneeze on it, the whole thing will collapse and take the reputation of State U with it.”

Oh, my fucking horned goddess and the acolytes chasing her. What the hell?

I stare at the wall above her head, trying to recall if I’d ever even heard of the Tantalus Bowl before today, and how it is possible for anything in this universe to be so utterly, perfectly fucked. We’ve had two murders on campus without a huge influx of outsiders, and now they want to flood this place with more people than a goddamn amusement park.

“There’s more,” Channing says, and now I sense the actual storm gathering. “The last three Deans hosted these things with staff running a lot, but the board made it explicit that your presence at all official events is non-negotiable. If you don’t perform, it will be a perfect excuse for them to complain to your parole people.”

I look down at my hands. Stone is forming at the edges of my knuckles, a sure sign I’m gonna lose it. Forcing myself to loosen up, I close my eyes, and Des presses her head into the crook of my neck, anchoring me. I’m going to need those men at my house, particularly Slade and Iggy, to help me get through this nightmare, and I am not ready to announce relationships publicly. But I won’t be able to curb my sides, my fury, and my resting gorgon snakes if they aren’t around, so I need to figure out how to handle that.

You know, while doing all this crap on my desk, balancing things, finding villains, and appearing in every stupid thing for this sports nonsense.

“I’m not ready for this at all,” I admit in a gravelly voice. “Not in any conceivable way.”

“You don’t have to be ready,” Channing finally replies, “but you have to show up.” She angles the tablet so that I can see the screen. “You have four days to learn everything Magnus never told you, and I will help, but that’s why we need the nights. We’ll need to do some crash courses after dinner and before settling in for the night.”

I nod, but the sensation in my chest is a cross between drowning and having a heart attack. “Tell me there’s at least a media training session where I can see how well the committee folks are going to handle this?”

“There are three,” she says, tapping the calendar so it syncs to mine. “You have a dry run tomorrow morning with the hosting team. I recommend wearing something more like your normal attire versus…” She gestures at the disaster zone of my jacket and shirt, her lips curving up.

“What? They don’t like the harried academic look?” I deadpan. “I think I look like a distinguished employee.”

“I was going to say you look murdered-by-Excel, but yes, you should have your more put-together style when you go to those.” She rises, snapping the tablet case shut with the finality of a courtroom gavel. “Eat the rest, and I’ll be back at three to prep you for the call with the law library.”

She makes it to the door before I find my voice again. “Thank you,” I say, which sounds completely insufficient, but it’s all I have. “I couldn’t do this without you, Chan.”

“We’re a team, Morgana; you don’t have to do it alone.” With that, she heads out, and I flop back in my chair, staring at the ceiling in a desperate plea to be smited down so I don’t have to deal with this shit.