Page 8 of Client from Hell

They deserved better.

Then again, I’d opted to become an attorney so I would be able to give them what they hadn’t been able to give themselves. If I worked hard enough and had a knack for defense, I might even eventually be made a partner at one of the larger firms—or I could go corporate and make a killing keeping some company on the right side of the law.

I still had time to decide, although I’d ultimately look at how I could get paid the money I needed to be able to take care of my parents.

To ease their worries, I said, “I qualified for a test treatment for my cancer, so they’re footing the bill. There’s no payment plan because I won’t be paying any bills for this visit. That’s part of why I didn’t say anything. It’s a test treatment, and nobody really knew how it would work out.” I braced for parental disappointment. “It involved the lycanthropy virus.”

My mother’s eyes widened. “Are you infected?”

“Yes, I’m infected. But it got the job done. The lycanthropy virus made my cancer its little bitch.”

My dad snorted, although he didn’t chide me for my language for a change. “Was the donor a male wolf?”

I could trust my dad to fish for grandchildren, and I almost felt bad about disappointing him. “The donor is at no risk of being mated to me, which is why they were my donor. The strain and donor are anonymous, which is fine because I couldn’t afford a male wolf, and I had a choice of the free, anonymous donor or paying a ridiculous amount. The only downside is that I won’t know what I’ll become until I shift for the first time. I have been informed I will not become a spider, so I won’t have to burn my own house down if I caught a glimpse of my spider-self in the mirror. Or swat myself. I also am not a flying cockroach or some other horrific bug.”

My mother giggled. “You didn’t actually ask about the virus being a spider strain, did you?”

“I got it in writing I would not become a creepy-crawly,” I announced, rather proud of my foresight. “I think my requests of cool species were denied. All I know is the donor doesn’t have a wolf strain and that I’m at zero risk of being mated to the donor.”

“A mated male or an unmated female, I’d presume,” my father said. “Lycanthropes have a reputation about refusing to donate their blood or their virus, though, unless it’s really important. Why the secrecy?”

I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me, honestly. If the donor wants to be anonymous, and I don’t become a creepy-crawly, I’m good with that. I’m quite grateful, really. The virus is doing its job, and chemotherapy wasn’t cutting it. The chemotherapy made it so the virus could work, though. I think one of the docs tried to explain it, but that was after the chemo had its way with me. That part of the treatment was really unpleasant, but I got through it, and that’s all that matters. I might even get to leave the hospital sooner than later, since they’re letting me have visitors now. I also made an arrangement with my school, so I won’t fall behind despite my treatments. Look at me. I’ve become a responsible adult, and I haven’t even finished school yet. You deserve a certificate for having successfully raised a human being to adulthood. Well done. I will make arrangements for various compensation to be distributed on the expected days.”

I assumed I would live to see Christmas, and I’d make good on my promise, even if it meant raiding my childhood selection of art supplies and making them cards and crafts. On second thought, I’d try to work miracles with money, as I possessed zero artistic ability outside of my knack for practitioner magic and the circles and shapes required to make my magic work.

My father shook his head and clucked his disapproval. “You know that isn’t necessary, Sandra.”

It was, if only to make up for my poor decision-making process in the face of cancer and the probable death I’d dodged thus far. In an effort to distract from the reality I’d be disregarding his request, I pointed at my bald head. “I’ve decided bald just isn’t a good look on me, Dad. You know that practitioner buddy you have? The stylist? He would make my year if he came over for Christmas and helped fix this mess. I’ll even pay him for the work.”

Technically, I could do the magic myself, but I went out of my way to avoid people learning I could do more than a few basic parlor tricks. It helped do things like keep the Devil from learning I’d torched his house.

I regretted my impulse on the other side of my treatments, although I gave myself some credit: getting spanked by a divine and exiting life in a hurry beat a long, drawn-out battle I couldn’t win. Winning hadn’t been an option before.

As winning had become an option, I needed to step with care and escape the notice of those who might be able to figure out I’d been the one with a grudge, some gasoline, and matches.

My father smiled, a good indication he liked my request, as it was something he could afford. “I’m sure that’ll be fine, but I’ll ask him. He’s worked with cancer patients before. Is there anything we can get from your apartment?”

“I have everything I need.” I wouldn’t inform them I’d been planning on dying, resulting in having pared most of my belongings down to what could fit in a box or two, which had already been packed. The apartment, which I had thanks to one of my scholarships focused on providing housing for promising students, would be mine as long as I held full-time student status.

I’d have to see how the internship with the university’s client went—and if I’d be able to afford somewhere on my own.

“Good. If you change your mind, let us know, and we’ll go get whatever you need.”

My father would not give up until I agreed to his terms, preferably forcing my parents to go to my apartment to feel useful. Instead of to my apartment, I’d send them to the library, assuming the hospital would let me bring books in. I pointed in the general direction of my stuff, which took up a corner of the room. “You could always take my library card and bring me some new books to read. Since it doesn’t look like the cancer is going to get me quite yet, I don’t want to perish from boredom. Then you’ll have to ferry books to and from the library for me.”

My mother pounced on my cheap briefcase which also served as my purse. When I needed more space, I took a backpack to the university, but the briefcase helped remind me I aimed for a career where I needed to maintain appearances and present myself as a professional. She located my wallet and retrieved my library card from its disorganized depths. “Are you ever going to sort that like a proper adult?” she complained. “It looks like a twister tore through your cards. You do not need your elementary school identification card anymore, by the way.”

Like hell I didn’t. “That card is proof I survived elementary school, and it keeps the rest of my identification cards company. Also, that picture of me is wretchedly adorable, and it can be used as a weapon against unsuspecting people.”

“The doctors said you need to get a lot of rest, so we’ll go to the library and see about bringing some books to you. I’ll grab some of your blank journals from the house and some pens so you can take notes. If you’ve been in here studying for weeks, you’re out of space in whatever journals you brought with you,” my mother announced, wielding my library card as though it were a weapon rather than a laminated piece of cardboard. “We will return. We expect you to be here when we get back. No trouble, Sandra.”

Somehow, I kept from rolling my eyes at my mother’s edict. “I’ll do my best,” I promised.

“Good. Come along, dear. We must go tend to our daughter’s needs, and if we don’t give her books, she might try to end the world.”

“I wouldn’t actually try to end the world, you know. I need to live here, so it’d be really stupid to destroy where I live.”

My mother faced me, and she grinned at me. “I always knew you were a smart one. Remind yourself of that if you get any destructive urges.”