Page 68 of Fractured Fates
It felt good.
But just like Cinderella, I went to the ball. I had my special moment. And now the magic has most definitely faded and I’m back to being a nobody. A dirty nobody who smells like shit.
A nobody who is most definitely not going to land herself a prince and a palace.
22
Stone
I hate Sundays.
I hate them even more when I have to give up half my day to babysit the Blackwaters girl.
Not that my Sundays are filled with entertainment. That’s the problem. They’re a weekly reminder of how fucking terrible my life actually is. Usually I lie in, go for a run, lift some weights and spend the rest of the day scanning the paper, wondering what the hell the authorities aren’t telling us behind all those carefully crafted and manufactured headlines. In the evening, I hit the bar, usually alone.
That’s the problem with the entire fucking day. I spend it alone. Have done for a year now since I ended things with Jessica.
Today, though, my friend’s in town. It’s not like him to hang around the city so much. But I have my suspicions as to why he’s here. Even if he’d never admit it to me.
I find him already sitting at the bar, nursing a bottle of beer.
I signal to the barman to fetch me one too as I take the stool next to him.
“You stink of shit,” my friend says.
“Nice to see you too,” I say, handing a banknote to the bartender and taking a long swig of my beer.
“No, seriously, Stone, you smell fucking awful. What the fuck have you been doing?”
That’s because I didn’t shower after the morning I spent with the Blackwaters girl. That’s because after I sent her on her way, I headed straight to my office and my books.
There has to be a way around this. A way to undo it. Not that I’ve told my friend about my little bit of research. He wouldn’t approve. There are some rules he doesn’t believe in breaking.
“You don’t want to know,” I say, taking another long gulp of my drink.
My friend stares at me, examining my face, then lowers his eyes back to the bottle he’s cradling in his hands.
“Have you discovered anything else about her?” he asks me.
We’re both searching for more information on the girl. Me in her head, he through his network of sources.
“She’s a tracker. A good one. Can sense the presence of magicals and,” I flick my gaze towards him, “she has the ability to see the remnants of ancient magic.” My friend nods like those types of powers are everyday occurrences. “Not that she wanted me to know that. She tried to keep it hidden, but …” I shrug with a smirk.
“Anything else? About her background?”
I spin the beer bottle in my hands, watching the liquid swish against the sides. “She had a tough upbringing.”
“How do you mean?”
He saw how she was living back there in that forest. I don’t know why I have to spell it out.
I sigh.
“No money. Scrabbling to put food on the table. Hiding her true nature.” I take a swig of my beer. “Harassed by dickheads.” I scowl.
My friend is quiet and I can feel his eyes still examining me.
Of course, I’ve shared the bits of information I have found out about her with my friend. I’m not so open to sharing my failures. There’s always been this quiet competition between us, the need to impress one another.
