21

Dylan

Dylan slipped into the café right before closing, his muscles sore and fatigue dragging at his eyelids. He couldn’t rest yet, though. He had a lot of work still to do.

Demigod Kieran, Alexis, and their group had left shortly after all the wounded were transferred into town. True to their word, they hadn’t pushed Dylan to join them. Kieran had simply given Dylan a card, wished him good luck, and walked on.

That would’ve been that, too. Had nothing else happened, Dylan would’ve gladly pushed them from his mind. Something about their group didn’t add up, and Dylan didn’t want to be on the wrong side of a blood oath when he figured it out.

But Alexis’s feisty young ward had hung back as the others walked away. She’d pulled from her pocket a folded-up piece of notepaper, the edges torn, as though it had been hurriedly ripped out of a notebook.

Looking straight ahead, she’d held it in front of her stomach between her first two fingers. “Kieran didn’t think you had much in the way of funds.”

“I have enough.”

“Enough means very little. Here.” She didn’t move, continuing to hold the paper low and between them, although her expression was studiously casual, as if they were having conversation about birds or trivial matters.

“What is it?”

“A fucking bomb.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell Lexi I swore. It’s an account number. Just take the bloody thing and slip it into your pocket so those yuk-ups behind me don’t realize what I’m doing.”

Wrestling with a smile, he did as she said. Despite her age, he was half afraid not to. There was a raw, ruthless quality about her, like a feral cat.

“You don’t need a Demigod in your business, I get that,” she said, stepping back a pace. “You don’t need him trying to set up a new life for you, because then he knows your shit. That’s smart. But you still need money, and these guys don’t travel with nearly enough cash. On that paper is sign-on information for an offshore account. There is also the login information for a generic email. Log in to the email, change the password. Log in to the bank, change the password. That will effectively remove me from the equation. Transfer the funds to an account you set up. Close this one down. I won’t use it again after you touch it. No offense, but you get where I’m coming from. The account has two hundred grand in it. Choose a cheap town and it’s a good start. Good luck.”

She turned without another word.

“Wait, wait,” he said, lunging to pluck at her shirt. “What are you talking about? Did Alexis put you up to this?”

She turned back, looking annoyed. “They were right—Zeus’s line is filled with a bunch of plastic-headed Ken dolls. You’re cute, but that isn’t enough to get by, bro. No, Lexi didn’t put me up to this. You better not tell her, either, or we’ll have a problem, you and me. I don’t know if you know this, but Kieran’s dad was a lunatic. If Kieran goes down the same road, we gotta get out. She’s thinking with her heart, so she’s not preparing for the worst, but I’m thinking with my head. If we need to lose that Demigod, I’ll have the funds and know-how to do it. You’ve lived my worst fear. Least I can do is help a dude out. Hide your magic a little better, huh? Now that people know you’re alive, they’ll be hunting for you. Lexi fucked up your game—I’d call her on her debt, one day. Until then, though…” She nodded at Dylan’s pocket. “Good luck. I hope I never see you again.”

“Hate me that much?”

Her dead-eyed stare was a clear message of Dylan’s idiocy. For some reason, he thought that was hilarious.

“If I don’t see you again, it means you got free,” she said. “If that’s what you want, then I hope you get free.”

“But what about you? This is a lot of money for a girl your age. How’d you even get it?”

“I leaned hard into Kieran’s generosity—or his desire to impress Lexi, whichever—and started hiding the money away. I’m pretty sure they know I’m doing it now, but they don’t know exactly how or where it’s going. They see it as a fun little game that helps the poor little Chester feel a bit more secure. Fine by me. It’s only a game to those not used to surviving.” She nodded at his pocket again. “That was the first account I set up. It’s clunky. It’s time to let it go, anyway. Might as well give it to a good cause.”

“I’m not a charity.”

“Good thing, or you’d have to claim the money on your taxes. Good luck. Sorry we screwed all this up for you.” A moment later she was walking away, leaving Dylan standing there, dumbfounded.

She’d been a hundred percent genuine, he could tell, and she’d spoken in Dylan’s language. Her situation was the reverse of his—a Chester in a magical world instead of the other way around. The money was all there, exactly as she’d said. The telephone access code and account specifics had been in an email sent to and from the email account earlier in the day. He’d had everything he needed to transfer the money to his second alias, and then close it all down. He’d done it quickly and without hassle.

He’d taken two hundred grand from a teenager who’d stolen the money from a Demigod and then given it to him without strings because he needed it.

Was this real life?

He’d gone from a nightmare to a lonely, solitary life, to…what? Where was he now?

He was saying goodbye to the life he’d lived for the last decade and a half.

Dim lights greeted him as he entered the café. At ten o’clock, few people in the quiet town were awake, let alone out and about, especially with all that had gone on earlier. Thank heavens, because most of the populace had wanted to hang him. Literally hang him, like in the olden days. Acquaintances he’d had for the last ten years, who’d served him food or bagged his groceries, had spat at him as he helped deliver the wounded into town. They’d sneered at him, treating him like he was some sort of dangerous animal.

With Kieran’s help, the town had given Dylan twenty-four hours to vacate. He would do it in less than that. He didn’t trust that the townspeople would leave him be. Jeremiah’s truck was down the street from Dylan’s cabin. That old redneck didn’t need much of a reason to get violent.

Dylan stopped at the counter and flattened his palm on the rustic wood. With a deep sigh, he hesitantly chimed the little round bell, polished to a high shine.

“We’re closed— Oh!” Mag’s face appeared through the kitchen window below the silver ticket holder. “Dylan!”

He smiled in relief, having half wondered if she’d changed her mind after the battle on the mountain. It still baffled him that six of his friends had shown up to defend him, firearms in hand. He’d already said goodbye to the other five who had shown up, but she was the last. She was the most special.

Fifteen years ago, Dylan had woken up in the morgue in Gianna’s palace, dressed in a suit as though he were being prepared for a casket. The last thing he’d remembered was trying to breathe through a closed-up throat and seeing black. He’d woken in the middle of the night and the night watch wasn’t on duty. No one seemed to be on duty, actually, which had allowed him to slip out undetected. Guards slept at their posts. Someone had left a service van running in the delivery area, which he’d easily stolen. He’d driven until it ran out of gas, no money to buy more or even something to eat. But a stranger had taken pity on him and given him a ride.