Page 70 of Fatality on the Field

I consider asking her why she’s in this realm running a bookshop or even how she knew all of my secrets, but I know I can’t. Phaedra made certain I knew that she did not trust the kid in here and I have to respect her instincts. So instead, I just say, “Thanks, Phaedra. You’re a lifesaver.”

That said, I turn on my heel and head outside, breathing in the cold air as I look around. I didn’t tell anyone my true goals for the day because I wanted Kaspar to do his thing. If I’d said I was wandering about like I am, my best friend would have insisted on giving up his digging to watch me. He sometimes forgets that I’m a very big boy and extremely capable of taking care of myself at a college in broad daylight.

No one is sending a fire drake after me in such a visible situation and I doubt assassins are slinking around in the sunlight, so a couple detours won’t hurt anything.

forty-three

MORGANA

Every workplace has its own types of power brokers, at State U, they report to me. That’s why I’m a supernatural mop-up artist, glorified crisis magnet, and the only being on this campus whose name is on a multitude of whiteboards with an expletive after it.

At least, I assume it is and I don’t want anyone to tell me exactly how correct I am.

My office is a cathedral of chaos today. Every surface is a disaster, especially my desk, which looks like someone ransacked it. There are stacks of unsigned forms, files marked by colored tabs, three laptops running a different set of programs, and a high-tech, landline phone whose cord is kinked into a shape that defies physics. The screen of my personal phone is webbed with a diagonal crack, a souvenir from yesterday’s call where I almost threw it out the window. Channing has been smug about it all morning, but she also made certain to order the new one so I don’t slice my face to pieces on accident.

The pièce de résistance is the whiteboard on a stand that my assistant brought in first thing this morning. It’s a color-coded abomination that is currently divided into three vertical swaths. They are labeled ‘Poisoned Students’ in bright red, ‘Bowl Issues’ in blue, and ‘Future Morgana’ in black. The categories are both hysterical and accurate, as that’s about how my life is going right now. None of the lists are short, but they only have the most urgent items under the headers so I don’t get off track.

Right now, Des is my only coworker. She’s looped around my left ear, her scales slightly cooler than my skin. Every time my damaged phone pings, she flicks her tongue at it with increasing venom, which is also how I feel. We’re both one notification away from snapping, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do to change it.

I’ve just about bitten the end off a poor, innocent stylus when Channing bursts through the door with the momentum of a woman on a mission. She’s returned with a large travel mug in one hand and a greasy paper bag in the other. Her face says we have things to do, but her eyes say ‘you are radiating murder and I brought you treats as a peace offering’.

She’s not wrong on either count.

Taking three quick steps, she dodges the clusterfuck of folders and books on the floor and a wayward box of confiscated crap that security dropped off. Channing sets the food bag on the only bare spot on my desk and then pushes the coffee mug toward me like she’s taming a rattler. It’s yet another apt metaphor, so I give her a tired smile so she knows I won’t bite.

The delicious smell hits me immediately—she went off-campus to get greasy burgers and fries that I wouldn’t have gotten on my own, but will scarf down like a voracious sea monster. I meet her eyes, my expression grateful. She just gives me an exaggerated nod and sits on the newly installed leather couch with one leg folded under her. As I open the bag, she pecks at the screen of her tablet with her left hand, her fingers flying with the speed and accuracy of someone who is almost melded with their tech. I don’t say anything while she works, unwrapping my burger to take an enormous bite and grunt in happiness.

“You’re pushing too hard, you know,” she says without looking up at me.

Duh. Nothing at the college has stopped—not for the holidays, not for the sick kids, not even for murder.

“You’re right, but there’s just too much to slow down,” I reply before I wipe my mouth on a napkin from the proffered bag. Uncapping the coffee, I let out another sigh of pleasure. It’s hot enough to blister a mortal tongue, but the burn cuts through the accumulated stress and resets my synapses. I let it sizzle down, and then take yet another giant bite of burger. By the time I finish chewing it, I feel my mood go from apocalyptic to normal weekday hell, which Channing clocks with a look of supreme satisfaction.

“Kimmi just messaged, by the way. The Society and med center lab techs are at the greenhouse, but it’s still under quarantine. They’re using full suits as a precaution, but they’re halfway to neutralizing any leftover spores. Also, the local council wants an update for their press conference by three.”

I nod, already flipping open the top file on my desk. “No surprise there. The council in this city is lazy. They only get involved in shit when they want to score political points. I don’t know how they stay in their positions, honestly. In Europe, that bullshit wouldn’t fly in the slightest.”

Channing snorts and shrugs. “Everything on this side of the pond is pretty corrupt, especially in the red states. All good old boys and inbred connections down here.”

“No wonder Magnus got away with all of this shit for so fucking long,” I mutter before I finish off the last of my burger. Once I swallow, I spread the fries on the bag, looking at the clock on one of the laptops. “Time for this damn Zoom call. I would love to have some witch curse the inventor of this crap for the rest of eternity. No one needs to see me while we’re on calls that could be fucking emails.”

Her giggle makes me smile and I hold up a finger as I log on to see the five shrouded figures on the screen. They don’t have to show their eyes, but I do. It’s such a load of shit, but the conditions of my ‘parole’ state this is necessary whenever a group of these dicks say so. Gathering all my patience, I click the button to turn the mic on and say, “Good afternoon.”

“We need an update on the incidents at State U, LeCiel.”

Pressing my lips together, I nod at the shadowy figure in the top right of my screen. “I figured as much when the event was inserted into my calendar this morning with no way for my assistant to reschedule or move it.”

The one I think is female on the left top says, “Then tell us what we want to know. Start with the Medical Center situation.”

“It’s contained,” I reply quickly. “Nobody’s dead and the students are being monitored as the crisis passes. We’re in triage mode with the entry point, until your teams confirm the site is clear. The help Thorne sent was impeccable, so while the kids recover, the scientists are working on reverse engineering a permanent fix.”

Bottom right harrumphs. That one is probably the demon; I can tell by the horns and build. I’ve seen them all, of course, at my trial and this is only a small selection of my captors. “We’re told you visited Hell recently. What chaos did you cause there? Why was that permission necessary?”

I frown, making sure they see it before I answer. “I’m allowed to visit friends occasionally, am I not? It was Yule.”

“You are,” the middle asshole says. “However, it was last minute and practically demanded, so naturally the Society would like to know that we will not need to clean up a mess in that realm as well as this one.”

I don’t care what the fuck I did, these sons of bitches do not own me.