“We will. Except it’s in Wisconsin.”
“Call your friend, Amir, the carriage driver,” Donovan said. “We will go now.”
“Amir can’t help us, Donovan, it’s too far away. It’s a five-hour flight.”
Donovan cursed in a foreign tongue—it sounded like poetry. “We shall have to take a dragon. I despise dragonflight. They are often uncontrollable.”
“I adore it,” Cress said.
“Understandable,” Donovan said in an undertone. “You are a lunatic.”
“And you would not, since you are an unbearable control freak.”
Donovan growled.
“Stop it, you two! We’ll have to catch a flight. Two flights, with a layover in Denver. Hmm, we’d have to run to catch this connection, but we could probably make it...” I thumbed my phone, looking at the options. “And I guess because I’m the only person with an internet connection here, I’ll have to book the tickets. Any chance any of you have a credit card?” Despite now owning an entire apartment building and getting a promotion, I was still dead broke. Apparently, the rental income was going to take months to transfer to me, and I wouldn’t get paid from my job until the end of the month. And even then, half of it would go to Vincent as alimony.
A surge of rage flared in my belly, I metaphorically grabbed hold of it and examined it carefully.
This was new. I’d never been angry about having to pay Vincent alimony before, because the guilt at almost killing him had overwhelmed my anger. The guilt was still there—even though he’d cheated and lied and had me put in a psychiatric hospital, I still felt bad that I’d hurt him.
There was a purple flash of light, and a thick black credit card appeared in front of me. I grinned. “Thanks, Violet. Now let’s see. Oh, flights are already mostly booked out, which is understandable, since the Ultimate Strong championships are on, but there are a few seats available.”
“Can I come too?” Bart said in a little voice. “I feel so bad about losing Audrina.”
I reached over and took his hand. “It’s not your fault, Bart. And you’re not fooling anyone. I know how much you love watching grown men in little shorts throw big weights around.”
“I’m coming!” Cecil shimmied next to me and struck a pose. “You’ll need me, especially if you have to negotiate with the berserkers.”
“Uh. Okay.” I glanced at him. “Why?”
“Physical power is number one, but aesthetics are number two. Besides, you need me to dress that lot.” He jerked his head towards Eryk, Nate, and Cress—all three were still in their fae battle leathers. “So they blend in.”
“Good point.” I went back to the booking website. “But there’s only six seats left on the flight to Wisconsin,” I said. “All of them are in economy, and none of them are together. Someone is going to have to stay behind.”
“I’ll use a human child glamor and pretend to be under two years old, so I sit on someone’s knee. Please, Chosen. Come on.” Cecil batted his huge eyes at me. “I’ve been stuck in the Queen’s treasury for so long; I haven't seen anything new in decades. Pleaseeee?”
“Fine,” I sighed. “But you're not sitting on my knee.” My fingers tapped across the screen furiously. “We need to leave right now. Grab your bags.”
Chapter
Five
Iran my eye over the motley crew as we walked into the elevator. It would be a miracle if we got through this without drawing any attention to ourselves. Cecil, insisting we blend in with the Ultimate Strong crowd, had provided very ordinary human clothes for all of them—the boys now wore sweats, sleeveless shirts, and college hoodies—but their otherworldly beauty shone right through the thin veneer of mundane clothing. Considering the destination, Nate, with his bulging muscles, looked the most normal, while Eryk looked like he’d just stumbled off a catwalk.
Cress was the worst. She still looked like a badass fae warrior princess; there was just no disguising that gorgeous body or her preternatural ferociousness. Cecil had put her in black luxury activewear—skin-tight yoga pants, a metallic crop top, with a structured zip-up jacket that skimmed her ribs, showing off her tiny waist and her visible abdominal muscles. Her ass was the most perfect thing I’d ever seen in my life, perky and round and bite-able like a peach. Jealousy was a fairly new emotion for me. I was horrified by how it felt—sticky, icky, churning and burning all at the same.
Donovan wore gray sweatpants. I was looking forward to strangling Cecil for that later, but for now, I was using every single bit of willpower to not look at him. It was getting harder with every second. My eyes were traitors—they kept swinging his way whenever my control slipped. I’d caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye as we walked out to the elevator, saw the unmistakable massive swing between his legs, and nearly passed out. Now, I was struggling with my neck muscles, trying not to turn around and stare at him.
An angelic-looking toddler wearing a sparkly gold onesie sauntered into the lift, tossing back his tiny tuft of white hair. “Are you okay, Chosen?” There was a snigger in Cecil’s voice. The glamor made him look like an adorable human baby, but he still shimmied around with his usual swagger.
“I’m fine,” I said through clenched teeth. “Let’s just get out of here.”
The elevator made an odd chime. We were still moving. “What’s that?”
Donovan frowned. “The doorbell. Someone is calling your House.”
“Oh, God.” I cringed. “I hope it’s not Jessica again.” I wasn’t ready to face her yet. I was still too worried about Audrina to really call her out.
“It’s not Jessica,” Cecil said, waving his chubby little baby hand towards the wall. A screen appeared. “It’s a trifecta of frosty-looking geriatrics.”
“I’m sorry? A trifecta of what?”
“Old-looking humans,” he elaborated. “Three wrinkly mortals with one foot in the grave. Walking fossils.” He peered at the screen. “I haven’t seen any of them before.”
I craned my neck, trying to avoid looking at Donovan, so I could see the screen. Two figures had turned around and were moving away from the camera, carefully walking down the steps. One man lingered by the camera, wearing a very well-tailored suit. That made me nervous.
It was Saturday. The only reason to wear a suit on a Saturday was if you were going to a funeral or selling a house at auction.
Or… worse.
“Go down to the basement, everyone, please,” I said. “I’ll handle whatever this is.” The last thing I needed was for adorable baby Cecil to light up a cigarette in my lobby. “Get the car and bring it around.”
The elevator dinged and opened; I marched out into the atrium, heading towards the door. The sharp suit-wearing man was still there. Cecil was right; he was old, in his sixties, tall, spare, and patrician-looking, with a beaky nose, thick brows and a shining bald head.
He raised his eyebrows when he saw me open the door. “Susan Moore?”
I didn’t recognize him. But I recognized the other two, even from behind.
