Page 104 of Magical Academy for Delinquents
“I’ll find a way to fix it, Shakespeare,” Malcolm said.
I turned to look at him. “How? We’re out of time—”
Malcolm stepped into my personal space, glaring down at me. Heat wrapped around my legs, stroked up my spine, flicked my nipples. “Are you questioning me?” he growled.
I shook my head.
He stepped back. “That’s right. I’m the expert. And I’ll make it work.” Then he walked over to my car. “Come on. Let’s head over to the new headquarters. I have directions.”
* * *
One of Gray'sdrivers had an apartment on the far side of town, on the wrong side of the tracks. The complex was brick and nearly every window had the kind of dusty blinds that would make Potts proud.
Malcolm and I got there first, before the rest of the crew. We rinsed the awful stink-bomb stench off in the pint-sized showers at the tiny three-bedroom apartment. When everyone else arrived, the place felt too crowded—and the smell was unbearable even though we opened every window and door.
Malcolm sat down with his two cronies and immediately started to brainstorm new solutions.
After Gray showered, he sat down on the plaid couch with two of his dudes and went over driving routes for before and after.
Z and Andros sat down next to Evan, who had been outside during the entire debacle, practicing unraveling in his notebook. He was practicing yet again, with a new spell that one of my dark web resources had given us. I swear, he was nearly as fixated on this plan as I was. My chest grew tight as I watched him. I hoped, for his sake as well as Matthew's, that we could pull this off.
Feeling claustrophobic, still a little angry, and also just a bit scared, I left. I walked outside, dragging my feet along the sidewalk, toeing the cracks for a minute, before checking in with Dad. "Hey, Dad?" I called out.
Dad appeared in front of me. He looked a little less solid than usual. A little bit hazy. He wore the damned hated Fedora again tonight. I smiled at that. "Hey kiddo," he said. "You've been busy."
I glanced at him in surprise. "How do you know that?"
"I've popped by once or twice—"
Immediately, I cringed, hoping Dad hadn't seen anything less than PG rated. Evan and Malcolm had both been eager to repeat our private sessions. And what girl could say no to either of them? "Um..."
"It's really brave, sweetheart. But you don't have to be the one to do this, you know."
I shook my head. "Don't, Dad."
"Honey, just tell someone."
I laughed. "You think I didn't try that? Two years ago, I started talking to that reporter. He called me a tin-foil hat loon. All those pros I’ve tried to recruit just laughed …”
Dad shook his head and put his hat in his hands. He played with it. “I don’t like it, Hales.”
I squinted at him. “What’s changed?”
“Something feels off. I go into the Pinnacle and things look the same. But they don’t feel the same. I don’t think you should do this.”
His worry cut me open and wrapped me up like a warm blanket at the same time. It had been a long time since I’d felt any kind of parental authority or affection. I reached my hand out and let it hover in the air. Dad reached out and touched me, sending prickles that felt like paresthesia over my fingers. I had to pull back and shake my hand awake.
I gave Dad a sad smile. “Dad, I promise, it’ll be okay—”
His face went blank. I saw the spark of intelligence in his eyes fade. Dad floated up for a second and hovered in midair. He glanced around for a second, confused. But I saw him clench his eyes shut and give a pained grimace.
“Dad?” I stepped forward.
But he disappeared.
It hurt, like always, seeing him fade into the night. But I’d never asked before if he could still feel things. He never talked about how losing his memory felt or if it felt like anything at all. But did it? Was some part of him aware he was fading away? Could some part of him still feel the heartache I gave him even if he didn’t know where it came from?
I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of fresh spring air and wondered what exactly I was putting my father through. I blinked and stared up at the solitary streetlight with its dim yellow glow and wondered if death was just as full of frustration and agony as life.
