Page 62 of Dance of the Phoenix
“Nothing,” I quickly replied, looking away.
I expected that this would be the end of it, but to my shock, I heard Logan take a deep breath before he said, “We need to talk.”
Slowly, cautiously, I turned to look at him again. He glared at the back of the seat before him.
In truth, I feared talking to him. I didn’t want another fight. But I also knew avoiding talking to him until the very last minute when we had to fight for our lives might not be a wise decision. “All right.”
He tensed before turning to face me. “I will forever resent what you did to me three years ago,” he said, cutting right to the chase. “But for what it’s worth, I apologize for the way I handled our last physical ... encounter.”
My spine stiffened in response. “Thank you,” I said, trying not to sound as if I was forcing the words out. “I appreciate it. And I’m sorry too.”
Jaw locked, Logan nodded and looked away. “Let’s just focus on the Hecatomb from now on.”
“Agreed,” I said at once, feeling an odd sense of relief and regret. I just wished things between Logan and I weren’t so uncomfortably, provokingly loaded.
The rest of the flight went by in a relatively more relaxed silence. I dozed on and off for most of the time, and when I didn’t, I stared at the view outside the window.
When we landed at George Bush Intercontinental Airport, Margarita, who was in charge of arranging transportation for the Hecatomb, led us outside the airport, where a large bus awaited.
The bus trip took about half an hour to get to Midtown Houston. Margarita took us to the back of a fancy building, where we all waited by an old wooden door. She knocked an odd number of times, like in Morse code, before the door moved aside automatically.
Wide concrete staircases leading into a dark underground. We followed Margarita silently into the gloom; the only sound echoing in the space was our footsteps. At some point, the stairs grew wider and wider until they turned into a spacious, long hallway with tall ceilings, all painted black with candle lights all over the walls.
It all felt quite stifling, but I swallowed my discomfort and hurried after Margarita and the rest.
The hallway ended in a desk occupied by two tall men wearing butler uniforms, as if to match the Gothic Victorian-era atmosphere. It was even more pronounced when one of the butlers said in a heavy English accent, “Welcome. Tell me the name of your League.”
“Rayne League,” Margarita responded, and I frowned, suddenly looking around me. Where was Ragnor?
The butler wrote something down with a fancy quill and straightened, moving around the desk. “Follow me.”
The passage we’d come through split into two curved hallways, one leading to the right and one left, as if to surround a larger circular room. The butler took us through the right corridor, which was just as dark and candlelit as the main hallway.
We arrived at a door, which the butler opened. It led to a large lounge, painted red, gold, and black, with antique couches and sofas, dark wooden tables, and a kitchen in the corner that seemed as if it had been taken fromDownton Abbey.
“The two doors lead to the male and female residences,” the butler said and gave us all a polite bow. “For any questions, you may find me at the front desk.”
Once the butler was gone, Margarita turned to look at us. “Go get settled,” she said. “In fifteen minutes, all participants should meet back here.”
It was already so late at night that I just wished I could call it a day and sleep like the Rayne League members who came as spectators—like Isora—could do. But with the Hecatomb officially starting tomorrow, I knew I’d have no such leisure.
The female residences were filled with bunk beds, hammocks, and only a couple of queen beds. Margarita claimed a queen bed for herself, and I saw Yelene, Zoey, and Cassidy arguing over who should take the other.
Since I did not want to fight over a fucking bed, I claimed an upper bunk, while Isora, throwing a smile in my direction, took the bed under mine.
Once I was done in the room, I returned to the lounge, where CJ and Neisha were already waiting.
When I joined them, their conversation stopped and they turned to look at me. Since I had a feeling I had just interrupted a private chat, I felt somewhat nervous when I said, “Hey, sorry, but have you seen Ra—I mean, our Lord?”
Neisha and CJ exchanged glances before returning their gazes to me. “No, not really,” Neisha replied with a shrug. “I assume he’s in his room?”
CJ shook his head. “I saw him saying something to Margarita before we left the street. He disappeared after that.”
Meaning I wasn’t hallucinating, and he really wasn’t here. The question was, where was he then? “Thanks,” I murmured and sat down on the couch.
“So how are you doing?” Neisha asked, swiftly changing the subject. “I mean, things have been quite tense between you and Logan lately ...”
Thinking back at how public our fight had been made my cheeks flush in embarrassment. “Yeah, we’re fine now,” I responded, looking down at the marble floor. “Sorry for making things ... weird.”
