Page 90 of My Trojan Horse Majesty

They’re heading for their SUVs when I realize that I’m not sure where Izzy’s parents were headed with her. Probably Birch Creek, but who knows? I could waste a lot of time looking when these people probably already know the answer. “Wait.”

“Yes?” Gustav turns, a half-smile telling me they were waiting for this.

“Where did Izzy go with her parents?”

Kristiana drops her hands on her hips. “Shouldn’t you head back to your hotel and wait for her to come to you, like a good boy?”

I can’t help my snarl. “Agoodboy?” I snort. “There’s a difference between a reformed villain and a ‘good boy.’”

She glares. “And you want the information that we have. So what are you offering for it,good boy?”

I roll my eyes, and then I flip all their powers back online. “You already know that I can turn them off again just as fast. Now tell me where she went.”

“Her parents were taking her home. They left half an hour ago.”

Shoot.

I jam directions back to Birch Creek Ranch into my GPS, and I hit the gas. I haven’t gone very far—traffic in Salt Lake’s so infuriating that I’m contemplating using wind to justshovea few dozen cars off the road—when my phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” Katerina clears her throat. “Not everyone wanted me to call you.” Her voice drops to barely a hiss. “But Steve called us, and apparently Izzy woke up and insisted they let her out. She made them drive her back to her car so she could go to her old apartment to pick up her stuff.”

“She went back for stuff?” I sigh. “Thanks for telling me.”

Now I’m stuck making the same horrible time going the other way, but eventually I work past the rush hour congestion, and I make a bit of incremental progress. As I’m driving, I think about what I can possibly say to her. Sure, I no longerneedher with me to live, but I still want to be with her all the time. That should count for something, right?

Or maybe I should make my good behavior contingent on her spending time with me.

No, that’s too villainous.

Good boys wouldn’t do that. Gah, I hate being agoodboy.

“Oooh, I have an idea.” And now I’m talking to myself, like a villain in a bad movie. I’m monologuing, and not even to the good guys. “I’ll tell her that I have a lot of magic that Icoulduse for good or bad, and that I need her to help me to know what’s good.” I nod. “That’s a good idea. She’ll like that.”

But when I reach her apartment, and I see her cobra parked just outside, I’m not relieved.

Not at all.

Because there’s a big truck parked next to it, a big, green truck. It’s a truck I’ve seen before—parked at Timothy Heaston’s house. I’m practically fuming when I reach the elevator, which has two small people who look like teenagers waiting on its arrival.

I take the stairs three at a time, and then I stare at her front door.

326C.

Should I give her space? What would a good boy do? I think about how Tim reached out to try and grab her arm and force her to listen, and I stop dithering. I grab the doorknob, and I channel a tiny bit of fire and earth inside, and the lock pops.

I yank it open.

The scene I was expecting doesn’t materialize. They’re not in the family room, locked into some kind of physical altercation. I walk down the hall, the voices growing loud enough that I stop to listen.

“—thought you’d be the kind of woman who would fold at the first difficulty.” There’s a thwack sound.

“I didn’t,” Izzy says. “In fact, I got you out of jail, though I probably should have left you in there. You didn’t care that I had no money, that I had no way to get you out, and you wanted me to beg my parents?—”

“Don’t act like it would have been hard. All you had to do was ask Mommy and Daddy, and they’d have given you the money. Your pride was?—”

“My pride?” She’s shouting now. “I barely had any pride left, thanks to you. And you know what?” I hear her stomp. “As soon as I got back here today, a moment before you arrived, I reported your interference to the school board. I should’ve done it before, but I didn’t want to hurt Rebecca. Today, though, I took screenshots of the email you sent to her, and I sent them over. She was doing what she thought was right. You were just trying to control me, so I figure they’ll sort that out.”

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