Page 29 of Delinquents Turned Fugitives
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Time feltlike it had slowed, like it was dragging its feet—but I also felt like I’d aged a decade because my heart had worked overtime tonight, pumping at least three times as fast as it should have. And it wasn’t slowing down. I sat at the bar with Gunther and Lysa, nursing a water and trying not to jerk my head to the side at every tiny sound. My face was a mask of calm, collected cool—but the rest of me was tangled up tension.
Would they be okay?
Lysa tried to make small talk and I indulged her whenever I could, using the distraction to staunch the worry that flowed from me like blood. She seemed intrigued when I told her the guys and I had met at the Magical Academy for Delinquents.
“Well, damn. If I’d have known they made them that hot at Metamorphose, I might not have dropped out of school,” she quipped.
“Language,” Gunther grunted as he wiped down the bar and threw out last night’s lemon slices.
“Well,fuck. If I’d have known—” Lysa grinned when Gunther wagged a finger at her. She swiveled on her barstool and said, “He’s convinced I’m twelve, not twenty.”
I gave a weak smile and tried to change the subject, since she was making the guy with the sword angry, and my crew and I were currently dependent on staying in everyone’s good graces here. “So, what is this place?” I gestured at the bar, which lacked a lot of decoration; it was mostly full of tables and ceiling fans. But as I gazed around, I noticed a wall full of black and white photos for the first time—the place wasn’t completely without character.
“The Skulls? They’re a motorcycle club. Mix of magicals and norms.”
“Really?” I asked, intrigued. It was rare for the two groups to intermingle.
“Dad was an orphan. Raised by norms because, at first, they didn’t realize he was a magical.”
“Ahem.” Gunther cleared his throat pointedly. “Don’t be letting strangers in on—”
“She’s not a stranger, you grumpy old goat. We’re BFFs, right Hales?”
I raised a brow but couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. I kind of liked her presumptuousness.
But I also recognized a certain hunger in her eyes. Her look told me she had a reason to be friends with me. She wanted something from me. “Yeah…” I said slowly, intrigue momentarily diverting me from the worry stewing in my stomach. I wondered what she could possibly want. “We are friends. We share panties and everything.”
At Gunther’s look of disgust, Lysa raised her hand for a high five. I gave it to her.
Then I grinned when stuck her tongue out at the old biker as he traded his sword for a tray of dirty glasses on the counter. He stomped off with the tray, leaving the shining weapon on the bar top while he went through a second door at the back, not the one that blocked my view of Gray and Cotton. I watched the door swing in Gunther’s wake and waited patiently for Lysa to drop her bomb, whatever it was.
“So … you’re a Darklight, right?” she asked, far too casually. She put on a fake innocent look that a lot of girls used.
I raised a brow. There it was. But what need did she have for a Darklight? I debated lying.
“Oh, come on, it’s all over social media how Gray took you to the ball,” she tossed her hand around flippantly.
I nodded. No sense in trying to hide what she already knew. “Yeah.”
Her blue eyes studied mine for a second, measuring me up before she asked, “What do you know about ghosts?”
I had to stop a shiver that traced its way down my spine as I pictured the ghost that had just possessed me a few hours before. “A bit. What questions do you have?”
She leaned forward on her barstool, her knees knocking into mine. “All of them. Is there one in here now?”
I shook my head, not even needing to glance around. “Nope.”
“What about in that back room earlier with my dad?”
“No. Why? Is one bothering you?”
Lysa’s eyes fell to the bar and she slid back on her barstool, looking deflated. “No. Not bothering. I was … hoping. My mom had cancer …” She trailed off but she didn’t need to say more. I got it.
“I’m sorry.”
Her eyes took on a wet sheen. “They have tochooseto stay, right?”
