Monday morning came quickly, but the memory of Friday night's disaster seemed no further away. Every few minutes, I remembered a new mortifying moment from the "party". I'm pretty sure my mind was stuck in a loop, like when a CD would skip. (Remember those?)

  In one evening, I'd gone from the new kid with a sob story to social pariah. All weekend, the residents of Pinevale Heights had treated me like I'd contracted leprosy. Someone had spray-painted a rude message in red. I was pretty sure Russ had done it because A, it said "F U Arsenal" and B, it was painted on the wrong door. Poor 304 probably thought someone was way too passionate about the Premier League.

  I hadn't told Donovan what happened, but he was observant enough to notice the shift in attitudes. I mean, it was about as subtle as a 6000-pound hippopotamus in a church. Still, Donovan could tell I was upset and didn't address the ele... er, hippopotamus in the room.

  Monday finally rolled around and I could escape the hostile apartment complex. I was hoping that a day of work at the Red Pineapple would get my mind off it. Something insane was bound to happen. It had every other day since I'd entered the Other Life. I just hoped it was the weird and wacky kind of insane and not the Arthur's-about-to-be-torn-to-shreds kind.

  Maybe the story hadn't made it to the Pineapple yet and I could avoid further ridicule. Naturally, the first thing I heard after walking in was Lucky giving Red a detailed play-by-play replay of my assault with a deadly countertop.

  "OH! I miss such entertainment!" Red said, his voice boisterous. "You should have invited me to party."

  "Not sure you would have fit in with the crowd. College co-eds don't seem like your thing." Lucky's smile was obvious in her voice.

  "Hmm, you are right. I prefer my women more... mature." Red added some spice to the last word.

  From the office, Skylar groaned. "Oh god, please stop talking, Red."

  Red and Lucky roared with laughter.

  Spotting me, Red rushed over and grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me far too enthusiastically. "Is true you squashed girl with magic bat?"

  My eyes rattled in my skull. "Put...me...down."

  Red let go with a stupid grin. I shook my head and noticed Skylar sidling out of the office and leaning against the wall to listen.

  "I didn't squash anybody," I grumbled. "I just accidentally flung a giant chunk of marble at a girl... or five."

  "But was with your bat, yes?" Red mimed swinging a bat.

  With a grunt, I nodded. "Yes. Most of them were ok. Only a couple had broken bones. And only one had to be rushed into surgery..."

  “I take it you decided to ignore my warning about that bat being dangerous?” Skylar said dryly.

  Giving her my best glare, I folded my arms. “Back off. They put a firecracker in the cake as a prank. And seeing how close I was to getting exploded last week, I wasn’t going to do nothing again.” Jaw set, I stared down Skylar. “I might have panicked and overreacted, but I thought the Saints had come back to finish the job.”

  From the kitchen, Lucky piped up. “Might have?”

  I shot her a withering glare. I was getting good at those. She snickered and winked before returning to chopping vegetables.

  Red clapped me on the back, far too enthusiastically. More of a punch, really. “ Ha! See, you’re learning to hone survival skills already! Maybe you won’t be killed gruesomely by one of our many foes after all.”

  I rubbed the spot he had clubbed. “Gee, thanks.”

  I glanced back at Skylar. She hadn’t insulted me further and was instead looking at me curiously. Maybe she had grown bored of pointing out my stupidity. No, she was definitely the type who enjoyed belittling people. I could see it in her hard, intense, distractingly pretty blue eyes. Oops, I was staring.

  Skylar shook her head, but a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. It was just for a moment, but I saw it. “Ok, then, Bat Boy, since you’re all ready to throw down with the Bitter Saints now, how bout we continue your training?”

  “Bat Boy?” Oh how effortlessly she patronized me.

  Skylar turned to Red. “You’ll be on your own for the morning, so no dawdling.”

  Red put a hand over his chest. “Dawdle? I do not dawdle… but, where is Chin?”

  “Carol took him and Bicoe to deal with something.”

  I realized that the fish tank wasn’t in its usual place. Neither was the octopus. “Dealing with what? The Saints?”

  “There’s more than just the Saints to deal with in the Other Life. Some a lot older and stronger than these fanatical bikers. But, based on the timing and the current relations, yeah, probably them.”

  “Wait, you don’t know?”

  Oop, there it was. Skylar’s condescending look. “I just manage the restaurant. Carol only tells me what she wants. And what she wants, she gets.” There was a strange note in her voice that I couldn’t quite place. Admiration? Reverence? Fear? Some other emotion that was too complex to condense down into a single word?

  I looked to the table where Carol’s fish tank normally sat, then to the door to Atlantis. Our boss did have a strange quality about them, and no, I’m not talking about the eight arms. Each interaction I had with the orange octopus left me feeling more like she was higher on the food chain than I was, and last I checked, humans were supposed to be on top. Of course, Carol was the size of a horse, dressed like a middle-aged businesswoman and spoke fluent English, so basic biology was out the window.

  It seemed like the others also felt the same.

  “And what does Carol want, exactly?” I asked.

  Skylar pursed her lips while Red let out a bark of rough laughter. “Figure that out, kid, and you’ll be ahead of most everyone in C-37.”

  “More than just that,” Skylar muttered.

  Red and I shared a questioning glance.

  Skylar cleared her throat. “Get going Red. We’re down a man, remember.”

  “Ay yai yai, I’m going, I’m going.” He adjusted his trench and walked off toward the kitchen to pick up his first order. We could hear him grumbling in Russian as he picked up a stack of pizza boxes.

  Without waiting for me, Skylar headed out to the gym in the garage. I followed.

  Jaz wandered over to the ring as we got ready. She was tinkering with what appeared to be a small motor.

  I didn’t meet her eyes and instead restrapped my kickboxing gloves four times to appear busy. To my relief, Jaz didn’t bring up the incident. I must have looked sufficiently pathetic. Also, she had been right there beside Lexa, trying to stop poor Angelica from bleeding to death and that kind of thing was generally not something to laugh about. At least for an appropriate grieving period. A week was probably enough.

  Skylar joined Jaz at the far corner of the ring. They spoke quietly, (clearly, I wasn’t cool enough to listen) but I could still catch most of it.

  “… working through the streets in a grid pattern. Colt’s been following them… sooner or later they’ll pinpoint where we’re coming from.”

  Skylar rubbed the bridge of her nose. “The Pineapple has wards… impossible to cross.”

  “… don’t need to… find out the area… surround with thralls and wait.”

  Skylar swore. “How close?”

  Jaz manipulated the motor in her calloused hands as she answered. “Not close yet. Colt’s gonna keep an eye in the sky for us.”

  Sighing, Skylar nodded. “Ok. Tell him I owe him a drink.”

  Jaz chuckled. “He’ll be thrilled to hear that.”

  “It’s not a date. Make that very clear to him.”

  “Sure thing.” Jaz winked as she waltzed away.

  I entered the ring while Skylar grumbled unflattering things about that brain-dead flyboy. “So, who’s your date?”

  Skylar shot me a glare. “God, I shouldn’t have told Jaz anything. It’s not a date. Colt’s just a useful contact who happens to be Jaz’s friend. Now shut up and let’s get this session over. Red will need your help delivering today.”

  She had me practise some of the stuff I’d already learned to make sure I was retaining her lessons. My form needed a few corrections, but not as many as either of us expected. We then moved on to some new techniques, which Skylar demonstrated on my body without a shred of sympathy. She nearly snapped my tibia showing me how to do a leg lock.

  The whole time, Skylar was distracted, forgetting to explain why she was hurting my body in this specific way. She even let me repeat my questions without getting mad at me. It was concerning how she could be so distant and still turn me into a human pretzel with ease.

  She called the session after only thirty minutes. “Clean up, then go see Lucky. You’ll be driving all day, so better prepare yourself.”

  Rubbing my aching shoulder, I said, “You’re not gonna give me any more training after the last time I went out? Especially now that the Saints are hunting us?”

  Skylar peeled off her gloves and threw them in a locker. “Well, now you know not to look at them, right? If you do, that’s on you now. Ask Jaz how to disguise the car before you go out.”

  They were really just chucking me in the deep end without checking if I could swim.

  “Lucky knows to only send you to places you’ll be able to handle,” Skylar said as she headed back to the restaurant. “She’s not gonna have you deliver to a Cataclysm dojo before teaching you the basic etiquette to keep them from boiling you alive.”

  The door closed behind her, leaving me rooted in place. “Oh, how reassuring of you! You’re really thoughtful, you know that?”

  I heard Jaz’s voice over my shoulder. “You’ll be fine, Tiny.”

  “Will I?” I kept my back to her.

  She didn’t respond right away.

  I scoffed and headed for the door.

  “You messed up on Friday, yeah,” Jaz called, making me stop. “No two ways about it. But, believe me, Arthur, those kind of instincts are going to keep you alive in the Other Life. You just gotta hone them.”

  (I know, it’s crazy. Somebody was giving me heartfelt advice without making me seem like an absolute moron.)

  Finally, I faced her. She wasn’t smiling, but she also wasn’t looking at me like I’d stepped on her pet hamster, which was pretty much all the looks I’d been getting since the party. Instead, beneath the grime and oil smeared across her face, Jaz wore a look of determination? Like she knew I wasn’t going to be crushed by the chaos of the Other Life because she wouldn’t let me.

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  Hello, what’s this? Faith? In me? Impossible.

  Meeting her eyes, I nodded. Maybe it was ESP, maybe it was some Other Life nonsense, but without words, we understood each other perfectly in that moment.

  “I’ll get a car ready,” the mechanic said, heading back into the garage as I went to find Lucky.

  The cook was waiting for me, that permanent slightly devious grin on her lips. Her fox tail swished back and forth, giving her an even more mischievous aura. She patted a stack of pizza boxes on the counter. “Here you go, Artie. Four pies for one Commandant Arguyle. Address is on the receipt.”

  I looked at the stack of boxes dubiously as I picked them up. No way these were making it to the commandant. Even if they didn’t blow up at the end of a high-speed chase with enemy bikers, I’d probably trip going up the front steps and drop them.

  Lucky winked as she spun away back into the kitchen. “Try to come back in one piece, ok?”

  (Wow, everybody was totally cool with me getting thrown into the lion’s den. Like a big fat steak about to get gobbled up)

  Scooping up the pizzas, I made my way to the delivery car Jaz had running. I stacked the boxes on the passenger seat and climbed in.

  As I punched the address into the navigation system, Jaz leaned on the open window. “I programmed the car to warn you when there’s a motorcycle nearby. It’s crude, I couldn’t filter out just the Saints, so pretty much anything on two wheels will set it off.”

  I couldn’t wait until a kid on a peddle bike gave me a heart attack.

  Jaz also showed me how to use the car’s disguise feature. I selected a basic grey and the outside of the compact little vehicle shimmered as it shifted from the bullseye red signature of the Pineapple to the dreary colourless shade that car companies thought was the pinnacle of design.

  Jaz tapped the door with a nod. “They won’t even notice you. But if you somehow get yourself into a mess…”

  “Big red button, yeah, I know,” I muttered. “I haven’t forgotten our first run.”

  “I hope not,” Jaz snorted. “My grandma would remember that and she’s got dementia… and a temper.”

  The image of a young Jaz running away from an old black lady who didn’t take nonsense from anybody made me smile.

  “Now, get going, Artie. You’re on the clock.”

  I managed to swallow past the lump in my throat as I pulled out of the garage. It was going to be a simple delivery. In a small city with dozens of bloodthirsty bikers searching for me specifically with the intent of making my obituary necessary. Piece of cake.

  After flipping off the homeless Blackhawks fan and pulling out onto the street, I headed west toward Commandant Arguyle’s address. The directions were simple and short, but that was one of the longest drives of my life. It took all my willpower to keep my eyes straight ahead. Every shape in my peripherals was maybe a motorcycle. I was so nervous, I actually held the steering wheel properly. (Held is inaccurate. I more strangled it.)

  Somehow, the hour-long ten-minute drive ended with me pulling up to the address on the order still breathing and with all limbs accounted for.

  The house was exceedingly ordinary but for two things. One was a very large French flag and the other was an honest-to-God cannon. A 12-pound Napoleonic Gribeauval howitzer sat on the front lawn, breaking all kinds of by-laws.

  “I hope that’s decorative.” The pyramid of steel balls next to the cannon hinted otherwise. Praying to whoever was in charge of this fever dream that my life had turned into, I approached the front door, fully expecting a bowling ball-sized hole to be blown straight through my torso. When no explosion rocked the neighbourhood, I knocked on the door. The sound of someone scurrying about filtered through the wood, followed by the clomping of boots. The door was thrown open violently and I found myself staring down the barrel of a French musket.

  “P… pizza,” I whimpered.

  The musket vanished and I could breathe again.

  “Ah, bien, ma pizza!” The man in the threshold was thin, redheaded, clad in a full-blown Napoleonic officer’s uniform, complete with epaulets and a ridiculous bicorn hat. His jacket was adorned with more medals than Michael Phelps.

  The man must have noticed my look of abject terror because he smiled and said, “Hon hon, baguette, oui oui sacré bleu au revoir.” (Not really, but that’s what French sounded like to me) He took the pizzas and slapped a handful of coins into my hand before bowing. “Je ne sais quois bonjour bon apetit.”

  And with that, he slammed the door in my face.

  I was so befuddled, the trip back to the car didn’t even register. It was only once I had put the house and its artillery in my rear-view mirror that my body relaxed. And I mean relaxed. There was very nearly an accident and not the automobile kind. Luckily, there was a convenience store on the corner and that meant bathrooms.

  Pulling into the parking lot and taking up two spots in my rush, I hustled into the store and made a beeline for the restrooms.

  (Don’t worry, I’ll spare you the details of my business, but trust me, this part is important to the story.)

  The brief moment of peace on the toilet was shattered as the door was thrown open and in clomped two pairs of heavy boots.

  “Man, this is such a waste of time.” The two men stopped at the urinals, followed by zippers and splashing.

  The second guy grunted in agreement. “Does he really expect us to just run into him randomly?”

  “I’ve already wasted a full tank on my bike doing this.”

  Bike? Oh, please, God, no. That word had become a trigger for my fight or flight. Pulse suddenly pounding like it was trying to burst my veins, I bent down to peek under the stall. I got a good look at the boots and black pant legs of the guys before tipping off the seat.

  Bonk!

  That was the sound of my forehead bashing against the stall door. A very unmanly squeak accompanied it.

  The conversation paused.

  I sat up straight, hands trembling. I didn’t breathe for at least an hour, but actually ten seconds.

  “Don’t worry, just some rando,” the first guy said. “He doesn’t even know we’re here.” One of the urinals flushed.

  The other guy grunted. “How long did it take you to get used to that? Walking around and no one seeing or hearing you?”

  My heart sank. There’s no way. My luck couldn’t be that bad, could it?

  Another flush. “Honestly, not as long as you’d think. You’ve been riding, what a week now? Give it another and you won’t give it a second thought.”

  It was.

  I wanted to sink into the toilet and disappear into the sewer. But no. I had to know. I had to be sure.

  The two guys were at the sink now. I leaned over to peer through the gap between the wall and the door. You know, the one that was always about six times wider than it had any reason to be. What I saw on the other side was exactly what I was expecting and exactly not what I was hoping. Two bikers clad head to toe in black and purple leather, pistols at their hips. Two motorcycle helmets dark as midnight and matching gloves rested on the countertop as they washed up.

  I was stuck in the bathroom with two Bitter Saints.

  The yelp that came unbidden to my lips couldn’t have been stopped had I bit off my tongue.

  I might as well have set off a flare.

  I clamped my hands over my mouth as the Saints faced the stall. Their helmets were off, I could see their faces. The one on the left was thin and balding with a narrow moustache while the other was a young black-haired guy with a brow piercing and a scar on his upper lip. Regular people.

  The younger guy reached down to his holster. “You sure this guy doesn’t see us?”

  His buddy squinted at the stall. “Hmm. He shouldn’t but…” His hand drifted lower. “That sounded like fear, didn’t it?”

  I’d blown it. My own dumbassery was about to be my end. The Saints were closing in.

  I had no choice. It was the only way to maintain my cover.

  Gripping the sides of the bowl until my fingers hurt, I pushed as hard as I could.

  The resulting shart was earth-shattering. The room echoed with the sound of me plastering the toilet bowl permanently brown. The fear-fueled fart continued for fifteen seconds as I defecated defensively.

  When the final splatter faded away to silence, no one moved. The humming of the lights seemed deafening in the aftermath.

  I held my breath.

  The Saints burst into laughter. The young guy doubled over as the older man threw his head back and slapped his leg.

  My cheeks flamed scarlet, but I stayed quiet as the Saints cackled.

  “No wonder he was scared with that brewing!” the younger guy wiped his eyes.

  Grinning, the older Saint waved his comrade along. “See, just some guy with IBS. I told you no one sees us.”

  “Poor dude thought it was safe to let it go cuz he thinks he’s alone.” The two continued to chuckle as they exited the restroom.

  No matter where I went, I caught strays. This was so embarrassing. My mortal foes were roasting me and they didn’t even realize it. They didn’t know I was here.

  Realization shot through my spine like an electric shock. A grin began curling my lips. For once, I was the invisible one. Possibilities rushed through my brain.

  Maybe I can summon my bat and knock them out from behind… no, I’m not confident I can take them both. Plus we’re in a public space and who knows what the normies will see. With my luck, I’ll be arrested for assault. Do I follow them? Once they’re on their bikes, that’ll be nearly impossible, especially if I try to maintain my cover. Could I sabotage their bikes? Doubt I can beat them there. I need to ask for a tranquillizer gun when I get back. Or just a normal gun… on second thought, I’d probably just end up shooting myself.

  My brainstorm offering no good solutions didn’t stop me from rushing out into the main store, with no plan and a strip of toilet paper stuck to my shoe.

  I spotted black and purple leather between the aisles. Apparently, Bitter Saints liked chocolate pretzels and BBQ chips.

  I snuck closer to them when they turned to pick out drinks. I crouched down behind the shelf right behind them and listened in.

  “What are you doing?” That was the older one.

  “Huh?”

  “No purple drinks! No purple anything! We’ve been over this!”

  I heard a smack and a grunt, then the fridge door squeaked open again. No purple? Why?

  The younger Saint apologized. “There’s so many rules to this Life. I can’t keep ‘em all straight, man.”

  From my hiding spot next to the sunflower seeds, I nodded. I feel that. Every day felt like I was taking a calculus test in Latin.

  “Pick anything else. It’s for the safety of the clan.”

  “I know, I know, sorry. I just saw that lady in the purple coat over there and I guess it made me want it.”

  Sure enough, over by the coffee counter was a well-dressed woman in a violet overcoat. Her boots were pointed and polished and her gloves were elegant and fashionable. Vibrant scarlet hair hid beneath the wide brim of her sun hat, with one loose lock curling around her jaw.

  Finished brewing her coffee, she lifted the paper cup to her cherry red lips and blew away the steam as she watched the two Saints arguing about energy drinks with bright eyes.

  I turned my focus back to the Saints to see if I could learn any more intel from them when STOP! WAIT! HOLD THE PHONE! The double take that followed had me doing my best impression of an owl. I grabbed my neck as my spine cracked like a glow stick.

  The lady in purple. She noticed the Bitter Saints. She could see them! It was obvious she was observing them and yet they hadn’t disintegrated her. They hadn’t even tossed a single grenade her way.

  No fair.

  The lady’s eyes slid from the bikers over to my kneeling form. My mouth hung open. She made eye contact with me and raised a manicured brow, the corner of her mouth curling slightly.

  My gob was so smacked I didn’t register that the Saints had exited the convenience store.

  “What on earth are you doing down there?” The woman beckoned me up with a firm flick of her hand. “Stand up.”

  I’m not sure whether it was the authority in her voice or my own feelings of inadequacy, but I shot to my feet and babbled an apology.

  The woman rolled her eyes as she approached me. “Honestly, look at you. You’re a mess, rolling around on the floor. Has no one taught you better?”

  “Um, well… I, uh… you see…”

  “You do know how to speak, don’t you?”

  This was somehow more embarrassing than the episode in the bathroom. “Yes ma’am. I do.” I clasped my hands behind my back and straightened up.

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Oh, for the love of… I’m not a sergeant at arms. No need to stand at attention.”

  “Uh…” I froze, too afraid to do or stop doing anything in front of this terrifying woman.

  Her brows drawing together, she looked me over with a keen eye. She tapped her chin with a gloved finger. “You somehow manage to fit the description exactly and yet still fall short of my expectations.”

  Ouch.

  “Were you waiting for me?” I took a step back into the sunflower seeds. Several bags toppled to the floor.

  The lady scoffed. “Here? Certainly not. I was out for a stroll when I had a craving for a cup of joe. Our meeting here was purely happenstance.”

  “Then how do you know what I’m supposed to look like?” My heart jackhammered at my ribs.

  She took a sip of her coffee. “Just because today you weren’t on my agenda doesn’t mean I haven’t been made aware of your recent arrival into our realm.”

  She’s known about me all this time? Who is she? My hand closed around the grip of my bat as it manifested.

  The lady sighed. “Oh, honestly, put that silly thing away. You have no need of such a trinket here.”

  I stumbled away from her, tripping on a bag of seeds and slamming into the shelf. Chip bags cascaded into the aisle as I righted myself and held the bat up defensively. “You’re from the Other Life!”

  The lady spread her hands. “Figured that out, did you? Splendid job, really. Top marks.”

  “Stay away from me!”

  “You’ve had it that rough, have you?” She clicked her tongue as she took another sip. “Suppose that would explain why you were spying on the Saints… Had a run-in with them already?”

  Keeping the bat up, I nodded. “We don’t get along too well.”

  That earned me a chuckle. “Those marauders don’t get along with anyone.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “How is it that you could look right at them and not, you know, get jumped?”

  The lady glanced to the door as the sound of motorcycle engines faded away. “You give them far more credence than they deserve. It’s simple. They aren’t allowed to see me.”

  My arms wavered and the bat lowered. “Aren’t allowed? Who… who are you?”

  Her eyes glimmered over the rim of her cup. “Apologies, Arthur, I should have introduced myself. You may call me Madame Beauregard. I tend the library around the corner.”

  The bat bonked against the tiles. “You’re a librarian?”

  “And you’re a pizza boy,” Madame Beauregard said. “What’s your point?”

  “I guess I don’t have one.” My immediate fear that this lady in purple was an enemy like the Bitter Saints was fading, but everything about her was making me wary. “Who told you about me? Carol?”

  Madame Beauregard tossed her head back. “Ha! That old octopus likes to think she’s the most connected in C-37. But I don’t need to get my information second-hand from her.”

  (More like eighth-hand, am I right? Heyo!)

  The intimidating and fashionable librarian read my expression and her face softened. “Tell you what, Arthur. Now is no proper time for a chat. We really must do this over tea.”

  Tea? Why does everyone love tea so much?

  Madame Beauregard finished her coffee and threw the cup into a nearby bin. “You are still on the clock, aren’t you? We wouldn’t want you getting fired from the Red Pineapple, now do we?” She leaned in close and winked at me. The way she said Red Pineapple made a shiver run down my spine.

  “Um, yeah, I should be getting back.” I cleared my throat. “More deliveries to run.”

  Madame Beauregard straightened and clapped her palms together in front of her. “But of course. Why don’t you pay me a visit once you’re… off the clock.” With a dainty flourish, she produced a glossy business card.

  I took it gingerly, hoping it wasn’t coated with a contact poison. The design was sleek, a dark background with a decorative border and beautiful calligraphy that I could actually read. Madame Beauregard, Violet Librarian of the Bibliotheca Novis, Branch 37. If tilted the right way, a holographic violet and book appeared.

  I glanced up from the card and nearly fainted.

  There was no woman.

  I’d looked down for a few mere seconds and she had gone. Vanished.

  Fluttering down through the air were a dozen delicate flower petals.

  With a shaking hand, I plucked one out of the air and stared down at the purple petal in my palm. A violet.

  What is she? A witch? A hag? A ghost? A goddess in disguise? A hallucination associated with the symptoms of a complete mental break?

  All I had done was use the restroom and now I was even deeper in the inescapable web of the Other Life.

  In one hand, I held the business card. In the other, the violet petal. I gulped. I got the feeling this was one invitation I wasn’t allowed to decline.