Page 107 of The Fake Divination Offense
I hesitate.
He catches it and shoves back with a glare.
“It was your old teammate, wasn’t it?” Stark, unbridled fury fires over him; I have a disconnected thought that he and Marlow could scorch the earth together. “No one saw exactly what happened, but someone said that tank—Naell?—they said he was talking shit before the game.”
Bel looks around like Naell might appear in this hall, his jaw bulging by his ears.
“I’ll kill him,” he growls. “He’s fuckingdead—”
“Glad to see one of you is honoring our god.”
My eyes slip shut.
I allow myself one more second of Bel in my arms before I lower him to the floor and look up to see my parents next to Treva.
My mother is taller than I am, the giant ancestry undeniably from her side, with the same black hair as me, only hers is always styled in a huge arch of curls that makes her even taller. She’s got a Hellhounds sweatshirt on, a massive leather purse on one shoulder, and a frown of disappointment on her face.
My dad, on the other hand, is all human, nearly half her size. His receding hairline makes his pale scalp shine in the harsh hall lights, and he looks like he just came from the office even though it’s Saturday, wearing a button-down shirt and pressed khakis. He’s behind my mom, deferring to her, eyes on his phone.
“Hi, Mom,” I say. “Dad.”
Dad nods at me. “Good game, son.”
“No,” my mom snaps. “It wasnota good game. Weren’t you watching? Orok let himself get hurt!”
Bel, one hand still in my shirt, tightens his grip. “Excuseme—”
But I jerk him closer to me and his eyes flip to mine in question.
I give a subtle shake of my head. He looks like he’ll argue, but he nods, lips pursing.
Treva, next to my mom, cringes and mouthsI’m sorry. “Your mother demanded to speak with you,” she says. “I tried to keep her outside, but—”
Mom pushes forward, shutting Treva out of the conversation. I’m reminded of how I treated Treva after the first home game, throwing my size around the way Mom is.
I know my expression drops, but I can’t stop it, and Mom zeroes in on it.
“We do not linger on weakness, Orok,” she says, sizing up my sling. “Do you have to wear that to lunch? Aren’t there going to be photos?”
“I have to keep it on for a few hours.”
“Aslingdoes not honor Urzoth. Why did you let this happen?”
Bel stiffens again. “He didn’tletanything happen,” he says through his teeth. “He got injured.”
Mom’s whole countenance changes. From accusatory to fawning, like she’d forgotten Bel was here.
“You must be Alexo? I’ve heardsomuch about you. What was it you were saying about going after whoever was responsible? That’s exactly the sort of thing that will bring honor to Urzoth—a challenge of strength. Isn’t that right, Dave?”
“Yes, dear,” my dad says to his phone.
Mom eyes Bel again, head to toe, and grimaces. “You are…capableof fighting, aren’t you? The Chimeras players are awfully large, and you are—not. We can’t have you losing this challenge, not after Orok’s injury. We need awin. I’ve spoken at length with Reverend Drach—nowthat’sa strong man—and I have so many ideas about ways to enhance how you two are portraying Urzoth—”
“Mom.” I lean a little more heavily on Bel than I normallywould. I’m just so tired suddenly. “Maybe we can have this discussion over lunch?”
“Not if Alexo is going to challenge a Chimeras player before we go. Can your publicist arrange it?” She turns to where Treva has since fled.
Bel does, in fact, pause, a flicker of consideration passing over his face.
