Sorceress, Interrupted - By A. J. Menden Page 0,41
plant a kiss on Emily’s blonde head.
“Fine. We started with Cyrus talking to some kid who hangs out with magic-users on computer bulletin boards or some such nonsense. The kid’s checking up on leads and getting back with us.”
“That’s good,” Wesley said. “The sooner we get to the bottom of this—”
“The sooner I’m out of your hair?” I snapped.
He eyed me quizzically. “The sooner it will be safer for everyone.”
“Especially Emily.”
He shrugged. “Well, I want to make sure it’s safe for all magic-users, but yes, I do care especially if it’s safe for Emily. I can’t help but feel like this is somehow tied to the Dragon.”
“Of course you do, because it has to do with Emily. She’s the center of your whole freaking universe. The rest of us can die horribly as long as she’s safe.”
He was staring at me, openmouthed. “Fantazia.”
Somewhere inside myself I had the suspicion I was having a meltdown but was powerless to stop it. “Well, I’m not going to lie down and die for you. I’m still here, goddamn it.”
A look of pain crossed his face and I was simultaneously glad of it—that I had hurt him—and also horrified that I was revealing how much he had hurt me. I was revealing my weakness.
In an attempt to cover up I shook my head. “I’m not a hero. I’m finished here.” Then I turned and stalked out of the room. Speeding down the hallway, I prayed no one would see me or my barely suppressed humiliation.
Just my luck, Cyrus was by the elevators. He stared at me in shock, and I ducked my head, hoping to cover my tears with my hair.
“Fantazia . . .”
“I’m going home,” I said, stabbing at the elevator button. “Away from people who think so little of me.”
“Wait, what?”
“Don’t ever come to my bar again. You’re all off the guest list.”
The elevator opened before I could say anything else crazy, thank God, and I flung myself in and jammed the close-door button. The doors slid shut, and I immediately burst into hot, noisy tears.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Despite what I’d said, I didn’t want to go home. Frankly, thinking about going back to the isolation of the bar was suffocating. I needed to get out, to breathe, and most importantly, to think, so I took the elevator down and walked out into the city streets with little knowledge of where I was headed or even where I might want to go. I just needed to be out. I was having a nervous breakdown. All of my repressed emotions were finally being released.
My retreat from the regular world into one of my own choosing had been supposed to help. In my pocket universe I wouldn’t have to deal with anyone, at least not on a regular basis. I could deal with them when and how I wanted. I could prove to the world—and more importantly, to myself—that I didn’t need anyone. I could be the ultimate loner. Because, after all, if you don’t need anyone, don’t depend on anyone for anything, no one can hurt you. Instead, now I was like someone with a third-degree sunburn, where every little nudge made me wince.
I hit the brick wall beside me. After all of these years, I was still letting those parental wounds fester. Cyrus wanted to know why I always put on the “bad girl” routine? It was my armor. It kept the bad people out and kept the scared little girl safe. If I could convince everyone else that I was a hard-ass bitch who didn’t need anyone, maybe, just maybe, I could convince the most important person of all of that: myself. To relax and just be myself, as he suggested . . . well, that would require confronting some serious emotional baggage.
“Screw that,” I muttered.
I suddenly noticed several men I passed a few streets back were following me. Great. Just great. Just what I needed.
I turned and glared at them. There were four, a quartet of louts radiating a dangerous aura from both the way they stood and the clothes they wore. They were predators, and I was meant to be their prey.
“What?” I growled.
They’d obviously expected me to look scared and run, be a good little victim. They would chase me, overpower me and hurt me however they saw fit, do whatever made them feel like big shots or got them off.
“Where you going, baby?” one of them asked.
“Nowhere fast,” I replied. “Funny you should ask. But, this really isn’t a