Page 39 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

EIGHTEEN

JAMES

I was in a foul mood.

Simple orders I gave my Offensives seemed suddenly too complex to comprehend, my contacts within Kanata C weren’t as cooperative with our plans for the Radicals as I had anticipated, and I found myself in a heated argument with the Council over all of the above.

To top it off, I'd been avoiding Emma since her arrival, feeling somewhat ashamed over my behavior in the Grand Hall, which was now days ago and still had me on edge.

A week after Emma had been settled in, I met up with Matthew for drinks at the Cube, fully prepared to drown my frustrations in copious amounts of alcohol, including any lingering doubts about stepping into the role of the next Leader.

Unable to confide in anyone outside the Maumars about the true reasons for my ascension, conversation was off the table, but drowning those thoughts in alcohol was fair game.

Thankfully, Matthew was always up for a drinking session.

"I was summoned by the triplets today," he mentioned casually with his first drink in hand.

"You were?" I asked, somewhat surprised.

"Yeah, they want me to recruit the poor bastard who has to train the granny." He shrugged.

"Really? The granny...?" He clearly couldn't muster any respect for Emma.

"Yeah... just don't know who I hate enough to put in that position." He smiled wickedly.

I rolled my eyes. "You make it sound like such drudgery."

Matthew arched a brow. “Drudgery? Damn dude, you’ve been on that Council for too long.”

“Maybe, but I can still kick your ass from here to Coastal …”

He laughed. “Hey, I’ve got no ambition to get on your bad side.”

“Then shut the fuck up and explain to me why it’d be so bad to train Emma.”

Matthew snorted. “Well, I wouldn’t want to spend most of my time with an adult chick who doesn’t know crap, would you?”

I thought about it, then shrugged, feigning disinterest.

“Well, I wouldn’t… Anyway, I was thinking maybe Tim?” he suggested.

“Tim who?” I asked confused.

“Tim Tennis.”

Tim Tennis was a nice guy from our early years at the Scola, nothing special to look at, and very mediocre at translation.

By the time we were Entries he was still at an interface of almost fifteen seconds.

He played some tennis the year we met him, hence the nickname. Not really our most creative one.

I scoffed. “Really, Mat, get her at least someone who can actually teach her something…”

"Dude, even a three-year-old could teach her something. She's pushing twenty-five and can't even muster enough energy to translate every emotion." He chuckled.

I let out a low growl, he was starting to irritate me. “How do you figure that?”

"It just seems logical, doesn't it? How else would she have been able to remain hidden for so long?" He shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He had a point, especially since it was the only explanation available to him. Her untraceable magic was still a highly regarded secret, which I could not share with anyone outside the Council, not even with him.

“Who else did you have in mind?” I asked, eager to change the subject.

"Well, if you're not keen on a Defensive training her, how about an Offensive?" he suggested.

Another Offensive training Emma? The idea alone made my stomach churn and I felt an inexplicably surge of annoyance.

"Who?" I pressed, my voice more forceful than intended, my fist nearly slamming onto the table.

"What about AJ?" he proposed.

"What the hell, man? I can't stand that guy!" I snapped, my frustration boiling over.

“So? That’s kind of the point, isn’t it? To not put your own friends in a crappy position? What, you want me to put Jackson instead? Make one of our own miserable? Let AJ have her; maybe it'll knock down that ego of his a notch or two. It might even do them both some good."

Fucking AJ. Over my dead body.

"Fine," I bit out through gritted teeth. "Go with Tennis Tim."

"I think it's Tim Tennis," he chuckled.

"I think I don't care," I replied dryly.

"Alright, fine," Matthew laughed again. "What's gotten into you, man?"

I sighed. "Forget it, I’m having an off day."

He nodded sympathetically. "Here, drink this; it'll return you to your normal, boring self, quicker than you can imagine," he said, handing me his drink. I downed it in one gulp.

He frowned but kept silent for a moment. Not too long, obviously.

"You know what could take your mind off today?" He grinned.

I should have been uninterested. I knew he was going to try to get us into some trouble we would be hard-pressed to get out of. But honestly, I really did want to take my mind off of everything.

"What?"

"A dare."

I rolled my eyes at him again. "Really? A dare? So what, if I back out, I owe you a truth?" He could be so juvenile.

"No." He laughed. "I mean, it's been a while since we last played a dare game—nothing that would hurt your newfound position, obviously," he said with great theatrics, "but something small, like a race or something?"

I had to admit it did sound like fun.

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, more intrigued than I wanted to appear.

“I love how I can still count on your competitive side; you could become Director and still feel compelled to show off you’re better than me.”

"So what you're saying is, my need for validation is actually part of my charm, and you love me for it?" I raised a brow.

"Well, I wouldn't get that emotional about it, but yeah, sort of." He smirked. He could be an ass, but it had to be said; he really could get my mind off things when needed.

I felt a sense of anticipation and got up even before him. "Okay, what's the dare?"

Matthew stood and portaled us to the roof of the Summer Palace, where we had spent a lot of time as kids, creating every dare we ever played. It had the best overview of the entire Collective and provided, as such, the much-needed inspiration for juvenile games.

"Okay, let's talk dares, then stakes," he ordered. He always got so serious about this shit. "Since your reputation needs to stay intact, I'd propose a lighter dare and a higher stake."

I would've been touched by his concern, but I knew my friend well, and I was growing seriously suspicious of the stakes. It started to sound like he had orchestrated it all to get something from me that he had wanted all along.

"Then I suggest you start off with the stakes," I replied swiftly. He grinned; he knew I was onto him.

"Fine, you win, you name whatever you want. I win, you take over my Friday morning Scola class for a month," he answered way too quickly. There it was; he wanted out of his Friday class.

"Let me guess, you're trying to get lucky on Thursdays, and that class is screwing up your love life?" I jabbed with a smirk.

“The Cube is organizing a party every Thursday this month!

" he exclaimed. "It's like an orgy palooza in there, and I have to go home every time at midnight so I can teach those godsdamn seven-year-olds in the morning.

I mean, how can a respectable man be expected to fulfill such expectations? " He really never failed his dramatics.

I almost laughed. "Fine, I'll take over the class if you win. However, if I win, I get your Skindo signed by Julian."

Matthew eyed me incredulously. "You, as my best friend, are asking me to give up my signed Skindo?" he gasped.

I shook my head. "No, my dear friend, I ask you to wager it. You are, of course, at liberty to decline," I smirked. I had him by the balls; it was the one thing he would never want to give up.

"Fine," he answered begrudgingly, "but I call the terms of the dare."

"Fine by me."

I was surprised he agreed to those stakes.

He must've really wanted to go to those Thursdays at the Cube.

His Skindo, given to him by his father, was signed by the oldest magus alive, aka Julian, aka the Elder.

The guy was a legend; he had fought in every major war, human and magi.

I had always been a little put off by Matthew having that Skindo, not being an Offensive himself like Julian and myself.

"So, what is it going to be, maestro?" I asked impatiently.

"Easy," he answered. "A simple race. The first one to arrive at the east side of the Third Layer, by chosen transportation—no portals or personal flying allowed—wins."

There was no way I was going to lose this bet; I had been racing Matthew since we were kids, and he had yet to beat me.

He instantly translated a heavy motorcycle, but upon closer look, I noticed it was enhanced. Dammit, that's what he was up to; he had been dabbling in boosting. But even that wouldn’t throw me off my game.

Preparing for the Great Exposure as a Leader had its perks, one of them being always around people who knew the Human World better than any of us, like Enya.

Since humans lacked magic, they relied on mechanics for speed, and I was much more up-to-date on the fastest modes of transportation than Matthew .

The bike he picked was fast, but it was a heavy, unwieldy beast. The fastest route to the destination needed some agility, and there was just no way his ride would deliver.

I conjured up a dirt bike instead, easier to navigate, though a lot less flashy.

We tore off, and of course, he shot ahead from the start. But by the third turn, I had him trailing behind. Winning this dumb race brought me way more joy than it should've. I couldn't help but smirk as I left him eating my dust, his frustration plastered all over his face.

Approaching the east side of Oasis, with Matthew hot on my heels, I cranked up my speed for the final push. But right as I was about to nail the victory, I spotted someone at the finish line.

Not just anyone; the second I saw her, I knew.

Emma.

There she was, sitting solo, surveying Cyclos. All alone.

The urge to go to her, to talk, to comfort her if she needed it, punched me in the gut. It was like every damn cell in my body was screaming at me, but I squashed that shit down.

I was too fucking stubborn, unwilling to feel anything just yet.

So, I did a quick mental calculation: four Friday mornings of pure hell versus facing her.

Slamming on the brakes so hard it almost sent me flying off the bike, I let Matthew rush past me and clinch the win, all while ignoring Emma, like she didn’t even exist. I could sense Matthew’s confusion when he realized I wasn’t about to follow him across the finish line.

Without a word, I spun the bike around, tore back to the dorm, and didn’t spare a backward glance at either my friend or Emma.

Four Friday mornings it was.