Well, I’d have thought that by now you’d have gotten all the information you need out of Betsy or Tom or Julia.
Despite what you may think of me I don’t tend to force my shifters to tell me things that they don’t want to.
I snorted. Bullshit. If he was trying to pretend that he wasn’t actually some kind of furry megalomaniac then he was talking to the wrong person. My Lord, in that case, you won’t force me to tell you what I don’t want to either.
But you’re not one of my shifters and I’m not your Lord.
Damn fucking right he wasn’t. I ran out of patience. Well, okay, whatever. I’m a normal person who happens to be free next Saturday night. If you aren’t doing anything then maybe I can come to London and we could meet. Otherwise, never mind. I understand that being the Dark Lord of the Brethren means that you’re a busy man. Or panther. Or whatever.
There was a moment of brooding silence. I held my breath, terrified that I’d pushed too hard. The he finally spoke again. Next Saturday causes a few problems. However I believe I can overcome them. I have to attend a gathering with some Otherworld leaders. Will mixing in such company be a problem for you?
I couldn’t believe it was going to be this easy. I was careful to be cautious in my response however. As long as you’re not talking demi-goddesses then I can probably manage.
Okay then. No demi-goddesses, I promise. Wear something pretty. I will come and pick you up at the Ministry.
Wear something pretty? I wasn’t a fucking doll. Of course. I will look forward to it.
As will I, kitten, as will I.
I broke off the connection. A single trickle of sweat had formed in the hollow of my neck and was making its uncomfortable way down my skin. Bugger. Why did he have to be so nice all of a sudden? Feeling suddenly overcome with guilt, I stood up, yanking down my borrowed skirt to cover my freezing arse.
And then Brock staggered round the corner and stared at me in shock.
Chapter Twelve
“Baldilocks,” he slurred, “I was jusht, er, jusht out for a walk.”
The strong reek of alcohol was emanating from his very pores. Understanding filled me, and I abruptly realised why the massive gates leading to the academy had been left open. Why I’d thought that teenage mages would be different from any other kids of the same age, I had no idea.
I smiled at him gently. “Of course you were, Brock. In fact, that’s exactly what I was doing.”
“Yesh, yesh.” He nodded vigorously. “It’sh a lovely night.” Then his mouth twisted and he sat down heavily onto the gravel.
I bent over and brought my face closer to his. “Brock? Are you alright?”
“Fantashtic.” He fell sideways and proceeded to curl up into a small ball, hugging his knees to himself.
Okaydokay. I reached down and prodded him. “You can’t sleep here, Brock. You need to get back to your dorm.”
He mumbled something incoherently. I sighed deeply and knelt down.
It seemed impossible that he’d sneaked out on his own, so I looked around for a moment and tried to strain my ears to hear if anyone else was coming. There was the rumble of a few distant cars, but little else. I shook his shoulder. “Brock? Where are your friends?”
He raised up a heavy arm and waved vaguely back in the direction that he’d come from. “Shtill there.” He pulled himself back to a sitting position, although he was swaying alarmingly from side to side. A sudden mournful puppy dog expression filled his face. “Deborah’s shtill there.”
Ah. “She didn’t want to come back with you?”
“No.” He harrumphed. “All she wantsh to do ish to talk about Thomash.” He put on a high-pitched squeaky voice. “Thomash ish sho handshome. He knowsh sho much and he’sh shtill sho shexy.” He sagged backwards again then reverted to his normal voice. “I hate Thomash.”
I thought I could understand that. I certainly didn’t think that he was ‘sho shexy’ anyway. “Okay, Brock. Have you told Deborah that you like her?”
His unfocused eyes swivelled round towards me. “There’sh no point. She likesh Thomash. She jusht thinksh I’m her friend.”
I patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Maybe you should do something about that.”
“Nothing to do,” he mumbled. “Who do you like?”“Excuse me?”
“Who do you like?” Brock’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “Do you like Thomash too?”
“No, I don’t like Thomash, I mean Thomas. Not like that anyway.” A sudden image of Corrigan glinting at me flashed before my eyes. “I don’t like anyone at this moment in time. Now, let’s get you to bed.”
I stood up, and pulled Brock to his feet, where he wavered unsteadily. Then I hooked his arm around my shoulder and began to half pull him towards the gates. It was a struggle getting him to move. We pushed through the small gap, my skirt snagging momentarily on the rusted catch. When I managed to extricate myself, Brock was staring at me with a funny expression on his face.
“That’sh Deborah’sh shkirt. Why are you wearing it?”
“Honestly, I’m not entirely sure. It’s not really my normal choice of attire.” I thought about the grooming session that both Deborah and Mary had invited me to earlier in the evening and hoped for Brock’s sake that it hadn’t been for Thomas’ benefit. Then again, although I didn’t know the contrary mage very well, I somehow doubted that schoolgirls were his type.
We made our way slowly up the driveway, pausing every few minutes for Brock to avoid falling over flat on his face. He chattered away the entire time, mainly about how wonderful Deborah was, although I struggled to make out every word. By the time we reached the academy buildings, my shoulder was really starting to ache.
Brock turned towards me, a serious look in his eyes. “You know, Baldilocksh, you’re okay.”
I winced. “Please call me Mack.”
He swayed momentarily and lost his footing, falling heavily onto me. I forced him back upright.
“’kay, Mackilocksh. But, I mean it. I thought you were shcary. You alwaysh look as if you’re about to eat shomeone. But you’re actually alright.” He nodded to himself. “I like you.”
I smiled at him. “Yeah, Brock. I like you too.”
He frowned for a moment. “I don’t like you like that. You’re pretty but you’re kind of old.”
I snorted. “Thanks for the hit to my ego.”
“Anytime.” He grinned at me lopsidedly before staggering off to his left.
I’d been concerned about how on earth I was going to get him through the cafeteria window, but I should have known that he’d have a more sensible method of sneaking in and out. Round the back of the main building, close to where the Dean’s office was, there was a small door set into the brickwork that I’d not noticed before. Brock pushed his way in, with me following. He succeeded in crashing over a small table with a pretty vase set on it that caused such a racket I was convinced that the entire academy must have heard it. However, after a few moments it became thankfully obvious that everyone else was still in the land of nod. Breathing a sigh of relief, the pair of us made our way slowly up the stairs and round to where the boys’ dorms were.
“I can make it from here, Mackilocksh.”
I stared at him doubtfully but he snapped his heels together and gave me a sloppy salute that suggested some flicker of consciousness, so I let him go, watching the drunk teenager weave his way dramatically towards his room. He bounced off a couple of walls, but eventually made it to what he must have been his door and fell inside. Chuckling quietly to myself, I headed back to my own room too.
*
The next morning I awoke with more energy than by rights I should have had. I was feeling pleased with myself by now for having somehow managed to get the Lord of the almighty Brethren to bend to my almighty will, and particularly happy that I had a full day off to myself that I could devote to further translation. I tripped down to breakfast with a spring in my step, and poured myself my usual three cups of coffee before settling down. I had barely started on the first cup when Brock came stumbling in, with a distinctive shade of green under his usual pale skin. He slept walked over to the counter and got himself a giant glass of orange juice, then made his way over to me, slumping down into the chair just opposite.
He gulped down half of the glass in one go, then lay his head onto the table top, squinting up at me with just one eye open. “Thanks for last night,” he muttered.
I smiled and reached over, ruffling his hair. “Any time. Just don’t call me Mackilocksh again, or suggest that I’m old, and we’re even.”
He grinned weakly. A heartbeat later both Mary and Deborah came bouncing in. Either they hadn’t had as much to drink as Brock or they possessed the unnatural tendency of the young to remain hangover-free. Regardless, they both sat themselves down and began telling me how much fun I’d missed by not attending their pampering session the night before. I raised half an eyebrow, whilst Brock at least looked a bit guilty, but neither of us said anything else.
Deborah proudly displayed her fingers, splaying them out so that I could appreciate her immaculately created manicure. “Isn’t it a gorgeous shade of yellow?” She gushed. “It’s to match this darling little skirt that I’ve got.”
A wash of guilt ran over me. Her ‘darling little skirt’ was right now balled up into a corner underneath my bed. I made a mental note to sort it out and sneak it back down to the laundry later.
“We thought we might head down to the garden again, Baldilocks,” chirruped Mary happily. “Do you want to come?”
I was shaking my head to decline when Brock interrupted moodily. “It’s Mack.”
Mary looked at him surprised, still lying prone as he was on top of half of the table.
“Not Baldilocks. Call her Mack,” he repeated with a grumpy mutter.
I felt a warm rush of gratitude towards him. It was short lived, however, as both Alex and Thomas chose that moment to stroll into the cafeteria together. They seemed to be having some kind of close conversation that I didn’t like at all. Alex registered my presence and headed over, Thomas trailing in his wake. They both sat down next to us. Deborah’s face flushed red and I could just make out her gripping Mary’s arm in excitement. Brock just looked miserable.