Page 91 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

I returned to the motel room, occupying my time thoroughly cleaning everything in sight. Ammonia killed the grime, even erasing the musk of mine and Wally’s sweating bodies. The sun set, and he still hadn’t returned. I’d scrubbed every inch of the room three times over to occupy my time.

Nothing bad had happened to him. While I kept the tether connecting us loose, I felt the slightest tug of the slack. He moved throughout the city all over. My heart hastened, wondering if he avoided returning. Maybe the hours away from me had offered clarity. Perhaps he’d contemplated returning. Doubted leaving with me.

“Fuck.” I huffed.

I went to the nightstand, grabbing his notebook and scribbling additional destinations. If he didn’t want to join me, he wouldn’t have to. I’d make my own adventure. I didn’t need Wally. I didn’t need anyone.

I gulped, swallowing the lie hard. What if I’d been too pushy about how he should handle his vile mother? What if killing Ian changed him? Made him question his life? What if he didn’t want to walk away from the Collective? Especially now that he’d easily pass the practitioner exam, surpassing all the pathetic mages who’d always been beneath him.

My heart pounded, practically jumping out of my chest.

It took careful breathing to realize this was the tether, not anxiety. Mostly.

His mana surged outside the room. I rushed to the door, almost opening it as he fumbled outside. The knob turned, and I returned to the bed, ignoring him in favor of my notes.

“I texted you four times,” he said, holding a dozen plastic bags in one hand and his tiny pet in the other. “What’s the point of getting you a phone if you don’t use it?”

“I didn’t ask for a telephone,” I grumbled.

“It’s not a telephone. It’s a phone. You text, you call, you video chat. Add apps. You’d probably enjoy them.”

“Telephones were not made for letter writing. I hated writing letters when they were standard.”

“Bez, it’s not letter writing. It’s quick, conversational, and to the point.” He placed the scorpion in the tank.

“If you wished to check in, you should’ve called.”

“I tried. Straight to voicemail.”

That was because I’d already broken the damned thing. The glass was fragile, and the telephone kept turning my words into incomprehensible sentences. Who says ‘ducking’? Piece of shit device deserved the death I’d served it, transforming my charm into illogical, poorly strung-together notes.

“What is all this?” I nodded to the bags he set on the floor.

“Gotta eat, right?” He pulled out a container of fried chicken. “I also got you a few things. Not a lot but hopefully enough to last a few days.”

“What’d you buy?” I peeked inside a bag of raw steaks, sweet pickles, and a tub of cool whip.

“I tried to think of the most horrifying taste combos and just grabbed everything I could carry.”

There were so many delectable treats inside.

“It’ll tide you over while we figure out our first destination, which is fine because it’ll take a few days for me to find a cheap car, find the best routes, decide on—”

“How’d you buy all this?” I licked my lips. “Did you steal for me?”

“No. Al might’ve given me something from his trust. Sort of a farewell.”

“Why does he have a trust and you don’t?”

“Oh, I lost my trust fund years ago when I switched from the sentinel regiment to the archivist.” His voice became deeper, his face stern. “An Alden who does not hold up the legacy cannot reap from its history.”

So brave, even when at his most timid, Wally always upheld his belief in himself and his goals. If he hadn’t been bold enough to go on his own then, our paths would’ve never crossed.

“Not much of a legacy to uphold now.” He chuckled.

I grabbed his arm and pulled him close. He stared at my horns, studying the intricate ridges as he ran the fingers of his free hand along them.

“Not that I have a problem with them, but you’re going to have to do something about your Diabolic features before we head out.”

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