Page 54 of Hex and the City
He could say what he wanted, do what he wanted. I wasn’t going to do the family’s dirty work any longer.
The Masque nodded. “You understand, of course, that we’ll be watching you much more closely now. Both you and your finder friend.”
I chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, well, that remains to be seen, once he finds out who I am.”
“None of my business, I’m sure,” the Masque said. “Though I suggest you keep your wits about you on that end as well. There’s more than meets the eye to your witch boy, Mr. Drake.”
My brow furrowed. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
But the man was already dissolving, exactly like before, his body fading to leave only his alabaster mask floating in midair. To say I was tempted to grab it out of the air and fling it into the gutter was an understatement.
My mood on the way back to my apartment was decidedly less cheerful. I kept my eyes open in case another Masque decided to materialize in my path. All clear, all the way back. I gave the doorman a polite nod, headed straight for the elevators, rode it to my floor. No more obstacles, masked or otherwise. Good.
Leon was a familiar, comforting shape at the end of the hallway. He was sitting on the ground, slumped against my front door. He peered into the tiny opening of his coffee cup, knees pulled up to his chest.
I smiled, then winced, embarrassed. “Oh, man. Leon, I’m so sorry. I should’ve given you a key.”
The look he gave me could have chilled the blood in my veins. “Should’ve given me a little more than that. Maybe a tiny bit more information about yourself, too.”
I froze, only a step away from him, from my door. “The Masque got to you before I did. What did he tell you?”
“What Masque? It wasn’t a Masque.” He rose from the floor so jerkily that I almost offered him my hand, except I knew that he was mad enough to just slap it away. “You’re one of them. You’re one of them, and you never told me.”
One step forward. That was all I could risk. “One of who?” I asked, still stubborn, still testing him.
I didn’t expect him to smack me in the chest. “Why’d you lie to me, Max? Fuck’s sake, why am I even still talking to you? I shouldn’t even be here.”
“Please, come in,” I stammered, fumbling with my keys. “Just come in, okay? Let me explain.”
“A Brillante, Max? Really?” Another smack, this time on my shoulder. I deserved that. “You kept whining about them like they were the worst people in the world, and — ”
My hand went over his mouth. I shouldn’t have, but he was freaking out loud enough to alert my neighbors, and I really, really didn’t want those people knowing who I was — who I used to be.
It’d taken me long enough to get more than a distrustful glare from the old woman in 4B whenever we passed each other in the hallway. I’d even worked up to a passive, almost friendly “Hello” with the family in 4C.
Wrestling Leon back into my apartment while miraculously maintaining the structural integrity of all three chocolate croissants was nothing short of a miracle. He did throw both coffee cups at me in self-defense, though, neither of which splashed me with a boiling-hot payload.
I nudged the door shut, but not before laughing nervously above my regular voice level. “No wonder you’re so worked up. You had two coffees in a row.”
Leon’s shove came from both hands now, straight at my chest, almost enough to topple me over. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was just trying to feel me up. I fended him off with both hands, which didn’t feel like enough. Either Leon was quicker and more persistent than I thought, or he’d suddenly grown a dozen extra arms.
“Of course I had both fucking coffees in a row. You made it sound like these big magical families were bad guys and bad news when it turns out you were part of Big Family all along. Where are the dead bodies, Max?”
My hands flew off him like I’d just been burnt. “Whoa, hold up. What dead bodies?”
“Roscoe told me so. The Brillantes are basically a crime family. Hell, aren’t all the great families like that? What are you, some kind of magical mafia? I shouldn’t even be here.”
“Look, Leon, if you’d only calm down — here, have a croissant.”
He backed away. “I don’t want a damn croissant. I want the truth.” His eyes flitted toward the paper bag, then back at me. Someone was lying about the croissant.
But someone — me, specifically — had lied more egregiously about his identity.
“Fucking Roscoe and his big mouth,” I said, rubbing my forehead.
“Don’t make this about Roscoe and Johnny,” Leon said, revealing that this was partly Johnny’s fault, too. “You should’ve been honest with me from the beginning, or close enough to it.”
Leon was right. I was already making the wrong move, blaming an old friend instead of coming clean to a new one. “I was raised a Brillante, okay? Got the best tutors and mentors, was never allowed to go to a regular school. That would taint the mind. It’s what our clan believed. We had to remain pristine, and clear. Like a diamond. That’s what Brillante means in Spanish.”
