Page 11 of Wicked

Candlewick raises his eyebrows. “H went to Dorian Gray’s house with a big-ass dragon, remember? He’ll be fine.”

“But—”

“H asked us to get an alibi. I don’t know about you, but when someone tells me to get an alibi, I fucking do it. Especially if I just recently got out of jail. Trust me on this, you do not want to end up there.” Candlewick drags me over to the closet. This one has plenty of clothing to choose from but not the robes or suits I’ve seen in landing pad closets in the past. Instead, there are tacky graphic tees, flip flops, and a bizarre array of pants, including sweatpants with a taco cat on the butt.

“You need to change,” he says.

“But H needs—”

“H needs us to fetch his wallet and then get an alibi. Which is what we’re going to do. If he’s really plotting murder, wouldn’t it be better to go along with his plans, rather than mess them up?”

I hate to admit it, but Candlewick is right. If H kills Dorian, the last thing he needs is for us to show up in an Uber. That will only get us all arrested when the cops start investigating. Even if we rented a car, it would be far more conspicuous than flying in with Anne. This late at night, her scales blend in with the night sky.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

Candlewick flashes me a breathtaking smile. “To see some friends of mine. But you can’t go wearing those clothes. They look too much like the weird getup red wolf shifters from the compounds wear.”

“That’s what they are. Dressing this way helps me avoid the materialism of the world.”

Candlewick thinks about that for a moment, then grabs the taco-cat sweatpants. “I assure you that wearing these pants will not lure you into becoming materialistic. You’ll be too embarrassed for that.”

“So you’re fine with me going to see your friends in taco-cat pants but not red wolf shifter clothing? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“My friends are all half red wolf shifters. Or if you prefer what the leaders of your church call us, mutts. If you show up in your regular clothes, they’ll assume you’re a judgmental, self-righteous bastard. Which is kind of true,” he says and smirks.

“You aren’t a mutt,” I say.

He lifts his chin. “I’m half fox shifter. Your church says—”

“The men in my church who say that are wrong. You’re not a mutt.” In the compound where I grew up, they didn’t teach us that nasty word. The Portland sect is different in a lot of ways—important ways. They still didn’t welcome me back after I escaped from the pits, but I’m grateful I grew up there rather than in one of the more extreme compounds.

Candlewick rolls his eyes. “Okay. I’m not sure I follow how religion works in your brain, but that’s fine. Put these on.”

I reluctantly take the taco-cat pants from him. He’s right. They won’t feed my ego enough to lure me into materialism. It was thoughtful of him to consider my beliefs in his solution to the clothing problem instead of just dismissing them. Most of the people I interact with day to day think my beliefs are either annoying or a joke.

Candlewick keeps flipping through the hangers until he finds a bright pink shirt with a shark on it that says, “Just Sharkin’ Around.” The shark is wearing a sombrero and has orange floaties on his fins.

“What does sharkin’ around mean?” I ask.

“Absolutely nothing. This is the stupidest shirt I’ve ever seen in my life, and I used to work at a pretentious consignment shop. Trust me, wearing this is not the path to materialism.”

I can’t help but smile as I take it from him. “Thank you.”

“Are you seriously thanking me for making you wear that ridiculous clothing?”

I laugh. “Yeah. I appreciate you caring about my aversion to materialism. It’s important to me.”

He considers me for a long moment. I wish I could hear all the thoughts running through his head. This is the first time we’ve been alone together, and it’s difficult to keep my distance.

I want him so much I don’t know what to do.

“Is there a way we could be together and respect your religious beliefs at the same time?” he asks earnestly.

If he had asked that question in any other way, I’d say no. I’ve been saying no all night. I want to do the right thing here and avoid leading him on.

“I don’t think so.”

He bites his lip. “What are the rules, exactly?”

---