6: Things Are Not Always What They Seem To Be

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NPOV

Track: Come A Little Closer, Cage the Elephant

I wake up to the sound of my alarm the next morning, and I feel oddly refreshed. Normally, I wake up sore from the previous night's fight. Why does it feel like my entire body has gone through a healing, calming yoga routine or something? I don't think I've woken up feeling this good since I first became the Ghost King.

I go about my morning as normal at first—brushing my teeth, getting changed. I'm not going to school today, but I pack my backpack anyway in an attempt to fool my mom—

I'm slipping my math textbook into my bag when I remember it all. My stomach drops, and suddenly I dread going downstairs to face my mother. I mean, she found out that I'm the Ghost King. That's terrifying enough on its own—but of course she also had to find out about Luke and his cronies at the same time. I mean, I think she probably suspected that something was going on, but I was so not ready to have this conversation.

I get ready a lot slower after that. I'm dragging my feet because I really don't want to have to go downstairs and face her. I mean, is she going to kick me out? She let Will take me into the house, so maybe not—but I was beaten pretty badly, so maybe she was just giving me time to rest before making the decision to get rid of me.

Or maybe she won't kick me out, but she won't be the same around me either. I mean, does she think I'm evil? I am a supervillain. I break into people's houses. Is she right to believe I'm evil?

I finish packing my bag, and I have nothing else to postpone going downstairs anymore. I have to face her. This feels an awful lot like going into a fight.

I creep down the stairs, trying very hard not to draw attention to myself. She's waiting for me in the kitchen, and she has breakfast on the table for me: eggs, bacon, and toast. She doesn't look angry, per se, but her eyebrows are stitched together with worry.

She looks up at me as I hover in the doorway. "Good morning, Nico."

I lick my lips nervously. There's a glass of orange juice on the table, and I'm so thirsty, I could down the glass in one gulp. But I don't move quite yet—I just hover in the doorway.

"Are you angry?" I ask, and my voice comes out more quiet and afraid than I'd planned. I can't really help it—my heart is beating in my throat, and I'm sweating everywhere.

Her eyes are gentle. "Niccolò, no, I am not angry." She gestures at the table to beckon me over. "Come eat—we don't have to talk about this now. You have school—I don't want you to be late."

I slowly sit down, trying to gauge if I'm going to be grounded or something when I get home. She actually doesn't look surprised at all. Did she suspect me before this? What gave me away? Maybe she wasn't as blissfully aware of my sneaking out as I thought she was.

I scarf down my breakfast—breaking into people's houses works up an appetite, and I didn't eat dinner last night due to being nearly murdered. Then I'm back on my feet, more than happy to postpone this conversation until this afternoon.

"Ti amo, Niccolò," my mother calls as I grab my back and head for the door.

"Ti amo, Mamma!"

I slip out and walk down the driveway. My mother will be heading to work soon. She's a cook at an Italian restaurant nearby, but they're more of a lunch and dinner place than breakfast, so she doesn't have to get there to start prepping meals quite yet.

Which is inconvenient for a rebellious teenage son who's trying to skip school, but where there's a will, there's a way. I've found methods of getting around her. Today's method is to wear baggy clothes over my suit, keep my mask in my bag, and head to a public park where I can change without neighbors pointing out their windows and going, "Uh, I think I just saw Nico di Angelo change into the Ghost King's outfit!"

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