Page 79 of Eat. Prey. Love.
I glance at Rennie and Aubrey, the weight of unspoken histories clouding their expressions. “You both realize what this might mean, right?” My voice is softer than I intend, tinted with concern.
Rennie sighs, rolling his eyes to the sky in supplication. “Yes, Chester,” he grumbles. “We’re digging up more than just dirt here. It will require… reconciliation.”
Aubrey, usually so imposing, seems smaller somehow as he stares at the cryptic carvings. He lets out a low growl, the sound of boulders grinding together. “We’ll both have to face the music eventually.Might as well start with your clutch since they’re in Eastern Europe. It’s... closer.”
“Spring break?” I suggest tentatively, watching how the possibility settles on them like a shroud.
“We can make the trip easily in that timeframe, yes,” Rennie confirms with a resigned nod.
Dolly steps in then, her delicate hand reaching up to touch Aubrey’s arm. Her empathy shines like a beacon. “What about Egypt, Aubrey? Will we need to?—”
“Later,” he cuts in, smoke billowing from his nostrils as he turns away. His eyes are stormy seas, and Dolly’s presence is the only lighthouse in sight. “Asia will be first… during the summer break. If I can avoid the African continent, I will.”
Felix and Fitz share a loaded glance, the air thick with silent questions. They know that’s where our shared family resides—or just off the coast—and we don’t want to make a pitstop there, either. Fitz snarls, walking over to me and burying his face in my neck, “I’m with Senor Spicypants. Let’s try to keep that entire portion of the world on the ‘no-no’ list if we can,”
Before the tension can suffocate us, Rufus breaks in with a loud cough. “What exactly is the dress code for meeting dragon royalty? I don’t think my leather vests will cut it.”
Laughter bubbles up unexpectedly, and even Dolly snorts, although she’s quick to fire back. “I’m not wearing my damn crown in front of its prior owner.”
Aubrey’s response is immediate, and there’s a flash of the old fire in his eyes. “Oh, but you will, Snacksize. It’s not an option if we want her blessing.”
“Blessing?” She blanches, reminding me of a rabbit caught in headlights, but the moment passes as quickly as it came. “Who said I need permission? I do what I want now, Aubrey Draconis, and your grandma had better just accept it.”
“We should head back to start researching this shit,” I say, hoping to get off the topic that will certainly be a bone of contention. “We don’t want to trigger any traps or curses today.”
“Or on any days, if I have my way,” Dolly adds with a wry smile. “I like my cottontail attached exactly as it is.”
“If we’re right about this being the entrance to the council’s vaults, we’re sitting ducks out here.” Felix finally says. “Chess is right; we should go. Take a few more shots and then we’ll head back.”
We snap a few more shots, ensuring we’ve captured every detail. The marks are worn, some new, some so old they’re barely visible. There’s a history here, secrets etched into the earth that speak of a time and knowledge long passed.
Once our task is done, we retreat, but I glance back at the crags, a shiver running down my spine.
What are we about to unearth?
Hard Times
I fidget in my seat,gripping my tablet and the folder with the hard copy until it bites into my palms. My heart skips a beat every time the door to the classroom creaks open. I’m half-hoping, half-dreading it might be Amity, breezing in with some flimsy excuse clutched in her hands alongside her half of the work. But no, she’s a ghost today, and as each new student enters, not one of them is her.
Not like I really believe she was going to do anything anyway, but it’d be nice to get proven wrong about a negativeopinion for once.
“Settle down, everyone.” Asani’s voice cuts through the room like a blade. He stands with a predatory Giselle that belies his faux, designer academic attire, his sharp eyes scanning the class.
I resist the urge to shrink in my chair. Knowing he’s my tiger twins’ relative makes my skin prickle uncomfortably. He doesn’t lookexactlylike them, but enough that it enhances the aura of malevolence he tries to hide under the guise of being a stern professor. This class makes my stomach churn with anxiety and disgust because I know the gross vibes that I get from their cousin must be whatallthe current Raj’s acolytes feel like to my men. It’s both sad and icky at the same time, but I can’t focus on that right now.
Today is D-day—the dreaded day of our first project submission. As I said, I’m flying solo as expected. Amity, my supposed partner, has been MIA, leaving me stranded in a sea of unanswered emails and text messages. Not that I let her silence deter me; I’ve painstakingly completed the assignment on my own—ensuring every historical fact got checked and double-checked.
My take on the topic won’t make a Council stooge like Asani happy, but he can’t fault my methods, at least.
I settle back into my seat, the hard plastic somehow feeling more unwelcoming than usual. My ears itch, a physical manifestation of the unease that’s gnawing at my bunny. Asani paces in front of the classroom, his steps measured and deliberate, as if he’s the king of Bloodstone instead of a flunky of the king pretending to be a college history professor. My nerves buzz with anticipation and anxiety. It’s not just about getting a grade for me—it’s about proving I can handle whatever is thrown my way, even if that means tackling a two-person project alone.
“This project is a significant portion of your final grade,” Asani announces, his tone almost gleeful, as though he finds pleasure in our collective student anxiety. I don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on me a moment longer than necessary. “The quality of work yousubmit for this first assignment will make a very lasting impression on what success rate I anticipate for you in the class.”
Does he know about Amity? and how I’ve been left to fend for myself?
I fight to keep my expression neutral, despite the desire to roll my eyes skyward. The nerve of him— acting like he’s got some prophetic power to predict our academic future based on one shitty paper. I glance around, noting the anxious faces of my classmates, their pens poised above notebooks, ready to scribble down every word as holy writ. It’s all so unnecessarily dramatic for a ridiculous required general education course. Tuesdays and Thursdays are rapidly starting to rival the dread I reserve for Fridays, and that’s because I have to suffer through Rockland.
“This should be a lesson in commitment,” the pompous Khan continues, a smirk playing on his lips as he scans the room, “and the consequences of failing to uphold your responsibilities.” His gaze lingers on the empty seat next to me, and though I feel a surge of anger at Amity’s betrayal, I don’t let it show. Instead, I focus on the clock, watching the seconds tick by, a silent mantra repeating in my head: dance classes, theater, stupid jury practice, then freedom.