But shouldn’t I be happy that he wants to spend time with me? Shouldn’t I be forgiving? I mean, he brought me here, he’s giving me everything I’ve ever wanted, he’s giving me the opportunity to follow my dreams. Shouldn’t I be grateful? If the man wants to spend the afternoon with me, shouldn’t I let him?
But I already know how this is going to turn out. Whether it’s here or at the store or later today at the auditions, he’s going to forget or he’s going to get distracted, or something, and I’m going to be left waiting once more like that disappointed little girl.
No, I’m not going to let that happen. I’m not here for daddy-daughter bonding time. I’m not here to reconnect with my long-lost father. Joe is a means to an end. A ticket out of Ellis and an opportunity for a top-flight education. I’m here for myself. To achieve my goals, and right now, that’s getting into the music program at OHH. After that, it’s making a name for myself in the music world—all on my own.
And I don’t have time for distractions.
I don’t bother calling Joe’s name again. I don’t go looking for him upstairs. Ten bucks, he’s probably already forgotten why he even went up there, or is puking in a bathroom, I tell myself as I slip out the front door.
With my guitar case hitched over my back and my tote bag secured in the basket of my white and lemon yellow cruiser bike, I set off to find that grove to rehearse.
Alone.
Chapter nine
HADEN
I have been told to wait. So that is what I have been doing, but I don’t know how they expect me to do so for much longer.
After making introductions, the overly enthusiastic man—who told us his name was Simon Fitzgerald but that we should call him Simon—brought us to a house. It was a short walk from the grove, but between the aching behind my eyes and Simon’s insisting on pointing out and naming everything in English that we passed, the journey was as tedious as Sisyphus’s toils up the mountainside.
Simon’s cheery commentary of “This is a road. This is a bridge. This is a mailbox. This is a doorbell” doesn’t let up like I hope it will when we enter the house. “This is a refrigerator. This is a microwave. This is a coffeemaker. Have you ever had coffee? No, you other two wouldn’t have, would you? You simply must try it! This is a fabulous roast. Here, take a cup.…” He hands me a cup full of hot, brown liquid. It smells acrid and acidic to me. I pass it to Garrick. He sniffs it and his face goes from pale to green. “This, over there, is a plasma TV. It’s simply wonderful, isn’t it?” He looks at Garrick. “Oh no. Oh boy. And this, over here, is a toilet …,” he says, grabbing Garrick and ushering him down the hall and through a door. I wince at the sound of vomiting.
“Can we dismiss this Simon guy yet?” I ask Dax. The pain behind my eyes has swelled into the rest of my head, and I am starting to worry about getting sick, like Garrick. “I haven’t forgotten that you’ve promised to fill me in on what you know. I need to get started on my quest. I don’t have time for this fool to name every object in this house.”
Dax holds up his hand to quiet me. “Do not let his disposition deceive you,” he whispers. “Mr. Fitzgerald is not your servant, he is not your friend, and he certainly isn’t a fool. It is best not to cross him, understand?”
I nod, thankful all over again that Dax is here to guide me.
“Ah, now. No worries,” Simon says, coming back into what he’d labeled the “breakfast nook,” wiping his hands on a towel. “Our young friend is going to spend some time getting acquainted with the bathroom facilities. I am afraid some folks don’t pass through the gate as easily as others. How are you feeling, my lord?”
The smell of the coffee Garrick left on the table makes my stomach swim, but I don’t want to give away any signs of weakness. “Fine,” I say.
“I’ll give you boys the rest of the tour later. We have many arrangements to make. You don’t fit the description of the Champion I was told to prepare for.…”
“There was a change of plans,” Dax says.
“Very well. That happens.” Simon pulls a flat, rectangular device from his pocket. “Remove your sunglasses,” he says to me.
I realize he means my spectacles and I pull them off. Simon sticks the device right in front of my face. It flashes a bright light in my eyes with an artificial-sounding click.
“Harpies!” I clasp my hands over my face, my eyes burning even more.
“Sorry about that,” Simon says. “But I’ll be needing a photograph of each one of you. I didn’t expect to see you again, Dax. What a pleasant surprise.” I hear the weird clicking sound again and assume Simon used the device on Dax. “I was afraid they might chop off your hands or something equally unpleasant when you returned the way you did—”
“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Fitzgerald,” Dax says, politely cutting him off. Dax never talks about his time in the Overrealm. I wonder what I might be able to learn about it from Simon—if I ever dare to ask.
“Yes, yes, reunions are always wonderful,” Simon says. I am still seeing a bright white spot in my vision as he looks me over from head to toe and scratches his chin. “We will need to make some … er … adjustments. Dax, you will help me. In the meantime, Lord Haden, my house is your house, so make yourself at home.”
“What exactly do you do for a living?” I remember from my lessons that people in the mortal world have different jobs that they perform and are then compensated for—not compulsory assignments required by the king. Whatever it is that Simon does for a living, he is compensated well—in mortal terms—for it.
“A little bit of everything.” Simon’s grin stretches far across his face. “I guess you could say my specialty is procuring things for people.” He opens the thing he called a refrigerator and pulls out a glass of green liquid and takes a swig. “Gotta keep the ole immune system up. Especially with so many teenagers living in the house again. Want some? I’ll make you all some smoothies if you want. I just got a new Blendtec.”
He holds the glass up. It smells like fermented weeds. My stomach churns. I shake my head. “Is there a place I can put my things?”
“Oh yes, yes. I forgot to show you to your rooms.”