Page 11 of The Fake Divination Offense
I should run.
Ineedto run.
Something’s behind me. Beside me? Something’sthere, breathing down my neck; I have to go, I have togo.
Help me, Urzoth. Help me. Make me strong, strong enough to get through this, strong enough to stop this—
A noise jolts me awake and I fly upright in a panic, one hand in a fist, one in a defensive block. Shit, which alert was that? Do they want us in the weapons room or the potions lab today? Why can’t I remember? Mistakes cause delays, and delays cause retribution, and Seb’s still in a sling from the last time I fucked up.
Wait—
The bed is wrong.
This isn’t the scratchy blanket and knobby cot in our barracks. The comforter’s fluffy and dazzlingly white where sunlight’s hitting it through the window, and out that window, the skyline shows a view my real estate agent fawned over.On a clear day, I bet you can see all the way to the Hellhounds HQ!
Not Camp Merethyl.
I’m in my new apartment in Philadelphia.
And the dayisclear, an azure sky I stare blankly at, my eyes tearing as reality beats my mind into submission.
Breathe. Breathe in for—how many seconds? Let’s go with four. Hold it for three? Sure. Breathe out for… ten. No, that feels like too many.
But I only get through one breath cycle before I realizeholy shit, I feel like crap.
The too-bright reflection of the sun off my white comforter isn’t the reason for the twinge behind my eyes; it’s a headache that’s already there, a thumping vein determined to bruise my skull. My mouth’s dry and tastes like I licked the inside of my cleats after practice, and now that I’m upright, my stomach goeswhy the fuck are you bungee jumping at this gods-forsaken hourand lurches nauseatingly.
I bend over my lap, elbows on my knees, and—
Am I naked?
I check.
Huh. I don’t usually sleep naked.
I eye my bed again, but the other side looks undisturbed, and Iblow out an exhale. Okay. Probably didn’t bring anyone back here, which is good, considering all I remember from last night is a third bottle of champagne and Darian agreeing to let me sing “I Want to Break Free” if he took the lead and I didthe harmonies, whatever that means.
The noise that woke me comes again and all the muscles in my body seize, which doeswondersfor my headache and nausea.
Briefly, I hear my mother’s voice, telling me true Urzoth followers don’t fall prey to weaknesses like hangovers. I don’t think I’ve ever been a true Urzoth follower, so how would I know?
But—that noise. It’s a laugh? Followed by a teasing shush I’d recognize in any reality.
Feeling like I’ve aged several decades past twenty-eight, I haul my ass out of bed, pull on a pair of gray sweatpants, make a valiant attempt to brush my teeth, and shuffle out into the living room.
The corner apartment really does have stunning views. The main room holds an open-plan living, dining, and kitchen area, with two walls of glass windows broken up by black steel piping. I did what I did with my house in Vegas and let a designer make it livable, which apparently means the same thing here as it did there: white. Everywhere. White couches, white rugs, white marble tables, with black accents and no hint of color except gold fixtures in the kitchen, and shelves of my knickknacks on either side of the fireplace. Why designers seem allergic to color for masculine clients, I can’t guess, but it’s better than the TV-propped-on-cinder-blocks situation I would’ve done.
In the kitchen are Seb and Thio, somehow successfully cooking pancakes on a griddle at the island while wrapped up in each other.
Seb says something, and Thio laughs again—the suddenness of the noise, that was what woke me up.
It wasn’t a Camp Merethyl alert.
A shiver walks down my spine, and I shake it away.
“Morning, sunshine.” Seb notices me with a bright grin. “How ya feeling?”
The smell of sugary syrup and toasted butter has my stomachunsure whether it wants to continue yelling at me, but I slump to the island and heave myself pathetically onto one of the black leather barstools. “HowshouldI be feeling?”
