Morning Star (Sins of the Father 3)

He shoved a finger in my face. I nearly flinched that time. I watched the end of it defiantly, my gaze alternating between his fingertip and his mouth. One word was all it would take for him to fry me.

“You take that back,” he hissed, poking at my chest for emphasis. “Madam Grayhaven’s School for Gifted Boys turned me into the magus I am today. I will not stand for that kind of slander. Besides, I’m a graduate.” He teetered proudly on his heels.

“Pssh. A graduate in being a grade A asshole. Am I right?” I reached out to Florian for a high five, but he had his hands resolutely tucked into his elbows, arms folded and eyes averted like he really didn’t want to get involved.

“If it isn’t yet obvious, I’m restocking because of all the books in my collection you’ve so summarily destroyed, nephilim.” Quilliam said the word like it was the most disgusting sound he’d ever had to make with his mouth.

It was instinct that took over my body then. I pointed a finger at his chest, mirroring his posture, but my mind was already reaching out to the Vestments. “Just doing my part as a good citizen to stop you from blowing up another city block, you fucking arsonist.”

He rolled his eyes. “Like that’s supposed to get a reaction out of me.”

My spine tingled as I said my next words. And I did so with glee, my mouth curling into a smile as I spoke. “Mama’s boy.”

That did it. Quill’s hand closed the littlest distance left between us, his fingers splaying as his palm pressed flat against my chest. In that exact moment, a dagger appeared in my grasp, looking almost spring-loaded as it manifested from out of the Vestments and emerged straight from my wrist, its point just a fraction of an inch away from piercing Quilliam’s throat.

He grinned, speaking through his teeth. “Do it. I dare you. See what happens.”

I lifted my chin even higher. “Same, bitch. Try me. One more word out of your lips and I paint the countertop with your blood.”

We held there for some moments, my body thrumming with both the fear of fire and a strange sense of longing, of wanting to press forward just another centimeter closer so I could draw his blood. Checkmate.

The last thing I expected to break the silence was the sound of Beatrice Rex’s voice.

“Jesus Christ, you two, get a room.”

14

Florian’s breath came in one long, exhausted exhalation. “Seriously. I’d say for you to just prick each other or blow the other guy up, but I don’t think Beatrice wants your internal organs all over her shop.”

Beatrice wrinkled her nose, then chuckled softly. “Prick and blow? Are those really the only options? Sounds fruitful.”

Quill and I turned towards her at the exact same moment, glaring daggers. She held her hands up, laughing.

“You boys are so sensitive. Lighten up. Put them back in your pants. Mason, this isn’t very angelic of you. And Quilliam, that kind of behavior is quite unbecoming, don’t you think?”

“Listen,” I said, raising a finger but still finding myself lowering my dagger. “You of all people would know that being a perfect little angel isn’t exactly top priority for me.”

“Hey,” Beatrice said. “I’m just trying to defuse the tension in here. I don’t want to spend the day scrubbing either of your guts off the floor and ceiling. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of hardwood? Don’t ask me how I know that.”

Quill growled softly, the tips of his fingers digging into my chest.

“Dude,” I said. “Could you not? You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

Beatrice folded her arms. “Quilliam? Mason was nice enough to put his toys away. Won’t you do the same?”

I was expecting that kind of slightly condescending and somewhat parental tone to aggravate Quill even more, but his fingers stopped pressing into me so hard. He bit on his bottom lip, looking away sheepishly as his hand left my chest.

Air rushed to cool the heat his hand had imprinted into my body. Either his blood just naturally burned really hot, or he really was preparing a fire spell and planning to blow a hole in my torso. I couldn’t reach for a suit of armor from the Vestments, and considering what Skirnir had done to my chest in our fight, it probably wasn’t my best option for protection, anyway. I blinked at my chest, then collected myself, smoothing out the creases in my shirt, breathing steadily as I made a mental note to thank Beatrice for distracting us later.

“Much better,” Beatrice said, both her expression and her voice measured and even. Florian heaved a sigh of relief. I guess I hadn’t realized how close Quill and I had come to actually killing each other.

And still something in my blood wanted to land one last, taunting blow. I thumbed over my shoulder and nudged my head in Quill’s direction. “All I’m saying is that a known arsonist like Peter Pyromaniac over here shouldn’t be allowed to walk around so freely.”

“Oh, please.” Quill drew out the second word in exasperation, rolling his eyes. “Evidence, nephilim. Evidence. Last I checked, you needed some proof to convict anyone of a crime. All I’m hearing right now is a lot of baseless rambling.” His mouth curled into one of those sneers he loved to make so much. “Material that could be considered slanderous.”

I stiffened, my eyes looking between Florian and Beatrice Rex. “Can he do that?” I said, my voice whisper-soft. “Can he sue?”

“My pockets certainly run deeper than yours, nephilim.”