Cold Burn of Magic(65)

My emotions were the things I guarded most closely, covering them up with sticky fingers and smart-ass comments, but tonight, I felt like my feelings were out in the open for everyone to see, shining as big and bright as one of the pawned diamonds on display at the Razzle Dazzle.

Bracing myself, I opened the door to my bedroom. I expected to find a scowl-faced Oscar slouched on his porch, drinking his umpteenth honeybeer of the day and ready to tear into me again for daring to be nice to him and Tiny.

Oscar was actually outside his trailer, but he was pacing back and forth on the lawn, something that he had to be sober to do, given the straight line he was walking. And he was muttering to himself.

“Idiot,” he grumbled. “That’s what you are, Oscar. A complete and total idiot. She called you a redneck cowboy, as if there’s something wrong with that. I am a redneck cowboy and proud of it. And yet here I am, all worried about her like the soft, stupid, bleeding-heart fool that I am—”

The pixie stopped at the sounds of me opening, then closing the door. He twitched his wings, took flight, and zipped over to me. He hovered in the air in front of me, his violet eyes scanning me from head to toe.

“What?” I asked. “Do I still have blood all over my face or something?”

I’d meant it as a joke, but his eyes bulged at my words. He zoomed back over to his trailer, flew inside, and slammed the door shut behind him.

I stared at the trailer but the shades were drawn, and Oscar didn’t make so much as a peep inside. No music blared, either.

“What was that all about?” I asked Tiny.

The tortoise kept on chewing on a lettuce leaf. No answers there. Not that I had expected any.

“Well, good night to you, too, Oscar,” I muttered.

Still shaking my head at the pixie’s weirdness, I headed toward the bathroom.





By the time I finished in the shower and threw on some pajamas, I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. I’d stayed under the spray of warm water for close to half an hour, but I’d still be stiff and sore in the morning. Angelo and Felix had only used the stitch-sting to heal the gash in my leg. It wouldn’t take care of my more mundane bumps and bruises. But Devon, Felix, and I had all lived through the fight, and that was more than enough for me.

I staggered into the bedroom and was about to fall face-first onto the mattress, when a distinctive aroma tickled my nose. I stopped and sniffed. Was that . . . bacon?

My stomach rumbled. Definitely bacon.

I looked around and realized that a large tray of food was sitting on the coffee table in front of the TV, so I headed in that direction. Two large, scrumptious-looking BLTs were arranged on a platter, along with heaping scoops of pasta and potato salads. Another platter held fresh fruit, cheeses, breads, and cold cuts. And still a third platter boasted an assortment of cookies, brownies, and truffles, along with bite-size pieces of fudge. A glass filled with ice stood off to one side of the table, along with a stack of napkins, silverware, and several cold sodas.

“I thought you might want something to eat,” a low voice called out.

I turned to find Oscar sitting on his front porch, swilling down a root beer, for a change.

“Since you weren’t here for dinner,” he added.

My stomach rumbled again. I was never one to turn down food. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He shrugged and went back to his root beer.

The sight of all that food energized me, and I sat down on the sofa, grabbed the napkins and silverware, and dug in. Oscar had been nice enough to bring the food here, so I figured I could be nice enough to eat it. Okay, okay, so it wasn’t much of a sacrifice on my part. But I really didn’t want to find itching powder in my bed or garbage stuffed into my sneakers like he’d threatened. Pixies might not be the largest or strongest creatures around, but they were some of the most devious. In their own way, the little monsters could be even more dangerous than the big ones. Like he’d said, Oscar could make my life miserable if he wanted to.

I sank my teeth into the BLT and sighed at how good it was. A perfect combination of smoky bacon, crispy lettuce, ripe tomatoes, and creamy mayonnaise, all on warm, toasted, sourdough bread. I polished off the first sandwich and started on the second.

Oscar watched me stuff my face for ten minutes before he broke the silence. “So is it true? Did you save Devon and Felix from an ambush? And take out a couple of Volkov guards?”

I stopped chewing long enough to answer him. “Yep.”

He almost seemed impressed, before his face scrunched back into its usual scowl. “Well, I wouldn’t make a habit of taking on guards from other Families,” he snapped. “Next time, you may not be so lucky.”

“No,” I agreed. “I may not be so lucky next time. Maybe next time, there won’t be anyone there to help me. Maybe next time, I’ll get in the middle of a fight I can’t win.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you mocking me?”

“No,” I replied. “That’s what happened to my mom. Sort of. She got involved in something that wasn’t her problem, and she got killed as a result.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Suddenly, I didn’t feel like eating anything else, so I put the rest of the BLT down and pushed away my plate. Oscar drained his root beer. Then he twitched his wings, flew across the room, and landed on the table next to the food platters.