Page 12 of Ulune's Daughter

He’s a different sort of trouble than Luca, but definitely trouble.

“I know,” he says. “I just heard all about you from Yan.”

Yan, one of the juniors I put the fear of the Mother into.

I look him up and down. Good looks. Athlete’s physique. He looks a few years younger than I am.

“Assistant coach?” I guess.

“Something like that.”

“Soccer?”

“Swim team.”

“Right. You’re here to make sure I don’t report their idiot treasure hunt.”

“No, I’m here to thank you. In the water? Yan’s a god. Incredibly intuitive swimmer. Outside the water? He’s kind of an idiot. He’s not malicious. Just.” Rhodes raises his palms sheepishly. “Not a lot of common sense.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea to protect someone with not a lot of common sense. I might be doing the world a service if I turn him in.”

“Anything I could say to persuade you to wait until after regionals?”

By the Mother, some things just do not change. I came to Bevvy with the belief that college would be the great equalizer. That brains would mean more here than money, connections, or lack of hand-eye coordination. First semester freshman year disabused me of that idea. Every semester after that hammered the lesson home. By senior year, I really should have known better.

Mitch still managed to get the drop on me.

I shake my head. I’m here. Mitch isn’t. I found Isla Cedros. Yes, I had help, but it won’t be Mitch’s name, or Rowan’s, that will be said in the same breath as the Magi of the Mist.

It will be mine.

“Keep your boy on the straight and narrow,” I tell Rhodes. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Rhodes says. “You’re new this semester?”

At my nod, he continues, “Do you have time for a coffee?”

Two offers of coffee in one day? Whew, the popularity. Better not let it go to my head.

“Sorry, I have plans,” I say, even though I don’t. My grand plan for the night is working on the exhibit catalogue. But I’ve had enough of people. I wasn’t the biggest people-person before I went to Isla Cedros. Three years there got me even more used to my own company. I’m very ready for the quiet of my apartment, a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, and writing up exhibit tags. “Rain check?”

“I’d like that.” He takes out a smartphone and opens it with his fingertip. I give him my number and when he pings my phone, save him as a contact.

“Have a good night, Kellan,” he says. “Sweet dreams.”

It’s only after he’s gone and I’m on my way home that the strangeness of his goodbye registers. I shrug it off. I’ve been a lot of places and heard a lot of hellos and goodbyes. Hoping I have sweet dreams is at least a nice farewell.

As I’m mulling over the stranger farewells I’ve heard, including Rowan’s, which was more of a threat than a goodbye, my phone pings. I pull it out of my bag.

Rhodes: If you don’t really have plans, there’s a good cover band playing at Vibrant’s in Albany. They go on at 9.

The nightlife in Albany, particularly the indie music scene, is something I missed in California. Which has its own music scene, of course, but it was too glam for me. I go to listen to the music and hang out with my friends, not see and be seen.

His offer is tempting, even if it feels awfully pushy.

Me: I really do have plans. But I also love Vibrant’s. Tomorrow at 9?

Rhodes: Pick you up at 8.

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