“Not as much as you think. Delilah’s status offers her a little bit of wiggle room. She and Mother knew each other. Used to be friends, but bad blood now, caused by Delilah’s position with the Society of Robes. You might think this is about privilege, but I don’t envy how Mother will deal with interrogating Delilah when she wakes up.”

“Well, you’re the Scion. I’m not going to pretend I know any better. And good thing about Donovan, because I don’t want this stupid problem rearing its stupid head and biting me in the ass in the future. I swear, Bastion. He comes after me again and I can’t be held liable for incinerating his ass.”

“And you’d be well within your rights to do so,” Bastion said. “But enough about this. There’s a couple of things you and I need to discuss.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” I said.

Sterling muscled his way between us, his leather jacket squeaking as he adjusted it and stared unflinchingly into Bastion’s eyes.

“Where he goes, I go,” Sterling said. I managed to restrain my smile. Protective Sterling was my favorite flavor of Sterling.

Bastion rolled his eyes and groaned. “Go figure. Fine, you can come.” He turned to the Fuck-Tons. “Ladies, thank you so very much for your assistance. Can I offer you a ride somewhere?”

“Oh, Sebastion.” Imperial patted the side of her gigantic wig, pouting. “You know well and good that we have to be at work tonight.”

“Truth,” Metric said. “The Leather Glovebox simply cannot function without us. It just isn’t the same in there without its two main scream queens.”

I gulped. “I’m confused. Who does the screaming, exactly?”

“Everybody,” Imperial said, dragging out the word. As one, the Fuck-Tons lightly touched the frames of their pink eyeglasses. The lenses flashed momentarily as they looked at me from head to toe, and back again. The two of them exchanged a knowing grin, favored me with a final cryptic laugh, then turned to leave for the Glovebox.

I blinked, my thoughts clouded by the fruity haze of perfume that lingered after they’d gone. Shit, was the perfume enchanted, too?

“What the hell was that about?” I said.

Sterling stretched his arms out, his joints popping, his jacket squeaking, and he yawned. “Poor, sweet Dustin,” he said.

“What?”

Bastion chuckled. “I can’t be sure, but I suspect those glasses they were wearing were enchanted. Lets the Fuck-Tons see things only people like the Lorica’s Eyes can see.” His eyes flitted quickly from my face, down to my shoes, then back up again.

The heat started flaring from my chest. “Wait. No. Do you mean they were checking me out? What were those things, like X-ray specs?”

Sterling folded his hands behind his head, still stretching as he sauntered out of the alley. “They could see that Hound, couldn’t they? That Donovan kid. I imagine they can see anything.”

“Oh, it’s not such a big deal, Dustin,” Bastion said. “There’s nothing under there that the Fuck-Tons haven’t seen before.” He turned to follow Sterling, heading towards the street, where a familiar, gleaming black car was waiting.

“That’s not why I’m bothered, though,” I said. “They were laughing, guys. The Fuck-Tons were laughing. Why?”

Sterling and Bastion glanced at each other again, then – like the Fuck-Tons, like a couple of traitors – walked on, laughing.

Chapter 12

We took the same car we rode to Bastion’s place the first time, that shiny black sedan with the really heavy doors that I later found out were so heavy because of the bulletproof windows. Huh. I guess even wealthy wizard families didn’t mind having that extra layer of mundane protection.

Our driver was the same white-haired, white-gloved chauffeur from before. Remington opened doors for us, even addressing both me and Sterling by name. He remembered. Impressive. Whatever the Brandts were paying Remington, it clearly wasn’t enough. I mean, the man had to deal with Bastion on the daily.

Then again, I’d seen Bastion’s interactions with the Brandt family staff, and he’d always been gracious with them, bordering on sweet, like he was running for office, but specifically as the head of the manor. However else Bastion behaved with the rest of the human population, it was good to know that his mother still raised him right.

His mother, who I noted was conspicuously absent as we entered their ridiculous family mansion. The first time we met, she’d drifted – quite literally, through magical means – right down the very impressive and very expensive looking marble staircase, making a grand entrance. Luella Brandt seemed like the kind of woman who liked to know who her son’s friends were.

On top of that, I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that she was the type of woman who occasionally wanted to get to know her son’s friends a little more intimately than most mothers would. She was certainly pretty flirtatious with Sterling, at least in the beginning. Luella had that richly seductive cougar energy. A magical cougar, if you will, one that flies through the air and loves drinking whiskey.

Mother and son shared similar tastes, it seemed, since Bastion was also sipping on his own glass of whiskey on the car ride to the mansion. How Remington had the foresight to actually stock the car’s little bar with those perfect little spheres of ice, I’ll never know, but I guess that obscene amounts of money really did buy you exceptional service and facilities.

Remington mumbled something into a walkie-talkie as we approached Brandt Manor’s gates, which swung open to let us enter. As he brought the car up the majestic cobblestoned driveway, I couldn’t help drawing comparisons between Brandt Manor and the Ramsey House, like I even knew where to begin when it came to comparisons of that magnitude.

All I could conclude was that they were about evenly moneyed. The Brandts had everything the Ramseys did: the hedge maze, the tennis courts, and the greenhouse, which was approximately the size of my dad’s entire house that he rented. I shook my head. Rich people were nuts.

Tags: Nazri Noor Darkling Mage Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net