Page 45 of Fatality on the Field

“Thanks, but that’s not exactly helpful,” I reply, and Des lets out a low hiss. “How are we doing in terms of ever leaving?”

The elemental swivels her tablet and shows me the master calendar. There is not one empty square left in the next two weeks. Everything is organized by color and time, which is great except it will make me want to die every day.

“I may have to move into this stupid room,” I say with a frown.

She waggles a finger. “You will not. You’re going to go home, eat something, and enjoy your mates tonight. We’ll skip homework today so you can adjust your expectations for the rest of the week. And that’s not a request, by the way.”

“Are you my assistant or my parole officer?” I ask wryly.

Channing considers my snark and then smiles. “Right now? Both. Now, let’s get the last few fires put out, and you’re free.”

We knock out three more urgent items, one of which involves calling a local supplier and threatening them with a breach of contract, which is deeply satisfying. The last item is a draft of the remarks I’m supposed to give at an alumni breakfast, which Channing says she will polish tonight and have ready for me to review tomorrow.

“Okay,” she says, closing her tablet and stretching her arms over her head. “You’re done. I’ll finish these last calendar entries and then update you in the morning. Go home, Morgana.”

I am just about to do as she says when my phone buzzes—not the normal notification, but the double buzz that means it’s one of my mates. I check it and frown.

PrettyPrince: Will be home after sunset. Do you want me to bring dinner, or is it already sorted?

I smile despite myself—he’s always thinking of everyone else. It’s charming and lovely in a way I wouldn’t ever have expected when I found out one of my mates is a Fae prince.

LadyM: Noted. See you then. We can order in when everyone’s home.

Then, another double buzz comes, and it’s Iggy. This one is not in the group thread, but direct.

MagicMan: Come to the magic building now. Channing can come if you want, but call Thorne. He should be on standby.

No explanation, just a clearly urgent demand, and Iggy isn’t comfortable enough to be joking or trying to do something clever. No, he’s definitely run into a major problem. I look up from the phone, and Channing is staring at me, her brows drawn together.

“Trouble?” she asks.

“Probably,” I say, pushing to my feet. “Iggy needs us at the magic building. Says you can come, but Jackson has to be close by. No context.”

She stands as well, already grabbing her bag and the agenda printouts she spent all day building. “We’re not leaving this stuff here, right?”

“No,” I say, rolling my eyes. “We’re not letting any of this get lost in case I die in whatever the hell this is.”

Des, sensing action, coils herself more tightly around my neck and fixes her gaze on the balcony doors. As I shrug on my jacket, I mutter, “We’ve been home for two days. Assholes couldn’t even let me have a break.”

My friend snorts and opens the office door for me. “One day, we might have a normal semester. No murder, no magical disasters, and no demon princes—just paperwork.”

“That would be hell,” I say. “This is just purgatory.”

We stride through the empty hallway, and as we reach the balcony, I pull up Jackson’s number and send a message to let him know we may have issues. Channing tucks the agendas under her arm like a shield, and we open the balcony doors to the world outside.

It’s late afternoon now, and the Tantalus Bowl banners flap and snap along the quad, their bright reds and blacks out of place in the cold. A wind cuts through the concrete canyons of the campus, but it’s nothing compared to what I’m used to from home.

I stretch my wings, and Channing steps into my arms so I can take her along. We vault over the balcony rail together, banking hard for the magic building at the edge of campus. My mind is already racing through every possible reason that Iggy would send a message like that. Behind us, the organized chaos of my office, the burning piles of paper, the Tantalus Bowl disaster—none of it matters.

Not until we see what fresh hell awaits us next.

twenty-eight

SLADE

Ihoof it through the ice-slushed quad the second Iggy’s text crosses my screen. There was no greeting, just an imperative—so I’m at a near-jog. My… friend… doesn’t call for help in that manner unless something’s gone so nuclear he’s lost all hope. Even in my wildest dreams, I never imagined a day where I’d be struggling to figure out what to call Iggy in my head as I rush to help him with some crazy emergency at the magic building, but here I am.

Yet another unbelievable change in our routine since Morgana came into our lives—but I’m definitely not complaining.