Page 37 of War King's Treasure

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Page 37 of War King's Treasure

“Ah…” I grabbed the eggs from the fridge. “She sounds pretty smart.”

“She’s popular.” Anne dug out the measuring cup from the drawer and filled it with water. This was our routine, and as I watched her, I wished it was something I could do every morning with her. “And she has gel nails.”

“Gel nails?” I asked, cracking an egg and plopping it into the bowl.

“It’s polish, but it doesn’t come off easy like the stuff Mom makes me wear.” She flipped her braid over her shoulder, and rolled her pale gray eyes, eyes she’d gotten from me. “It’s organic.”

Organic nail polish?

Lanie was over the top when it came to chemicals and nutrition. A kid should get to be a kid sometimes, eat processed corn syrup, and drink water from the tap. But I’d never undermine her mother. Lanie only had Anne’s best interest at heart.

“Hey… nothing wrong with organic. Your generation will be the healthiest and live the longest.”

“If we have a planet to live on.”

“Nowyousound like your mom,” I said, and she giggled again as she poured the water into the bowl.

Anne continued to be a chatterbox all through breakfast and on the way to school. It was too quiet when I walked back through my front door and surveyed the mess we’d left behind on the counter, though. Sighing, I dropped my keys in the bowl on the sideboard table and got to work cleaning my kitchen. It was after ten by the time I finished up and sat down at my desk to start on the lesson for tonight, hoping to finish a few more so I wouldn’t get behind. Taking on two jobs and being a single parent, I might’ve bitten off more than I could chew.

My phone chirped with a notification, and when I opened the screen, I laughed. Wilder had invited me to join Pegasus.

Me: You’re a very persistent fairy gay godmother.

Wilder: Hey, I’m head recruiter, I have to keep my numbers up.

Me: Well, in that case…

Wilder: Let me know if you need help deciding if someone is a serial killer. I have very good intuition.

Me: Thanks?

Wilder: Anytime.

I opened the app with a stupid smile on my face. But as my thumb hovered over the create account icon, my hands started to shake.

Was I really doing this?

“Screw it. Why not.”

I pulled my bottom lip through my teeth and clicked the link.

Parker

With a hangover from hell, I had a hard time keeping my eyes open. It was barely ten in the morning, and the wall clock in the study room seemed to tick louder than usual. I’d started working as a tutor at Pride House, a shelter for homeless LGBTQ youth, when I’d moved back to Atlanta two years ago. I’d sort of fallen into the role of unofficial counselor for a few of the residents, as well, which on most days I loved, but today I couldn’t seem to keep focus. Denny, one of my regulars, grumbled and scratched out the last sentence he’d written with his eraser. While most seventeen-year-old kids worried about who to ask to their senior prom, Denny had to worry if he had enough money to eat. He was rough around the edges, scarred from his time on the streets, and locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Running an aggravated hand through his short, blue hair, he slapped the pencil down on the table. The loud smack resonated through my head like shrapnel. Fucking Marcos and his whiskey. I should have known better not to go out when I had to work the next morning.

“I hate this shit.” Denny shoved his paper to the side, knocking his pencil to the tile floor. “Why can’t I just work full time at the shop, man. Why do I need some stupid diploma anyway?”

“Because it’s required to become a mechanic.”

He leaned back in his chair and pulled at the piercing in his bottom lip with his teeth. He’d been homeless since his parents had thrown him out at fourteen. His offense—kissing a boy in the backyard. He’d told us, when he’d started coming to Pride House six months ago, it had been his choice to leave. He’d said his parents had given him an ultimatum. Change or get out. My gut, already uneasy from last night’s poor decisions, churned as I thought about how scared and alone he must feel every fucking day. I got lucky in the parent department and getting to work with these kids reminded me of that fact every day.

“You think you’ll be happy working the register, that’s fine, nothing wrong with that, but you want to get your hands dirty, am I right?”

“I wanna fix cars, why do I gotta know how to write an essay?” He leaned down and grabbed his pencil. “I ain’t smart enough for this bullshit.”

“Hey… look at me.” He kept his head down, carrying the weight of every last insecurity the world had given him on his shoulders. “You’re smart… there’s no way you would’ve made it on your own for the last two years without being smart. This stuff…” I tapped my finger on the piece of notebook paper in front of him. “It’s important, Denny. Knowledge is a weapon… a tool, yeah?”

“Yeah.”


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