Page 127 of The Fake Divination Offense
I look at the room, at my teammates and coaches, all smiles, having a blast. This was what I wanted months ago, only—
Only I’dthoughtthey hadn’t come because they’d decided I waswrong about the lawsuit. I’d built it up as another reason, and it didn’t matter that what I believed wasn’t true; it still felt real to me.
It feltrealto me.
I gasp, eyes widening, and grab Seb by the arms. “Oh my gods. That’s it.”
“What’s what?”
I drop my voice, leaning in; the noise of the crowd and the song is enough to cover us. “The cultists. They need tothinkthat Bel isn’t what they need. It doesn’t have to betrue.”
The cultists aren’t playing by any rules, so I shouldn’t either, right? Gloves are off.
We’re going on the offensive.
“We make them think that Bel isn’t the thing they need for their ritual,” I tell Seb.
He frowns at me, not in concern, but in thought. Thio comes closer, ear cocked toward us.
“How?” Seb asks.
“We stage it,” I say. “A fake ritual as convoluted as the shit they pull. We’ll follow all the stupid requirements they have—the spring equinox, the hot sauce, the handcuffs—”
“Handcuffs?”
“—and we’ll use magic to make someone look demonic, and we’ll pretend to be cultists, and stage the whole thing. It won’t work, we’ll make sure it doesn’t work, and report widely that it failed. They’ll haveproofthatGalaxrien’s descendantisn’t what they’re looking for.”
Seb’s face is set in that way when he’s thinking through a complex problem. “There are a lot of variables we’d have to consider. What if the cultists think thattheycould do it better, and still go after him?”
My conviction wanes. “We won’t change anything about his security until we’re sure it worked. But—it’ssomething. Isn’t it?”
Thio touches my arm. “Yeah,” he says with a smile. “I think we can make it work.”
I grin at him. Seb, still scowling in thought, nods absently.
“Huh,” he says, then pulls out his phone. “We’ll need spells that—huh. What about—no. Wait. Huh.”
And he dips into the crowd, typing and walking away with his head down.
Thio sighs. “I better follow him to make sure he doesn’t bump into anyone. But Orok?” He squeezes my shoulder. “It’s a good idea.”
He ducks after his fiancé.
It might not work. Bel might still be in danger after it.
But it’s somethingactiveinstead of being so maddeninglypassive.
The song ends. Bel and Darian twirl toward the crowd with elaborate bows and everyone goeswild, screaming and cheering so loud my eardrums throb.
Bel meets my eyes, beams, and takes a running leap off the stage. I catch him, consumed by his apple scent and the feel of his sweat-slicked skin through the lacy back of his suit jacket.
“You were amazing, sweetheart,” I say, rubbing my nose against the shell of his ear. “I could watch you perform forever.”
He pulls back, still cradled in my arms, breathless; pink curls stick to his forehead.
Gods, and to think the adventure party wanted to shut him away in a cabin somewhere, lock up all this sunshine and talent and keep the world a darker place.
I get in one kiss, one taste of his glossy lips and the sweetness of a cherry drink he had, before Marlow’s begging to do a duet with him, signing while Bel sings.
