Page 143 of House of Ruin
She hoped the Inner Circle would be listening and recording whatever conversation she’d have with Norse.
50
Blaze’s stomach churned the moment they entered the police station.
He kept his cool despite the jittery nerves and followed Val and Andro to the reception desk, where a witch was writing something in a large journal.
She didn’t even glance up at them when they stopped in front of her.
Andro cleared his throat.
Nothing.
This bitch.
“Excuse me,” Val said, her voice sweet, “if you’d like to keep your pathetic little job fetching coffee, you’ll pay attention to us.”
The witch’s hand froze midword. Slowly, she lifted her head to look at each of them. When her eyes settled on Blaze, recognition flashed in them.
She put the pen down and stood. “How can I help you today?” Her voice was flat.
Andro cleared his throat again. “We’re here to see the chief of police.”
The receptionist snorted. “I know you’re used to privileged treatment at your university, but here we don’t make exceptions for rich brats.”
The receptionist plopped back on her chair, shaking her head.
Andro looked at Val, and then at Blaze.
“Pull the card, Long Legs.”
“Do you know who my parents are?” Andro asked.
The receptionist raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
Next to Andro lay a pile of magazines. He lifted the one on the top and showed it to her.
“This.” He then picked up the second one. “And this.” And the third one in the pile. “Oh, and actually this as well. All of them are owned by my parents.”
The receptionist still stared at Andro with an attitude, but it was melting as the seconds passed by.
“Yeah, I’m Alessandro Weir, and I want to see the chief of police,” Andro said, lifting his chin. “He’s friends with my mother, Octavia Weir. You can go in and ask him yourself.”
The receptionist hesitated for a moment. Then she clicked her tongue and stood. “Wait here.”
She left them and disappeared behind one of the doors.
“Well done, Long Legs,” Blaze teased, patting Andro’s shoulder.
“I think I might have a panic attack,” Andro whispered. Then he flashed a smile. “But it was fucking cool.”
Blaze chuckled.
The receptionist came back then. Without another word, she waved her hand towards the door.
The three of them made their way into the chief of police’s office, where he sat behind a desk, his beer belly threatening to rip its way through his white shirt.
“Mister Weir,” the man greeted Andro with wary eyes. “I hope your mother is well. Please, take a seat.”
