Page 8 of The Crownless King
Amaya snorted. “You don’t even know what they look like under those masks. Not to mention every last one of them are killers. You’d marry a killer?”
“And would,” Trace said quickly.
“How are we friends?” Amaya shook her head as she rolled her clean suit into a ball.
Tossing it over to the laundry basket in the corner of the employee locker room, she shimmied her shoulders as it landed in the basket. Smoothing down the top of her hair, she tuned back into their conversation. Not that Tracy would stop talking even if Amaya wasn’t listening. Her cousin was a yapper.
“Girl, you need me, or else your life would be boring. Speaking of, are you coming out tonight? You don’t have work for the next couple days.”
“I promised mom I would spend time with her tomorrow,” she said.
“What that got to do with you coming out tonight? Besides, it’s the full moon. You can stay with me after and avoid them wild ass shifters that live around there,” Tracy added.
God, that sounded tempting. Their neighborhood got wild on the full moon. There were four silver locks on their front door to ward them away from her and her mother, but that didn’t stop them from banging on the door trying to get inside. An unmated and unchaperoned Chawi was a powerful temptation to most supernaturals. The witches’ magic tended to combine with whomever they mated, making the match a powerful one. Their landlord didn’t allow individual wards other than what they put on the house Amaya and her mother were renting, which was understandable, but put them in a precarious position during the full moon.
“The answer is still no,” she told her cousin, leaving the locker room and tracking through the Archive towards the exit. Checking the time, she relaxed, knowing she had a good thirty minutes before the bus that took her home every night arrived.
“Want me to talk to you while you ride the bus? Your stalker is probably waiting patiently for you to get on.”
Amaya snorted. “That man ain’t worried about me.”
At least she hoped not.
Her and her alleged stalker rode the same evening bus, and sometimes Amaya caught the stranger staring at her. Mentioning it to Tracy had garnered the man the title of stalker, and her cousin brought it up every time they talked.
“It’s all that chaos energy, it brings out all the looney birds. Which brings me back to my point. You should come out with me and stay the night on the compound.”
“And leave my mama to the marauding shifters? Girl.”
Tracy cackled. “Not marauding! Spell it.”
Amaya joined her in laughter, her smile dropping when she stepped outside and spotted her uncle pacing the stairs that led to the Archive where she worked.
“Trace, let me call you back. Uncle Paul is standing out here looking mad suspicious.”
“Stay on the line, girl. He could be worse than the stalker,” Tracy joked.
“Bye.”
She disconnected the call and eyed her uncle before stepping closer. He was her mother’s youngest sibling and the only one who was consistently in their lives. As the baby of thefamily, he was spoiled, and in his fifties, that hadn’t changed. Her Uncle Paul had a desire for riches but lacked the funds and common sense to get there. Knock-off labels, fake accessories, and strong, cheap cologne was his daily uniform as he went from one hustle to the next in search of easy money.
Paul looked up and relief flooded his face. “Maya,” he breathed out, closing the distance between them.
“What’s happened?” She eyed him.
He looked around, paranoid, and her gaze swept the entrance to try and discern his worry.
“I need your help.”
Her heart started thumping. “Who’s with mom? Is she alright? Did you leave her alone to come here? How long has she been at home alone?”
Amaya was starting to get pissed the more questions that popped into her head. Her uncle was the only person she could count on to watch her mother while she worked. There were some days when Anita didn’t need it, but then there were days when the magic ate away at her mother’s mind and she was delirious and needed minding. Fear swirled within her anger. Amaya couldn’t afford a nurse to sit with Anita and she’d already cut her working days down to three a week. Anything less than that and she and her mother would be out on the street.
“Uncle Paul!” she called to gain his attention when he didn’t answer.
He ignored all her questions. “Listen to me, Amaya! I need your help. I need you to shield me.”
“From what?” Her eyebrows bunched, but then her magic gave her the answer to the question a moment later.
