Page 73 of Fatality on the Field

My gorgon takes over, her power emanating from me with the blinding light of justice for women that my kind has sought since ancient times. The effect is immediate and spectacular. Petrification starts at his feet, his track spikes fusing together. Color drains from his ankles, stone-grey running up his calves in a rapid, hungry wave. I watch his knees lock mid-buckle and his hands freeze in place, one reaching out like a drowning man grabbing at a life ring. Stone climbs up his torso, flattening the logo on the polo and rendering the coffee stain in perfect fossilized detail. His mouth tilted up in a sneer is permanently etched into the statue. Even his eyes glaze over and turn flat as river pebbles, as the effect continues up his form.

It’s over in five seconds or less, and the whole time, Des is watching, tongue flicking the air with increasing satisfaction. When it’s done, I let my magic fade until it is gone and the relief that runs through me is like a cool breeze that calms my soul. Turning to my friend, I grin a little and she grins like a kid in a candy store. The statue remains upright, looming over the corner of the carpet, a perfect testament to what happens when you abuse women in the sphere of a gorgon.

This was the venting of a week’s worth of accumulated bullshit and boy, did I need it.

Channing lets out a low whistle as she checks out the Coach’s remains. “That,” she says, “was totally worth the effort to find a target. I mean, hot fucking damn, Morgana.”

I let my lips twitch as I shrug. “How did you know I’d do it? I didn’t give you those glasses when we started working together, because I actually thought you’d have to use them. It was a ‘Hail Mary’ option, you know?”

She shrugs. “I researched every part of your supernatural profile when you hired me. It revealed all your positives and negatives, so I knew that putting a shithead like this in front of you on a bad day would accomplish double the work in half the time. I’m keeping a list of people I need to check for the future and everything.”

“Remind me to give you a raise once I sort the damn budget,” I say with a shake of my head. “You deserve one.”

Channing’s grin goes full wattage. “I’ll hold you to that, but shall I call facilities to get this damn thing out of here now? I know you won’t want him stinking the place up forever.”

I look at the statue, thinking about it for a moment. “Leave it for now. Every asshole I have to deal with for the next bit can bear witness to what happens when you mess with my students. That might make some of the trash take itself out.”

Channing gives a lazy salute, then picks up her tablet and returns to the couch. “Back to triage?”

“Back to triage,” I say as I sigh and sit down in my chair.

For the first time in days, the world feels just a little bit more manageable, so if anyone wants to challenge that, they’re welcome to try their luck.

Let’s see if they want to end up in the future statuary collection I’m going to have on the front lawn of my offices.

forty-five

IGNATIUS

The kitchen at Morgana’s house four days before the Tantalus Bowl is tense. I’m finishing my eggs, my mug is three-quarters empty, and I’m watching the others orbit around the morning like it’s a low-gravity planet. The coffee’s good because of Slade, but the conversation, for once, is even better. Our group is gelling more day by day, and I feel much less like an outsider than I did before our holiday journey.

I’m not there yet, but I can see it happening now. That’s progress.

Kaspar is at the far end of the table, his stormy eyes following the room’s currents as if he’s been tasked with finding every flaw to combat later on. He’s off-duty, but I recognize the low simmer of tension that never quite leaves his body. He’s got a plate of protein and vegetables in front of him, but he’s dissecting it slowly as he calculates. I suppose no one who guards royals ever really takes time off, especially when they’re in a realm not their own and being attacked from all sides.

His protectee, the prince, is two seats down reading my cast-off local paper sections with the precision of someone who thinks every news source is a viable lead. Next to his mug is a small spread of articles, annotations curling up the sides in that strange sideways script he uses for notes. Liam looks up every so often to underline something or toss a casual comment to Kaspar, who responds in grunts or the odd head-tilt. They’re so focused I almost feel bad that I’m not reading for clues as I look at the pages first.

Of course, I’m very familiar with how strictly the local council and Society edit print media in this realm, so I know better.

Lucas is camped out by the window, staring at the backyard as if the world’s going to make more sense if he just keeps looking. He’s in track pants and a long-sleeve tee, his hair still damp from a shower. If you ask me, he’s taking the ‘everything is fine’ bit too far. I noticed it with the way he tore around the hospital playing mother hen to the sick students, and I let it pass as a post-crisis come-down. Today, there’s something else—his shoulders are a little lower, and the smile he throws at Slade doesn’t quite get to his eyes. He’s worried about what’s coming next and how helpless we all are to stop it.

My new… love interest…is in full barista mode, something that belies his concern as well. Slade is pouring a fresh round one by one with the grace of a trained pro. There’s a plate of his muffins heaped high next to the egg bowl and Slade keeps ferrying them to the table to get everyone to eat. I watch the way he checks on everyone and wonder if it’s all his anxiety, or if he’s just that deeply invested in keeping us alive and caffeinated.

Almost certainly the former, but that’s okay—it’s keeping him calm and not visibly shaken.

I nurse my refilled mug, pick at the last of my breakfast, and keep an eye on the social currents swirling around the room. Morgana isn’t down here yet, but as I said, we’re doing pretty well with working together. That’s a plus, especially since the dragon and I are working our way back into her good graces. It will make my future mate happy and that’s really what we all want, right?

The dragon is first to break the silence. “The Beanery crowd was jumping yesterday afternoon,” he says, picking a shred of kale off his plate with disdain. “I heard something about the student-run paper threatening a Bowl boycott. Didn’t catch details, but it sounded like their faculty advisor lost their mind about it last night. Did you catch any of that shit, Slade?”

“It’s real. The word is that a handful of the top non-football playing athletes are planning a public walkout unless the administration guarantees some kind of funding parity, especially for women. There’s a rumor saying that balancing the budget needs to go hand-in-hand with fairness in funding. The old guard and donors will never go for it, but it will affect the publicity for the Bowl negatively if they do. That’s a big swath of students included and they’ll make a statement.”

Lucas turns to listen up at his words, but Liam’s focused on his paper still. “Unfair funding in sports spaces is centuries old. If the Board hasn’t been forced to adjust that shit by now, it’s because they’re unconcerned with blow back on it. The only thing that will garner attention, even at that sort of event, is a very unignorable and likely illegal attention-grabber. I don’t know if that many students feel safe participating in such a thing.” The prince says it without looking up, as if the problem isn’t big enough to discuss further.

Kaspar shakes his head and grunts, “College kids—the real ones at the right age, unlike us—are stupid, Li. They will do all sorts of idiotic shit that beings with fully developed brains wouldn’t do. They could end up starting a riot and that would open the door for much worse things to slip inside. Look at the misdirected package at the greenhouse and how it ended up.”

That engenders a brief flash of anger from Lucas, who cuts in, “Those people were innocent. The ones it almost killed didn’t even know what was going on until they woke up in the hospital. I don’t get how anyone could risk people who aren’t involved in this shit for what? Money? Power? Fame? Man, it’s just bullshit.”

It’s my turn to speak, but Slade beats me to it. He sets down the carafe and leans against the counter. “Fear, greed, and competition make people do weird things. I heard someone in the Beanery yesterday say that the Bowl isn’t about who wins—it’s about who survives the media blitz afterward.” He shrugs, eyes fixed on the floor for a split second. “No idea if that’s because of this sort of suspicion or if it’s just in general. We’ve had enough of that recently to agree with it, though.”