Page 41 of Savage Prince
“I know a lot more people than you think. What’s his name?”
A bolt of shame shoots through me at the reminder that I don’t know that either. “Doesn’t matter.”
Elijah steps back, and I’m not sure what does it, but he relents on the subject. “Then you’re gonna bring me a case of whiskey every time you come.”
“Fine—” I start to agree to what is a simple request, but he keeps speaking.
“And you’re gonna owe me a favor. Consider it payin’ it forward,” he says with a wink.
A favor isn’t something I want to owe Elijah, but it’s the quickest way to get what I want.
“Fine, but it has limits.”
He shrugs. “We’ll see about that. Now, go make something. Show me you haven’t totally buried your magic under a pile of boring paperwork.”
* * *
I’ve losttrack of time, but I know hours have passed. When I step back and survey my work, my lips stretch in a smile. It’s a phoenix rising out of the flames, and it’s incredible.
I’ve still got it.
I tug the shop rag out of my back pocket and swipe it over my forehead to catch the dripping sweat my worn bandana didn’t.
My arms and shoulders are sore from cutting, hammering, and welding, but it was worth it. Even the scrapes on my arms that my gloves didn’t prevent are badges of honor. A sense of accomplishment floods my system, along with pride and satisfaction.
It took coming back here and seeing it through new eyes to realize I don’t care what some stuck-up old asshole like Standish says. My art is not junk.
It’s revitalization in the most basic way. Taking the old and unwanted, and refashioning it into something new and beautiful that will make people stop and stare.
The copper flames—hammered pieces of tubing and wire, torched to take on a red patina—look like they’re actually burning brightly beneath and alongside the bird.
To create it, I used car parts. Plumbing components. Pieces ripped off of old appliances. It was a mad dash through the scrap and recycling yard, grabbing anything that looked promising, a wild process of piecing together the vision in my head, and a flat-out sprint to bring it to life.
But I did it.
I really did it.
“Well, fuck me, that’s cool as shit,” Elijah says from the garage door, which I heaved open in an attempt to stop myself from shedding a few more gallons of sweat.
I yank the bandana off my head and swipe it over my forehead. “Thanks.”
He closes the distance between us. “I didn’t think you had it in you anymore. Proved me wrong.”
I shift my gaze in his direction without moving my head. “Does that mean you’re going to drop your conditions on me using your space?”
He snorts a laugh. “Not a fucking chance. You pay to play here. That’s life, girl. Should know that by now.”
My stomach gnaws at my backbone and releases a loud growl.
“You want to grab something to eat?” Elijah says. “Crawfish boil already started at Rickety. Bet a few people would love to see you.”
By Rickety, he means the Rickety Shack, one of the only restaurants within ten miles and a staple in these parts. The crawfish boil is a Saturday-night tradition. And me going with Elijah would send the wrong message on every level.
I’m not going backward in life, only forward.
“Sorry. Can’t. I’m busy.” I pull off my grimy gloves and look down at my hands. I’m impressed with the limited number of cuts, scrapes, and broken nails. Totally worth it. Now I just have to clean myself up and decide what I’m busy doing tonight so I don’t feel like I just lied.
Elijah’s voice turns hard. “Hot date with a guy who expects you to be some perfect little princess?”
