Page 71 of Fatality on the Field

“I visited my friends and nothing unusual happened. Did you receive a complaint during my stay or is this just an intrusion into my personal affairs?”

Channing gives me a thumbs-up from across the room, but I don’t acknowledge it while they can see me. The light sound of clacking tells me she’s got her keyboard out and is already typing a summary of this for my records. I appreciate it, but I’ll relay that later.

“No. We did not.” Top left huffs as if she wishes they had and I have to physically restrain myself from rolling my eyes.

“Is that all or…?” I ask carefully. “I have a very full schedule with the Bowl coming up. The board neither mentioned it nor gave me any information about this illustrious event last semester, which left me up against a wall when I came home from my trip. I’d like to register a formal complaint about that while I have you here. I cannot fix this mess if they are working in opposition, as you well know.”

“We will see what can be done.”

No, you won’t, because you don’t give a single fuck about how hard they make my life, but whatever.

I roll my shoulders, preparing for the next part. “I’m bringing in outside consultants to assist with the previous incidents. We will dig into those more once the Bowl and this unfortunate poison problem are cleared up.”

“The Tantalus Bowl brings in a lot of donations from alumni and corporations, Dean. You must ensure success on that project,” bottom left says firmly. “While your umbrella project is rehabilitation of the college, a failure at this event will make that almost impossible. Do not write it off as something silly you don’t care about. You are not entrenched enough in the local community to understand its importance yet, but heed my words. It cannot go badly.”

“Understood.” I don’t get it really, not even a little, but the reinforcement by my jailers tells me Channing was one hundred percent right to put so much emphasis on it when I got back. My assistant makes a little heart shape with her hands when I look over gratefully, then flips open another file to continue working.

“We have contracted a secondary security team for the event. You will receive a communique from them shortly. That is the most help we can give you for now.”

The screen goes black without preamble, and I groan loudly as I snap the damn laptop shut. “Fuck all the way offfffffff, you wankerrsssssss, ” I yell into the quiet office in frustration. “Those fuckers are so incredibly pompous and insufferable.”

“I figured as much, but the reality was definitely worse than my expectations, M.” The elemental shakes her head, looking exhausted by the indirect assholery. “It’s like they didn’t kill you, just so they could possess you. I don’t know if people get how stupid your sentencing was and how much easier death would have been. Not that I want you dead, obviously, it’s just that you’re chained to their whims and they don’t care if their demands are impossible.”

“No shit,” I mutter as I lean back in my chair. “It’s a good thing you brought comfort food to lighten my mood beforehand. It helped.”

Another one of my laptops dings over and over and Channing laughs as she looks at her tablet. “The Board says no press on campus until further notice. However, the Bowl committee wants you to do an interview with a local station tomorrow about the game and the injured list. I don’t have that, so we’ll need it before that, if the Board says we can do the damn thing. Also, there’s another email saying the Society is sending an observer the day before the Bowl.”

I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. Those dickwads could have mentioned that before peacing out without a good-bye. “If it’s one of them, I’m jumping out the window. Does it say who?”

“Nope. I bet they’re sending this person incognito, which will be terrible.” My friend wrinkles her nose and then picks up her phone to shoot a text that I’d bet my right foot is to Jackson. “I’ll see what I can dig up.”

For the next twenty minutes, we settle into an easy flow. I review a stack of urgent files—one, about a Fae on disciplinary probation; a second about Bowl budgets and merchandise contracts, and the last referencing the VIP suites and accommodations for the Game. None of it is truly important in the grand scheme of the world, but here? It’s all shit that I have to handle before it gets out of control. Being an admin, I’ve learned, is mostly boring communications and face time for whatever bullshit they trot me out for. Everything else that I do is like pushing a rock up a hill for eternity, but I don’t have the patience of Sisyphus.

Hell, I don’t even have the patience of someone hopped up on pure sugar and energy drinks when it comes to this shit.

I’m almost through the last file when Channing glances at the clock and says, “You have fifteen minutes until the coach from the track program gets here. You want me to stall him?”

“No,” I say, sitting up straighter. “Let’s get this over with. I still have to do this review shit even with the campus imploding, and you told me this is the one meeting I should handle today. Right?”

She gives me a little salute, then stands, rolling her head side to side. “I'm going to catch a bathroom break and make a few calls, but I’ll be back before he gets here.”

“Say hi to those men for me,” I say with a wink. “I’m sure they don’t care, but I’m polite.”

Channing grins, pulling the door shut behind her as she leaves. I take a second to collect myself, stacking the most sensitive files in a neat pile, and then square my shoulders for another round.

I don’t know how I’m going to survive all this shit, but I know one thing without a doubt.

No one is going to cackle with glee when Morgana LeCiel fails, because I won’t let that happen.

forty-four

MORGANA

The knock comes exactly three seconds early, which tells me that Channing is eager as hell to get this done. The door opens, and she strides in with a six-three shifter trailing her. His chest is like a brick wall and his neck is as thick as my thigh. He wears a State U track and field polo that’s been washed so many times the logo has faded, and the coffee stain just below the collar looks fresh. I watch as she leads him to the chairs, noting his hair is buzzed close like he’s military, but his jaw juts out in defiance.

This jackass is going to be a problem; I feel it in my snakes.

My assistant stops dead in front of the desk, sliding another red folder with the State U crest embossed in silver over to me. Her eyes don’t leave mine, and I recognize the play immediately. This is damning evidence of something, presented with all the subtlety of a signed confession. I arch a brow at her as I open the materials.