Page 61 of Fatality on the Field

I hear a loud snort and whip my head around to see who it was. Slade is crouched at Channing’s side still, his hands gentle as he adjusts the fresh tape on her arm, but I can tell by the quirk of his lips that he was the one who made the noise. He’s in full siren-concern mode with his voice dropped to that low, melodic hum, one hand ghosting over her pulse, and the other patting her good hand carefully. If he could, he’d sing her back to perfect health on the spot. But he clearly also speaks German, which I didn’t know, but I bet he didn’t know that I do as well.

We haven’t had time as a family to list out every skill and learned behavior, so I’m getting used to being surprised.

Channing sees my expression and grits her teeth, shooting Slade a look that would drop a rhino in its tracks. “If you touch the sling one more time, I am going to pour a latte over your head. There is nothing you can do for me that a prescription-strength donut and two weeks off my feet wouldn’t do better.”

I smother a chuckle as the jackass on the phone continues to berate me with the mute button pressed. His German is accented oddly, as if he’s been living in a country with a different language structure than the Germanic ones. I’m trying to place it with one ear and watching my friend scold my mate with the other. It’s a balancing act, but it’s also helping calm my legendary temper.

Slade draws back from the elemental, blinking like it honestly hadn’t occurred to him that someone might not want the full Florence Nightingale routine. His mouth tugs up at one side. “I wasn’t aware they gave out medical donuts here. They should advertise that; it would be a hit with cops.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Channing snaps the straps of the sling against her ribs and levers herself up from the bench. She pivots, scans the room for a target, and lands on me. “Morgana would never let you do this shit if she was hurt. I may not be as big or supernaturally powerful as her, but I’m going to be as good at telling the world to fuck off as she is. That you can guarantee, Slade Finn. So don’t baby me, okay?”

I cover my mouth, but the laugh escapes and the effect is immediately contagious. Channing lets herself crack a smile, and even Des bobs her head with grudging approval. Slade sighs, looking at me with a disappointed expression, and finally nods at my assistant in agreement. Once she’s won the battle, the woman stalks over to me, putting her hands on her hips.

“Okay, boss. You look like you’re running on caffeine and rage fumes again. Hand me your phone and let’s get something productive done before the world ends, yeah?”

Channing is definitely not in the mood to be put off again, and I’m proud of her for standing up for herself.

So I hand her what’s left of the phone without complaint, muttering, “If you can deal with these assholes, you’re a better magical than half the people in this hospital.” She takes it, hangs up on the German dickhead, and then grins when I blink at her with a surprised look.

“No one gets to speak to you again until tomorrow, unless it’s damn jailers in the Society. You’re getting way too many calls, texts, and emails to respond in any useful manner. I’ll go through the digital backlog first, prioritizing what you should, should not, and cannot reply to first. The calls will be screened by me and messages taken until we’re caught up. After that, we have to prioritize those categories into smaller groups by urgency.” She glances up at me. “Do I have your blessing to triage these, even to refer some to other people, departments, or ignore them entirely?”

“I prefer my threats to be direct and aggressive, so you probably should.” I fold my arms over my chest and smile ruefully. “You have my blessing to run point. I may be the Dean, but if I have to talk to one more obnoxious motherfucker screeching at me, I’m going to end up in prison this time. Do what you must and if anyone doesn’t like it, I’ll handle that later on.”

Channing arches an eyebrow, heading back to the bench and swiping open a screen. “You’re not exactly diplomatic on your best day, but that’s why we like you. And this is going to require a totally separate PR effort from the one Jax is working on with The Serpent.”

“In Morgana’s defense, she’s doing better than most untrained folks would at this, especially with all the chaos.” Slade jerks his chin toward the windows, where the press lights below have grown into a steady, predatory pulse. “Most people don’t have to deal with this like once a month because dead bodies and poison turn up.”

Nodding, Channing continues working on the phone while I catch my breath for the first time in hours. “You’re right. Magnus had very little commotion that wasn’t positive, but we’re paying for the ways he greased the wheels now. His corruption is why Morgana ended up being punished with his job. Now that we’re a couple months in, no one is going to listen to that anymore, even if it is logical and true. We have to get better systems in place.”

I make a noise, somewhere between a sigh and a growl, and lean back against the wall. “Noted. We’re out of the honeymoon period—though I don’t think I had one—and everything bad will engender an attack from all sides now. Of course, it would help if we could have even a day or two to get that system created, planned or implemented, you know. We’ve been doing some of it, but there’s so much mess, Channing.”

Digging her battered tablet out of her messenger bag, my friend turns it on. The screen is fractured corner to corner, but it powers up with a cheerful chirp. She glances at me, holds up the tablet, and gives me a thumbs-up. “That’s what I’ll work on while I’m doing this. If you need me, I’ll be in triage mode.” She props the tablet on her thigh, and gets to work. She is even using her injured arm to work the phone, while her good hand is a blur over the keyboard on the tablet.

If only I had that kind of skill set, I’d be even more dangerous in an office setting than I am naturally. Alas, I’m simply never going to be that technically apt.

If Channing is going to pull off a miracle and stop my tormentors while plotting our new attack model, the least I can do is get my shit together. Turning toward the hallway everyone else went down, I smile when I see Liam coming toward me. I walk quickly to meet him, sighing as he hugs me once and pulls back.

“How are they?” I ask curiously. “I’ve been held hostage by evil overlords again, so I haven’t been down there.”

He arches a brow, noting the lack of phone in my hand. “Channing took over, I assume?”

I nod as he takes my hand and kisses the back of it, but doesn’t let go when it drops. “Yes, thank hell. I’m just too damn tired and worn out to have all those people yelling at me, especially in multiple languages. My polyglot capability gets sloppy when I’m this tired and I’d prefer not to tell someone to eat my ass and have it connotate wrong, you know?”

Li bursts out laughing, squeezing my hand as he walks us in the direction he came from. “You’ll want to see Iggy and the doctors, I assume?”

“Yes,” I say on sigh. “I need to check in there before we get out of here. I’m fairly certain that mob outside is going to slip people in soon enough. We all need to be gone by the time that happens. You and Kas can’t be seen, Lucas shouldn’t be, and the rest of us don’t need anyone coming out of the woodwork to put us further in the spotlight.”

“Okay, Maschula, we’ll stop by the window, visit the docs, and then gather our small team. We can figure out how to get out, divert any tails, and get back to your place without being noticed once we’re done confirming that they’ll be able to handle this shit on their own.”

We reach the wide window that looks into the quarantine area within seconds. Inside, the three grad students are sitting up in their beds, propped by a forest of pillows. One is already on her phone, and the others are talking, the rhythm of their conversation broken only by the steady beeping of monitors. Lucas is bustling between beds like he’s on a house call in a Victorian novel. He arranges a blanket, refills the water, and then perches on the edge of a bed to wave at me.

Damn, that boy is adorable and I can’t even pretend he’s not.

Kaspar stands with arms crossed, his head tilted in that bodyguard-at-ease posture that would look casual if he weren’t a dragon. His storm-grey eyes track every movement in the room, but when he sees me, there’s a flicker of something in his face that makes me feel hopeful. I wave at him and he raises an eyebrow curiously.

“Status?” I ask.

He walks over to the blown out frame and shrugs as he replies softly. “Alive. They’ll have some side effects, maybe a week or two of aftershocks, but they’re not going to die. Whatever the doctors did, it worked.” He glances at Lucas, who is now making one of the girls laugh so hard she nearly drops her phone. “He’s keeping their spirits up rather well.”