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Oh, boy. That man has some major issues. Cramming the papers and photos back into the file, I manage to get it back into the drawer and dart to my chair before the interviewer practically falls into the office to get away from Ruby.
The man spins around, his face so red I’m worried he’s having a heart attack. I watch in disappointment as all the coffee he brought me flies out of the cup and onto the floor.
He points a shaking finger at me. “You—this . . . you!”
I get to my feet, ignoring Ruby in the open door frame, who’s alternating between giving me the thumbs up and high-fiving herself. “Are you okay?”
“Get out,” he pants. “This interview is over.”
Relieved and a little high on getting away with such a risky and impulsive act, I dart out the door, taking the stairs two at a time. Ruby settles happily on my shoulder. She laughs, the tinkling sound like music to my heart.
“Don’t ever say I don’t need you, Ruby.”
“But you—”
“No.” I halt on the stairs and look her in the eyes. “You’re my friend. My family. You’re not perfect, but neither am I, and the only way we’ll survive this academy is together. Do you understand?”
“Family?” She hugs my neck. “You’re my human, Kid. The filling to my Oreo. The frosting to my red velvet cake. The cream to my Twinkie.”
“Ruby, when did you last eat any real food?”
“Before my hunger strike to highlight the injustice of this world.”
Yikes. I veer down the closest hall. “We’re going to the comm to get you a whole bag of chips.”
“Cheetos?”
“Sun Chips. Remember the Cheetos have that red dye we talked about? The kind that makes you hump things and basically lose your mind?”
“Oh, yeah.” She throws a look in the direction of the office. “That man really hates the human Fall Out Boy Court. If I had realized he was from an opposing human court, I would have sang something else.”
I grin at Ruby’s confusion over bands and courts. And I grin all the way to the comm. Even if the photos I snapped turn out to be a waste of time, they did something even better than uncover Evelyn’s master.
They brought back my friend.
And something that precious is worth a thousand expulsions.
32
The Larkspur and Associates law firm takes up the top four floors of the infamous Magnolia skyscraper, the only office building in the city that caters strictly to Fae businesses. The giant steel and glass high-rise on Madison Ave dominates the Upper East Side, with floor-to-ceiling windows to ensure everyone knows they have the best view of the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir in Central Park. When the surprise field trip was announced today in our Faerie Law and Practices class, I expected to be wowed and probably intimidated by the building my mother owns.
But this place takes wow, changes it to screamy all caps, adds a million exclamation marks, and puts it into gif form with fireworks shooting out of the letters.
“Amazing, right?” Mack whispers as we file quietly down rows of desks partitioned by glass dividers imbued with magic.
“That doesn’t even begin to cover this place,” I breathe.
Everything is in shades of chartreuse, ivory, or gold. From the paintings to the rug to the modern wing-backed chairs and couches. Gilded statues of fauns and brownies scatter throughout the spacious rooms. The air is infused with something . . . a wondrous scent that can only be described as fresh summer cut grass, loamy soil, and honeycomb.
Sprites flit through the air carrying briefs and files. A centaur pulls a rolling tray of espresso and tea through the room, to cater to their mix of mortal and Fae employees. And instead of light bulbs, luminescent spheres of magic churn inside recessed alcoves along the walls, no doubt ready to flare to life once the sun sets.
The guest relations female leading the tour is a delicate faun with white and brown dappled fur, overly large green eyes, and model features. We just finished our lunch at the state-of-the-art cafeteria, a collection of highly curated four and five star restaurants that serve a mixture of mortal and Fae delicacies.
Accordingly, the mortal students ate at the sushi bar or the overpriced hamburger place, and the Evermore preferred the make-your-own salad bar and smoothie restaurant.
As we pass by a blue-skinned Evermore wearing a blazer over gray skinny jeans, Mack leans in close. “These are the associates.”
I glance around. “Where do they put the interns?”
