Page 116 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

“I found a tenant for your paren—foryourhouse.”

“Oh, thank God.” My shoulders sag in relief. “Thatisgood news. When can they move in?”

Oh shit, where amIgoing to live? I’ll have to hold a massive yard sale to get rid of everything in the house and hope that can cover me until I can find a better-paying job.

“End of the week,” Quinton says. “But, Nim, I’m afraid in the state the house is in, their lease will only cover the mortgage repayments.”

“So there isn’t enough for me to lease an apartment?”

“I’m afraid not. But that’s where my second bit of good news comes in.”

Moregood news? Be still, my pounding heart.

“You’ve been accepted into Cinderhart Academy. They called me this afternoon to confirm your enrollment.”

I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m as shocked as you,” Quinton says in that same dry monotone as before.

“But…I can’t afford it. I can’t afford to goanywhere. I’m broke.”

“I’m aware,” Quinton says, and with a touch of disappointment I don’t feel he has any right to direct my way. “Thankfully, your first year’s tuition has already been paid for.”

“By who?”See, I’m pretty sure I was supposed to saywhom.That’s something an academic would know right off the bat.

“It was an anonymous donation, so I’m afraid I have no idea.”

“Oh.” That disembodied feeling is coming back again, like I’m peeping into someone else’s life. Only, this time, it’s a good thing. Right?

“Yes, Nim, it’s excellent.”

Shit, I didn’t realize I said that last bit out loud.

“This means you can start school straight away.”

“Wait...did you sayCinderhartAcademy?” I swallow hard, and will away the ache throbbing through my thigh. “That’s...that’s where my parents went?”

Quinton’s voice is hushed. “Yes.”

“And that’s where they were before...”

“Yes.” When I don’t say anything for a beat, Quinton adds, “But don’t let that affect your decision, Nim. You’ve been given a fantastic opportunity here. The tuition includes food and board which puts you in a great position?—”

“To pay back their debt,” I cut in quietly.

Quinton is clearing his throat so much, I’m tempted to ask him if he’s coming down with something. “Look, Nim, obviously this is a big decision, so I suggest you?—”

“But I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“You always have a choice, dear. Why don’t you sleep on it and we’ll talk in the morning.”

I put the phone down and stare at the screen for a second before slipping it in my pocket.

When I get back to the bar, the owner of Purgatory is there, sipping on a whiskey. I nearly trip over my feet when I recognize him, and I’m blushing to my roots by the time I get back behind the bar and tie my apron strings around my waist.

“Good evening, Mr. Black.”

Lucian gives me his signature expression—faded smile, intense eyes. It’s a look that says he knows exactly what you’d be willing to sell your soul for…and that he has enough money to buy it.

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