Page 19 of Shield and Savior
Well, that was completely uncalled for.
She’s not wrong. But still, I don’t need to be called out on it either. I trudge into the kitchen and make a protein shake—I drink it to survive not because it tastes good. The mail and other papers are scattered on the kitchen table. I thumb through the Pennysaver and some company trying to get me to switch my auto insurance. They addressed it to the wrong person.
Amid the mess and snail mail spam, there are two bills. One I recognize instantly because Alana’s been paying her assistant Macie’s tuition for years. The other one is the electric bill, but my phone buzzes with an alert.
Photos of Honey Badger at a fashion show in Paris fill my feed. The press raves about how great she looks, but I see the weariness in her eyes. There are more pictures—a Paris nightclub, a behind-the-scenes tour of the Louvre. Damn, I kinda wanted to do that.
An email from Pine Valley pops up on my screen. I am officially invited to Family Day. Gooey pride swirls around my face and lands on my cheeks. And suddenly, I’m not missing the red-carpet lifestyle at all.
The days and evenings fall into a routine of dropping the family off at school, going to sleep, picking up the kids, and ignoring the way Nessie looks at me every time I pick her up from work, or how it makes me feel.
Werewolf and Champ seem to be getting along. Maria draws me a picture of some sort of animal which may or may not have the correct number of limbs.
Back at the apartment, Nessie makes dinner, obviously struggling with the proper amount of food. “It’s been the two of us for so long. I don’t know. Do you eat a whole box of pasta on your own?”
“Boxed pasta. What would your mother say?” I clutch invisible pearls.
She waves a wooden spoon at me. “And you will never say anything to her about it. As far as she knows, it’s fresh pasta or nothing in my house. Got it? Now, how much do you eat?”
I walk behind her. She stiffens as I shake the box a few times, spilling out a reasonable amount of carbs. Do I make her nervous? Shit. That’s what I’m supposed to be protecting her from. Job fail.
Champ has his head between his hands and lets out a moan. “What’s wrong, Champ?”
He motions with his nose to the paper in front of him. “We have to do a wax museum.”
Huh? I glance over to Nessie, who also gives me a shrug. She has no idea what it is either.
“You have to wear a costume and read a whole monologue. People walk around to your station and say, ‘boop,’ and you have to come alive and act like whatever famous person you are.”
His mother squeaks excitedly. “That sounds so fun.”
It sounds like a fucking nightmare.
Again, he groans. “It gets worse. Stage one: We perform in our class. Stage two: Each class votes for the top five, and they rotate through the third grade classrooms. Stage three: All the teachers select the top ten kids to present in front of the whole school and at the Family Welcoming Showcase.”
Nope. Definitely a nightmare. I really don’t know how Honey Badger does it. People stare at you, judging you. There are a million things that could go wrong and so few exits from a stage.
The pasta starts to bubble over, and I adjust the temperature while Nessie picks up the paper. “The title of the assignment is Next to Greatness, what the hell is this?”
Champ throws his hands up again. “That’s the worst part. Do I get to be Abe Lincoln or Babe Ruth? No! I’m some guy who SAW the Gettysburg Address. Instead of being Batman, I’m freaking Alfred.”
I had the kid’s back until he started giving Alfred shit. “Um, Alfred Pennyworth was a spy and a badass before he became Bruce Wayne’s caregiver.”
Nessie checks on the pasta. I guess she didn’t trust me enough to watch water boil. “Maybe it’s a way of keeping the rich kids humble. Like, obviously, they’re all nepo babies, so it makes sense they’ll eventually fall into power. Maybe this is a chance for them to experience what it’s like to be one of the common folks.”
“To be in the crowd during history instead of the one making it.” The idea hits me. “Oh! You could be one of Khutulun’s suitors.”
They both blink at me confused, like I’m the one who’s obsessed with Bigfoot and creates imaginary animals like mermadillos. I bring up her bio on my phone. “Khutulun was a Mongolian princess. And the Mongols were awesome warriors. In fact, she was Genghis Khan’s great-granddaughter.” Not much of a brag since he used to rape every woman he saw to spread his genes around, but still. “Anyway, her dad told her she had to get married, and she said she would only marry a man who would beat her in battle. But if he wanted her hand, he needed to bring one hundred horses. If he won, she would marry him. If she won, she kept the horses, and he left in disgrace. But here’s the thing: she was a total badass wrestler and fighter. Long story short…she ended up with ten thousand horses.”
Nessie tucks her hair behind her ear before turning away and opening the fridge. “A fighter who didn’t do what her father wanted and made the empire stronger with the most powerful weapon on earth at the time. Yeah, I like her.”
“Everyone likes her,” I add and turn back to Champ, whose frown might swallow his whole face. “What’s wrong?”
He looks at me like I’m the dumbest man alive. The way only kids can gut you and leave your insides on the floor while they draw mustaches on your face in your own blood. “You want me, the new kid, to stand in front of a bunch of rich kids and pretend to be a guy who got beaten up by a girl?”
Hmmm…
But his mother comes in with a rescue. “So, you don’t want to be a Mongol warrior who was rich enough to own one hundred horses, with the social standing high enough to even be in the same room as a princess. A fighter whose only loss was to a warrior so good we’re still talking about her 800 years later. What? Are you afraid these new kids will see that you have taste in such high-quality women that you can see the benefits in an honorable defeat?”