Rooming with the Wicked

6 | pretend home

The steady thump of music sounded from high above me, drowning out the annoying elevator music in the stairwell. Yes, in the stairwell. Whoever thought it was a good idea to play that same anxiety-inducing crap for those purposefully avoiding taking those deathtraps deserved a special place in one of the darkest cells of Pyrarcis.

Okay, so maybe I was just a tad grouchy, but who could blame me? Having to climb nearly forty stories sucked on a normal day. I definitely didn't miss calling this place home.

With my head still pounding and every cell of my body aching from today's events, it was considerably worse. If only I hadn't left my headphones at school...in a dorm room with someone who wanted me dead.

Allegedly.

Well, until I had some real proof anyway.

The smell of drying paint made me scrunch my nose. Up ahead, the words demons out in all capital letters graced an entire wall. Drops of black paint had run all the way down to the concrete stairs beneath.

Well, this was new.

A single, messy line from the d continued onto the next wall and merged into more words. And take the shifters with you, also in all caps. I squinted at the squiggly letters. Shifters was spelled wrong. I refrained from rolling my eyes and continued on.

Out of breath, I slouched into the empty penthouse lobby after the excruciatingly long ascent. A part of me had expected Dad to be pacing the foyer, but there was no sign of him. Weird.

I was about to sneak past the hallway leading to his office when the previously ajar door was pulled open, revealing Dad's surprisingly calm face. As always, his blond dyed hair was gelled back in an attempt to make him look younger. It worked to a degree, but the prominent wrinkles on his forehead—probably from years and years of constant frowning—gave him away.

Stepping into the well-lit foyer, he said, "I thought I heard the door."

How he could hear anything above the unbearable garbage my stepbrother was blasting blew my mind. But that wasn't the strangest part. He didn't seem angry. Why wasn't he angry?

"You're not mad?" I asked, adjusting the sleeve of my hoodie so it covered the multitude of tiny scratches courtesy of the numerous shrubs and bushes I'd jumped through.

He frowned, pushing his glasses to the tip of his nose to rub his dark-rimmed eyes. "Why would I be mad? I was informed about the portal...malfunction shortly after it happened." A rare smile softened the sharp features of his tired face. "If anything, I'm surprised you showed up this late instead of coming at a more civil time tomorrow."

Right, blame me for wanting to please my control freak of a father.

"You're still awake," I remarked.

"It's been an eventful day," he said, frowning once more as he gave me a thorough once-over. "You look terrible."

"Well, father, you weren't the only one having a rough day," I muttered under my breath. Forcing a smile, I added, "Exam season, you know how it is."

The crease on his forehead deepened. "Family comes first, that was the deal."

Not this discussion again. If he actually meant family I would have maybe been able to understand, but no, he was referring to that stupid human-only ambassador dinner earlier. Needless to say, I wasn't exactly sorry about missing that.

"I didn't provide you with the opportunity to study alchemy so you could stop showing your face around here," he continued.

Right, provided me with the opportunity, meaning allowed me to pursue something that made me happy. Oh, how grateful I should be. The fact that it was my hard work and vast knowledge of the subject that had gotten me this far was, of course, entirely irrelevant.