by RJ Blain
Beatrice laughed. “You’re something else, Janette. Bradley, the first thing she did after her interview was take her kitten to the vet, and Ajani has all of her vaccinations. It was a requirement for her to be in the library. Ajani is in perfect health. Her owner? Not so much.”
“Thanks, Beatrice,” I muttered.
“Well, it’s true. You work hard, and you give your best, but we all know you haven’t been able to get proper treatments for your foot.”
“Yes, I’m quite displeased about the medical review of your file. Frankly, I can’t blame you at all for dropping off the radar after reviewing your medical file. They described you as difficult, unwilling to accept your disability, and so on. It’s obvious they were incorrect in their diagnosis, and you were absolutely justified in your stance. However, I would have preferred if you had run away back to home where you belong.” Bradley dug through the bags on the coffee table and pulled out one, setting it in front of me. “Orange chicken for you, and I asked them to make it so spicy your tongue shrivels into a husk before catching on fire. I have also made other requests to suit your taste in horrifically spicy food.” He set a second container in front of Beatrice. “You get barbecue ribs because that was the only food I could confirm you actually like.”
“I do not know who your informant is, but I approve. And what are you having?”
“Pain and suffering,” he complained, eyeing the remaining container. “I decided I would try this dish she kept swearing was actually good but will probably kill me. I have not done something this rebellious since I was approximately seven or eight.”
My mouth dropped open. “You’re going to try Chinese food?”
“Considering how you reacted the rare times you got it, I am concerned I’ve been missing something worthwhile for no reason other than it wasn’t fancy enough to match my family’s rating.”
After taking a few moments to brush Ajani, I set her brush aside and peeked into the container. Sure enough, the entire container was crammed full of orange chicken without a single grain of rice or anything resembling a vegetable in sight. In his household, the times I’d gotten something like Chinese, I’d been required to adhere to the family diet plan, which involved a few token bites of my favorite parts and a lot of rice and vegetables.
I’d adapted to it, but I’d dreamed of escaping long enough to eat an entire plate of just meat.
I spied chopsticks in the bag, and I swiped them, separated them with a snap of wood, and snagged a piece and nibbled.
Whatever the restaurant had used as spice transformed the dish into a fiery hellhole of deliciousness. Ajani took a single sniff of my lunch, yowled, and bolted for the bedroom.
“You know it’s spicy when the cat runs away in terror,” Bradley said, and he cracked open his container. “Are you sure this isn’t going to kill me, Janette? Ren thinks this is going to kill me. He told me I deserved my fate. When I’m done dying, just drag me to the street. He’ll take me home for disposal.”
Maybe the bodyguard wasn’t as useless as I’d thought. I snorted and pointed at my fridge. “Just get a glass of milk. That’ll help you if you can’t handle the burn.”
“But I’m lactose intolerant. You know I’m lactose intolerant. The milk will kill me.”
“Then I guess you’re just going to have to pick your form of death. Choose wisely.”
Bradley took a cautious sniff of his lunch, shot me a glare, and got himself a glass of milk along with a fork. He hesitated, opened my fridge again, and stared in the general vicinity of my coffee creamer. “Would the cream work better?”
“I have no idea. I don’t drink milk while partaking of good orange chicken. Why would I want to stop it from burning better?” To demonstrate I had zero regard for my taste buds, I selected the biggest piece of chicken I could find and bit into it, staring at Bradley while I did so.
“I feel like you’re a shark out for blood, and I’ve just cut my ankle on coral.” He sighed, sat on the living room floor on the other side of the coffee table, and regarded his container through narrowed eyes. “Are you sure this won’t kill me?”
“I’m absolutely sure either the orange chicken or the milk will try to kill you.” I pointed in the direction of my bathroom. “When you succumb to the milk, the bathroom is that way, and I’ll even be a courteous hostess and notify your guard so he can come in and make sure you don’t truly expire by the time the lactose is finished with you.”
“Have you always been this evil?”
“Absolutely. I was contracted against displaying my evils openly before. You gave me an out, and I used it. That’s entirely your fault. I refuse to acknowledge or accept any blame for your current situation. You could have picked something else to eat.”
“I really did, too. I have learned from my mistakes, and your vacation is over. Your status as mine is now active again. And anyway, when I was ordering, I figured I needed to experience what your life might be like.”
“I hope either the spice or the milk does you in,” I grumbled. “Your taste buds are about to die a terrible death. I eat spicy food at least once a week, Bradley. You’ve eaten it how many times?”
“Never.” He stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork, and either ignoring the strips of pepper clinging to it or deciding he had a point to prove, he popped the entire thing into his mouth and bit down like he meant it.
I chewed on mine, aware of the near-blistering heat of my supper and the fire about to ignite in his mouth. “You really need training wheels for this level of spice, Bradley. There’s pride, and then there’s stupidity, and you just went down the path of utter stupidity.”
With watering eyes, he choked down the piece, and he wheezed. “What is wrong with you?” he gasped out. “You enjoy this?”
I gestured to his milk. “Drink that, and the bathroom is that way. Don’t drink water. It’ll make it worse. I’ll feed you some rice after you’re done dying, but I’m taking your lunch as payment for putting up with you and nursing you back to health before kicking you out of my apartment.”
“Mercy,” he wheezed.
Any other day, any other man, and I might’ve taken pity on him. Instead, I raised a brow and enjoyed the show.
He conquered two more pieces of chicken before the spice won and he chugged three glasses of milk and a handful of sugar to make the heat tolerable.
When he finally retreated to the bathroom in complete defeat, I picked up my cane and went outside to retrieve his bodyguard to make sure Bradley emerged from his adventure with orange chicken with nothing more than damaged pride.
Eight
I’m picking a family car.
Ren waited at the entry of my apartment building, leaning against the brick with a disinterested expression, although he kept an eye on Bradley’s car, which gave me pause.
I remembered it well, as it had been my favorite of them all, a cherry red Ferrari he’d gotten because I’d broken my professionalism long enough to openly admire it. The vehicle itself had been my choosing as well, as he’d caught me in the evening flipping through a magazine and drooling all over it.
It’s older brother, in a color Bradley liked better, with different bells and whistles, had been the one to cost me everything.
It was a lot like running into an old friend on the street after years apart.
“He thought you’d come to see me at some point.”
I snorted at that. “Only because he’s dying in my bathroom because he thought it was a good idea to try orange chicken the way I like it. It’s the restaurant he likes best, and when he orders the orange chicken, the owners try to beat me. He’ll have to go back and tell them to try again, too. It was so hot he needed milk and sugar to make the burn tolerable.”
Ren sighed. “I warned him it was not wise.”
Shrugging, I rested more of my weight on my cane, regarding the old car. “I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten rid of this one yet.”
“It’s his preferred vehicle.”
>
Poor car. “How many miles has he put on her?”
“She has a hundred and fifty thousand miles. She’s a record; most of her make and model last to fifty before they’re put out of their misery and put aside for something new. She costs him fifty thousand a month in tires, oil changes, and general maintenance.”
Ouch. While his wallet could handle it, I didn’t envy him or the dealership for trying to keep her in perfect working order. “Are we going to have a problem? Your name is Ren, right?”
“Yes, my name is Ren. No, of course we won’t have a problem. Unless you want a problem, then I would be pleased to be as problematic as you’d enjoy. You’re one of his interests, which makes you one of my interests, and I’m concerned about your general protection with your foot in that condition.”
Oh, great. Just what I needed. Another man determined to hover and act like I couldn’t handle myself. “Can we have a problem when he’s around? That could be interesting. If you try to act like I’m a body to guard, I will have a real problem, so if you want to try that bullshit, cover it doing something else.”
If Bradley ordered Ren to treat me like a body to keep nice and safe, we’d have an ongoing feud, but I’d be able to handle it. Maybe.
I could maybe handle it without practicing my exsanguination skills on him. After a moment of consideration, if Ren did decide I needed to be protected, I could use him as my personal physical therapy regime, as it would take a lot of work from me to ditch an unwanted bodyguard.
“If that would please you.”
I couldn’t tell which part of my statement he replied to, which would make my life entertaining as I navigated Bradley-infested waters. “I will not be shy about complaining I did your job better than you do it. I feel a need to establish how our relationship will go.”
How he reacted to my statement would tell me a great deal about him.
Ren smiled. “According to your record, it would be quite challenging to do the job better than you when you were in your prime. I can’t help but notice you’d be incapable of passing the physical in your current condition.”
“Yeah. That’s a problem. I’d like to solve that problem, although not to return to that shit job. Your job? It’s a shit job.”
“I’m not on a for life contract, and I’m paid very well for my work. I do live in the Hampton residence, but you might be interested in knowing that I do not use your old room. Frankly spoken, Mr. Hampton is very unreasonable about you in general. Your room is intact, and he has learned how to clean to professional quality because he will not allow anyone else in.”
I would need time to consider that new piece of intel. While I did that, I’d have to slip Ren notes on the appropriate doctors to handle Bradley’s problems. The Bradley I knew treated cleaning as something that might kill him if he needed to stoop to such a level. For him to clean someone else’s property of his own volition? He needed an entire team of doctors to sort him out. “Survivor’s guilt?”
“To a degree. Most of his guilt was assuaged through the reality he walked, and while critically injured, you survived. No one else involved did. The latest turn in the situation will further improve his situation.”
While I had known at least one had died in the crash, I hadn’t been aware everyone in the other vehicle had perished. “Would you have done the same, Ren?”
“I couldn’t have done the same. I am nowhere near as skilled a driver as you are. While I’m capable of handling his vehicles, I do not indulge in the type of driving you enjoyed.” Ren cast the old, red car a glare. “If you could kindly flip through a magazine and admire something a little more modern, we would be most appreciative.”
“We as in which we? The bodyguard team or the Hampton family?”
“Both. Please include Mr. Hampton’s wallet in those who would be appreciative. This vehicle is not easy or cheap to maintain at its age.”
“I’m picking a family car with enough horses under the hood to feel better about it.” I pointed at my foot. “These do not work well in luxury sports cars. Most manufacturers don’t anticipate medical boots as part of their foot room measurements. I’d also like room for my purse and possibly my cat. I’ve already heard the lecture from the first batch of doctors. The probability of flashbacks, panic attacks, and other unwanted consequences of the crash are likely the first time—and possibly permanently—I get near this class of car.” I eyed the car skeptically. “In good news, I don’t think I’m having a flashback or a panic attack, but my foot hurts even thinking about trying to cram into that thing.”
“Yes, Mr. Hampton was briefed on the consequences of the crash before you vanished. I’ve been notified I’ll be undergoing training to handle the situation should you have an incident.”
Great. “You better bring some form of disruptor with you, and it better be a good one, because my method of protecting myself during an incident involves the strategic relocation of blood.”
In reality, I hadn’t used my magic in so long I’d be spending the next few weeks giving myself a refresher course on the basics, which fit well with Bradley’s plans, much to my disgust. I’d also be refreshing my knowledge on Bradley’s basic activities, as the man always found some way to get into trouble.
I didn’t need any more trouble. I had plenty of trouble for all of us with plenty to spare.
“Yes, I’m aware of your ability rating, Mr. Hampton’s concerns your abilities have stagnated, and the uncertainties regarding your magic and its general lack of use since the accident. I’m also aware of the prescriptions you were given, their potential side effects, and so on.”
The so on could mean anything. “It’s been long enough since I’ve had a painkiller of any sort that two of the good ones will knock me flat on my ass. I won’t use them unless it’s really bad, but I’ll take the beta blocker because I recognize when I’m in over my head. I’ll even do the damned exercises at the pace he wants.”
“Good. That will keep things relatively peaceful. So, he tried the orange chicken?”
“And three glasses of milk and a handful of sugar to go with it. He’s probably dying in my bathroom right now. Well, he’s definitely thinking he’s dying right now.”
Ren shook his head and sighed. “I warned him.”
“I’m sure you did, but he picked the restaurant I liked, and the owners likely remember me and my order, so they would have prepared it to my preferences, which was essentially a challenge to make my eyeballs burst into flames.”
“I am curious about why the heat doesn’t seem to bother you.”
“Spicy food has never bothered me. The hotter the better. I like when the spice adds some fire to my blood. I find the taste to be pleasant and the burn to be part of the ride. When I was little, I’d sometimes drink milk after eating spicy food, but I outgrew that pretty quickly. I started drinking water instead so it would be hotter.”
“After that much lactose, he’s going to pass out,” the bodyguard muttered.
For fuck’s sake. “Seriously?”
“Throwing up and otherwise having his body completely rebel on him is tiring. A small amount of lactose will make him sick, but three glasses of milk? He’s going to need a gallon of Pepto, even more water, and a place to sleep it off once the cramping stops.”
“There’s medication for it, you know.”
“None of it works for him.”
“I’d be sorry, except he’s the idiot who decided to eat it anyway. I claimed his share of dinner as his payment for his stupidity. I’ll make him some rice once he’s no longer dying.”
“His family has been following a vegan diet lately, so he really wanted some chicken.”
Bradley might be the death of me at the rate he was going. “For fuck’s sake, Ren. Go buy the man a burger and let him go on a bender. Just skip the cheese no matter how much he whines that cheese is life.”
“Perhaps tonight. He’s not going to be capable of eating anything for a few hours.”
“Thi
s is just a demented ploy so he could sleep at my place, isn’t it?”
That earned me a laugh from the bodyguard. “No, he just believed he could handle any foods you can. I really did try to warn him.”
“He’s finally entered his rebellious stage, hasn’t he? He’s not a good candidate for being a vegan, Ren. Have you seen what he does to burgers?”
“I’ve heard rumors, but I have not seen it.”
“I took him to a fast food joint once. I bought five burgers. Big burgers. I didn’t get one because he inhaled the first four and sighed sadly over the last one. I ended up having one of his mother’s salads, portioned for dainty, sophisticated ladies.”
“While you’re a lady, you should not be eating portions described as dainty.”
“You know that, I know that, but Mrs. Hampton? She has no idea how much physical training I did daily making sure her idiot son kept breathing.”
“If it’s anything like my training regime, you would have spent at least three hours at the gym training.”
“I spent five, and I spent an additional hour a day working with my ability while on the move.”
“Excuse me, but did you say you use your abilities while moving?”
“Yes. It’s useless if I can’t exsanguinate someone as needed. I cost the Hampton family a fortune in animal blood, and I would volunteer weekends at the hospital whenever I could get a permit. I would work the ER.”
I wondered if I could skip the whole working for Bradley thing and hone my skills to become a nurse or ER surgeon. I’d even take working in a lab.
“There was a note you had initially planned to work in medical services before you signed your contract. I hadn’t been aware you would volunteer with hospitals.”
“It wasn’t put on my record because it was done during my limited off-duty time.”
“Interesting.”
“I didn’t get a lot of time off.”
“Yes, that was reviewed after your disappearance, and changes were made to how the adepts would handle their for life contractors. It was obvious to outside sources that you suffered through significant psychological strain due to your inability to have your own life, and that it was understandable in psychological terms why you would suffer a psychotic break and potentially suicide.”