by RJ Blain
“You only ran during a third of your pregnancy, Mackenzie. Did you know we had to draw lots to see who’d keep an eye on you? None of us have seen a flightier principal.”
I sighed at the reminder of my boss calling in the RPS for a little backup containing me. Pregnancy hormones hadn’t been my friend, and at the eight-week mark, I’d turned into a roadrunner, my flight instinct kicking in over the littlest thing. Without fail, someone would startle me, I’d run, and a few hours later, someone from the RPS would track me down and herd me back to the office or home.
I had made congressional sessions particularly interesting for the three months it took my flight instinct to make way for my fight instinct. After, I’d been a demon behind the podium, abandoning the polite rules of society in favor of bludgeoning stubborn representatives and senators with the truth.
“I’m blaming Mireya for that,” I replied, shaking my head and squirming in my seat until I was comfortable. “What can I do for you today, Geoff?”
“We need to do another risk assessment.”
Groaning, I leaned my head back. “Another one? What sort of risk assessment? Wasn’t the last one good enough?”
“If only. News on the wire is you’re overseeing the upcoming auction, and as such, you get the assessment special.” Geoff pointed over his shoulder at his companion. “That’s Agent Fansel, the official Texan liaison with the RPS of the other Royal States kingdoms. As you’ll have direct contact with the Texan royal family, you’re stuck with me for a while. Come on in, Peter. Stop haunting the woman’s doorway.”
“I see you two have met,” Agent Fansel murmured, stepped into my office and, after a moment of thought, sat beside Geoff. “This should make things easier, then.”
“Indeed. Mackenzie’s old hat at this. She’s less likely to develop a flight instinct if you use her first name.”
I rolled my eyes. “I haven’t run off since the end of my second trimester, Geoff.”
“There was that one time when Mireya was five—”
“Pictures or it didn’t happen!” I chirped, well aware no one had captured my flight on film, much to my relief.
Geoff smirked. “As I was saying. We have to do a complete assessment to ensure you won’t endanger any of the royals you may come in contact with.”
“Considering Mireya attends school with several members of the royal family, I was under the impression we’d already been evaluated. What else do you need to know? Between her and my appearances during congressional sessions, I’m not sure there’s anything new to tell you.”
“Honestly, we’ve already run your personal assessment, so there’s nothing we need there. The problem is with your home. We need the security protocols for your condominium complex. The Royal family has strict restraints on their time, and as such, they’re known to make personal visits as time allows.”
Oh shit. The capital R had made its appearance, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “You mean the king and queen.”
“They keep threatening to sell some of their extra children,” Geoff replied. “They might give you a few if you’re not careful.”
“You are the most unprofessional professional royal bodyguard I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. It’s like they send you because they know I like you too much to run away screaming.” Opening the upper drawer of my desk, I pulled out the business card for my condominium complex; I kept a few kicking around for curious politicians who couldn’t imagine a null living in something other than a hovel.
The first time I’d done it, I’d been pleased to learn I had a nicer place than the representative out to insult me.
“You’ll have to contact the building’s supervisors at this number. If you need information on the office building, you’ll have to clear it with Mr. Smithson.”
Agent Fansel took the card and slipped it in the inside pocket of his jacket. “Do you have your schedule readily available, Miss—”
I glared at him, as did Geoff.
Agent Fansel cleared his throat. “Mackenzie.”
Arming myself with my ancient but trusty phone, I tapped the screen to access my calendar. “How long will you need it for?”
“Do you have your schedule for the next month? We’ll need an updated copy for scheduling purposes.”
I printed the list, turned, and snagged the sheets from my printer, handing them over. “There are some items missing, including when I drop my daughter off at her bus stop and pick her up. Everyone who works with me knows I’m unavailable during those times.”
“It’s true,” Geoff confirmed. “I’ve watched her check the time in the middle of a congressional session and walk out because she needed to meet Mireya at the bus stop. That will have to be planned around, as Mackenzie will not delegate her parental responsibilities. She hasn’t missed a pick up or drop off since the day Mireya started school, and not even the will of the Royals will deter her. You’ll have to plan accordingly, Peter. Mackenzie is rather unconventional in a lot of ways. Her status as a null is about the only normal thing about her.”
“And that’s hardly normal,” Agent Fansel replied, looking over my list. “Have you ever handled a firearm, Miss Mackenzie?”
“I’ve never touched one in my life, Agent Fansel.”
“You may be required to be educated on safe firearm handling. Recreational hunts are popular among visiting dignitaries.”
“You’re serious.”
“Unfortunately. You’ll have to handle your rifle while on horseback.”
My eyebrows took a hike towards my hairline. “On horseback?”
Geoff smirked. “She’s going to need a crash course on being a proper Texan gal, Peter. I believe you should make arrangements for the Pat special.”
I had no idea what the Pat special was, but Pat had a capital P, and in the Texan way, that meant trouble. “I don’t like the sounds of that.”
Still smirking, Geoff took my schedule from Agent Fansel and looked it over. “It could be worse.”
“I’m not certain how that’s even possible, Geoff.”
“I could have suggested the Jessica special instead.”
I stared at the agents, blinking while trying to make sense of the conversation. I failed.
Geoff’s smirk widened to a grin. “You have no idea who Pat and Jessica are, do you?”
“Not a clue in hell,” I confessed.
Agent Fansel chuckled and attempted to cover his laughter with a cough. “I think you’re right, Geoff. The Jessica special would be too much for her. I’ll make the arrangements.”
Narrowing my eyes, I crossed my arms, tapping my foot. “Why does that sound like a threat?”
“Because it is,” Geoff said, rising to his feet and snapping a salute. “Welcome to the big leagues, Mackenzie. Hold onto your britches. It’s going to be a rough ride.”
What had I gotten myself into? I sighed, hung my head, and pointed at the door. “You’re the embodiment of pure evil, Geoff.”
He laughed and headed out of my office. “Come on, Peter. We better let her get back to work before she blows a gasket. However entertaining it is watching her lose her temper, I don’t want her ire pointed at me.”
“You’re mean, Geoff.”
“We both know it’s why you like me so much, Mackenzie.”
It wasn’t, but I wasn’t going to burst his bubble. I liked him because he wasn’t afraid of what I was. I forced myself to chuckle and wave until the pair left my office.
Unfortunately, they took my peace of mind with them, leaving me with a bucketful of worries and the threat of royals on the horizon. I took a few deep breaths to steady my nerves, sat straighter in my seat, and went to work.
My boss was right. I’d do what I’d always done. I could only pray my best would be good enough.
While my job required flexibility, some things I’d never bend on, and picking my daughter up from the bus stop was one of them. I tiptoed my way out of a conference call, fearing I’d finall
y lose my job for abandoning work, but my boss smiled and waved as I left, and I made the two-block run home with five minutes to spare.
I always left expecting to lose my job, but I refused to change my habit. Every day, I’d see my daughter off. Every day, I’d pick her up. Hell or high water wouldn’t stop me from doing it.
The bus came on time, but it didn’t stop. It didn’t even slow on route to its next stop six blocks away. The drivers checked to make sure every student got off at the right stop, as students often fell asleep on their way home. Mireya didn’t, but she was a rare exception.
I suspected the school didn’t push her as hard as they did the other students despite paying a fortune every year to give her equal treatment. Money could buy a lot of things, but it couldn’t buy complete removal of old prejudices.
The school had always been good about calling me if Mireya missed the bus or needed alternative transportation. With shaking hands, I checked my phone, but the device had no new notifications for me. I checked my email.
Nothing.
Where was my daughter? The shaking spread from my hands to the rest of my body, and I thumbed through my contacts until I found the number for my boss’s secretary, who was the school’s emergency contact in addition to my boss.
“Mr. Smithson’s office,” the old woman chirped.
“Louisa, it’s Mackenzie. Did the school call you about Mireya?”
“I was out of the office for a few meetings, so let me check with the reception, doll. You just hold your horses a moment.” The link clicked, and I headed for the lobby. A few times, one of the null sympathizers had driven Mireya home, and I’d discovered my demonic spawnling waiting for me inside. She’d scared me so bad I’d screamed, which had pleased her far too much.
Could someone have taken her home without telling me?
The line clicked again. “No one’s called, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”
“She wasn’t on the bus, and no one has called or left me a message.” Did my voice always sound so lifeless when something went wrong? I didn’t sound like me, not even to my own ears.
I was anything but calm.
“Call the school, dear. I’ll notify reception and security to call you if they hear anything.”
The line went dead.
As the classic overprotective, helicopter parent, I had the school secretary’s number on speed dial, and I was grateful the phone had the ability to dial for me, as I doubted I could manage hunting through my contacts for another number. After several frustrating minutes of navigating through the after-hours menu, I managed to reach the front desk.
“Huntington Academy, Rachel Dunlap speaking. How may I help you?”
I could face down an entire congress. I would not lose my nerves talking to the school secretary. Once again, my voice emerged dull and lifeless. “This is Mackenzie Little. Is my daughter, Mireya Little, still at school?”
“There are no children at the academy at the moment, ma’am.”
My cheek twitched. “My child wasn’t on the bus. The bus didn’t stop at all. Can you check to see if she went home with someone else today, please?”
“Of course, ma’am. One moment, please. Let me pull up your child’s file. Can you spell her name for me, please?”
Spelling out my daughter’s name annoyed me almost as much as the woman’s bored tone of voice. At least she’d bothered to check the system.
I was willing to bet the woman knew exactly who I was, as I was the only mother daring enough to send her null child to an elite academy.
“Is your daughter a known delinquent, ma’am?”
Why would anyone suggest Mireya was a delinquent? She cried when she missed school unless it was her birthday. I gripped my phone so hard my hand hurt. “She misses a handful of days a year, Miss Dunlap. Her last day out was yesterday, and the academy was notified a week prior to her absence, according to your guidelines. Are you seriously implying your academy’s top student is a delinquent?”
“Delinquents often—”
“When was the last time I called asking about Mireya’s whereabouts?” I clenched my teeth and marched towards the elevators, and I was so incensed by the idiot woman I hardly noticed the air conditioning nip my cheeks and sting my nose.
“Ma’am, if you’d—”
Drawing on my experience brow-beating prejudiced politicians, I ordered, “Answer the question.”
“But, ma’am!”
“Since you don’t seem to know the answer, I’ll tell you, Miss Dunlap. I haven’t, because this has never happened before. Where is my daughter?” I stabbed the up button on the elevator, glaring at the doors until the swooshed open. I stepped inside and smacked the button for the top floor. “Well?”
“There are no children at the academy right now, ma’am.”
Screaming at the woman wouldn’t help, although I wanted to rip her to pieces with my voice alone. “All right. When did she leave the school?”
The secretary sucked in a breath at my implied insult, as Huntington Academy prided itself on being more than just a school. “It’s not the academy’s responsibility to—”
“I pay fifty thousand dollars a year to make it your responsibility to monitor my daughter when she’s at school,” I snapped. The elevator pinged, and the door slid open. I marched to my condo pulling out my keys to let myself in.
Inside, everything was as I’d left it in the morning, and it didn’t take long to determine Mireya hadn’t been home. “I’ll be there within thirty minutes. I expect answers on why my child was not on the bus, why I wasn’t notified, and why you even think you have any right to call your academy’s top student a delinquent.”
I hung up, choked back a frustrated scream, and turned on my heel, slamming the door behind me so hard it bounced in the frame. It took two tries to lock the door.
If Miss Dunlap and the other idiots at the academy didn’t have the answers I needed, I’d find out first hand if rage was sufficient to waken a null’s magic.
Chapter Eleven
It took me twenty minutes to reach Huntington Academy by cab, and I marched inside, heading straight for the principal’s office. Several teachers waited near the front desk, and they stiffened at my approach.
If they thought I’d have any sympathy or mercy for them, they were about to learn I viewed them no differently than the congress so determined to squash the rights of my daughter and me. I lifted my chin and stared down my nose at each them in turn, teeth clenched together so hard my jaw ached from the strain. “Mireya wasn’t at home, nor was she at my workplace. Congressional Hall is the only place I haven’t checked yet where she might go—or be able to get to on her own.”
The teachers gaped at me, and Mireya’s main instructor, Mrs. Whiteley, paled several shades, but unlike her colleagues, she gathered herself and straightened. “Mireya’s an unusual child…”
“Unusual how?” I snapped. “Is it that I require her to do all her homework, helping her only when absolutely necessary? Or is it her excellent grades? Perhaps it’s her tendency to use polite forms of address, including please and thank you? Was there something wrong with her attire?”
Clothes I could fix, especially with my boss’s promise of a corporate card for the purpose. I’d stick with my worn jeans and my dusty coat and spend the money on Mireya if necessary.
“She’s too nice,” the woman blurted.
Sometimes, when people told me something incredibly stupid, I ceased being able to comprehend why I wasted my time on them in the first place. Did Huntington Academy really hire idiots? I feared so. “You must be joking. You’re seriously implying my daughter has disappeared because she’s too nice?”
“Not exactly. It’s possible she’s hanging out with the wrong crowd.”
I took deep breaths, my fury brewing beneath my skin. If I snapped, would I manifest flame? Wind? Lightning?
Becoming a proper flameweaver, one strong enough to set the entire academy ablaze, seemed like a pleasant w
ay to go out. Instead of a slow, painful death from asphyxiation as my allergies finally won, I could go out with a bang. I flexed my hands. “She mentioned she wanted to invite some classmates home for dinner. I don’t know their names.”
Well, I knew the names of two of them, but I wasn’t about to give the teachers any ammunition.
“You’re aware your daughter has a pedigree exemption to attend classes with our elite students, correct?”
“Considering I pay fifty thousand dollars a year for that, yes, I’m aware of the expense your academy charges for that pedigree exemption, which is supposed to guarantee my child equal treatment.”
They had the decency to flinch, and not a one of them had the courage to say a word. My cheek twitched, and I grabbed my phone, scrolling through my contacts so I could call Senator Forester, my primary contact in congress as he headed the ethics committee. “Since you don’t seem to know where my daughter is, I’ll call Congressional Hall and see if she went there. Please excuse me a moment.”
“That’s not necessary,” Mrs. Whiteley stammered.
I hovered my finger over the connect icon, arching a brow. “Mrs. Whiteley, my daughter goes there at least once a week if there’s a late session. The academy arranges the transportation, and she’s the one who notifies the secretary if she needs to go Congressional Hall instead of home. It’s possible she thought I had a session today and went there.”
I prayed that was the case and pressed the icon, putting my phone to my ear.
“Mackenzie, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you again today. Are you wanting to get in one last spanking to ensure I’m aware you’re my owner until the end of the auction?”
Despite everything, I laughed. “Not quite. Did Mireya go to Congressional Hall after school? I don’t know where she is, and the school doesn’t know where she is. She wasn’t on her usual bus.”
“I’ll call you back in five.” He hung up.
Mrs. Whiteley tried to look down her nose at me but failed thanks to my height. “I think you’re overreacting, Miss Little.”