Page 14 of Wrong Squad, Right Mess

Ingram held up a small bag full of chocolate, all individually wrapped. “The scouts always have these to help soothe children who are upset.”

“They gave them to you?” I asked.

He snorted, then shook his head. “Fuck no. They’d let me starve before giving me shit. Nah, I swiped ’em. They’ll check when they get back and get another bag—no harm, no foul, and we have not just candy, but the best kind of candy—stolen.”

I stared at him for a minute before laughing, because what else was there to do?

The walk took closer to fifteen minutes—none of us rushed, given that hadn’t been the easiest fight we’d just survived. Only Carter appeared unaffected, as though violence only hyped him up all the more.

Shear had recovered—a quick healing by Kenyon, and it didn’t seem as though he’d been thrown at all. Kenyon was quiet, but unharmed, and Ingram kept sneaking pieces of chocolate, the crackle of the wrappers loud enough to out his actions, even if he pretended no one would hear it.

The shelter turned out to be a small shop. There were large windows, but thankfully Carter didn’t do another flying leap through the glass. Instead, Ingram used the shadows to pass through the walls, then unlatched the door from the inside.

Tall shelving made the place feel far smaller than it was, and I couldn’t tell if the dust in the air was from the dungeon or if it had been here before. Books covered each shelf, packed in so tight that not an inch of space remained, with no books facing out.

They weren’t perfect spines and pristine covers. Instead, creases proved these copies had been either well-loved or not cared for—funny that the same condition could mean either thing.

I tried to recall the last time I’d been in a bookshop like this one, and I couldn’t. It had been before The Pitt, back when I’d been a kid looking for places I could go and wouldn’t get kicked out. There had been this little place, Raven’s Bookstore, set out of the way and in the middle of more industrial buildings. It had looked as though an owner had refused to sell when updating the rest of the area, leaving one building out of place. The owner had let me use the store like a library, giving me a new book each time I returned another.

Ingram picked one of the books from a shelf, frowning at the cover. “They’re all filthy.”

That got my attention, and I followed his suit, plucking a random title down. His Slutty Little Rabbit.

Yeah, that sounded fairly filthy. Carter moved back out through the door, then burst into laughter. When he returned, he closed and latched the door behind him. “The place is called Cliterature.”

I set the book back on the shelf, shaking my head. I didn’t have a problem with the material, but damn it, it didn’t seem like the best place to try to have a serious discussion. I could imagine us trying to talk and Ingram jerking off as he read all by himself.

“I would never,” Ingram muttered, as though I’d made the claim aloud. He probably just knew because he was already considering it.

“Come on, let’s pull some chairs over,” Carter said. “Might as well be comfortable. You should try to get an hour of sleep or so at least when we’re done.”

Kenyon and Ingram helped, pulling the chairs scattered around the place to the center of the room. It again reminded me the usefulness of an esper, since I couldn’t have gotten them there so easily.

In the end, they’d found three chairs and a love seat, creating a nice little seating area.

I went for a chair when Ingram all but picked me up and took me to the loveseat. “You’ll need to nap afterward anyway—might as well take this spot.”

As the others claimed their seats, I wondered how exactly to handle the talk. What was I supposed to ask?

Thankfully, I didn’t have to come up with anything, and Carter started it all off. “It was a dark and stormy night.”

And just like that, I was reminded of why Carter shouldn’t be allowed to tell stories. I got up. “If you’re going to bullshit me, I don’t want to listen.”

Ingram caught my wrist and tugged me back down beside him.

Carter sighed, at least looking chastised, even if it was all a ploy. “Okay, fine. You really want to know the truth? You want to know what happened back then? Why things all went to shit? Fine, but don’t tell me I didn’t warn you that it isn’t a pretty story.”

Chapter Nine

Carter

Ten years ago

The weight of my weapons felt good, familiar, welcome. I knew this dungeon was, at the end of the day, no different from any other one. Sure, it was our first serious stable dungeon, but that wasn’t anything new, nothing unexpected.

“We should have done more interviews,” Corsa said as he pulled at his vest. He had complained about the outfit since he’d first had to wear it when headed into a dungeon months prior. It seemed he felt it didn’t quite match with his general look, and given he was a mentalist, he saw no reason to have anything strapped to him.

Despite his father working in government—the fact that had landed him a temporary spot on our squad—he still had to listen to orders. It meant he’d worn the outfit when I hadn’t budged in the face of his hissy-fits.