Page 34 of Eat. Prey. Love. (Apex Academy Capers #5)

Once Princess headed back to class, Fitz and I headed back to the staff housing. Our previous search of Asani and Antonovich’s rooms yielded few leads, so this time, my twin and I are going to other dorms. The dragon isn’t dumb by any stretch, but he’s also nowhere near as skilled as us in this kind of subterfuge. Our father and his lackeys trained us to keep secrets all over Bloodstone to prevent outsiders and traitors from accessing the royal secrets. We’re going to carefully search Fabreaux and Ste Jean’s quarters since they were in the photo in Paris with the others.

I’d prefer to ransack Rockland’s shit, but since neither Fitz nor Farley has located her ‘nest,’ this will have to do.

“Remote teaching is brilliant,” Fitz says as we make a very wide loop around the campus to mislead anyone watching us. “I basically teach the little shits by logging in from anywhere, grading things or telling them to re-do it, and I don’t have many time constraints. You should definitely do it, bro.”

“Fitz,” I sigh as I roll my eyes. “I can’t remotely teach Shifter Studies. It’s not conducive to online shit. Don’t be dense.”

He blinks, then grins. “True. Though I bet the weepy winged weenie is doing it that way for his lower level lectures. He hates having to deal with snarky shit-eating freshies. It makes his teeth grind and he pulls Batman when he has to.”

“He doesn’t do that as much anymore, though. Ren’s been pretty fucking jolly—for him—since he and our girl got together. More so since the ‘big secret’ came out.”

My brother thinks about that for a moment as we walk around the salt water lake on the south edge of the campus. “You’re right. Cranky McFirepants has been much better, too. There’s nothing my Baby Girl can’t fix, I swear to Zeus’ plentiful baby batter.”

“Ew,” is all I have to say as I watch the small pirate ship sail through the middle of the water. “I always wondered how they kept control of all these big ass shifters. That is, until I found out that the crew is full of some of the toughest prey animals I’ve ever seen.”

Fitz grins broadly. “Did the emo bat boy tell you Holliday is a fucking sniper ? I’m gonna get him to target practice with me sometime. That’s a real challenge.”

Rubbing my temples, I pause to gather my thoughts before I respond. I absolutely do not want my manic brother to have weapons more dangerous than himself, especially if it will definitely mean the Princess will want to go, too. However, I can’t deny that with our lack of magic fighting capabilities, we’re at a disadvantage in long range arenas.

How do I address that without involving goddamn guns?

It hits me, and I shrug at him, pretending that’s not impressive. “Guns are what humans use. That’s not real skill; now, Raina’s bow… that takes true prowess.”

A flicker of conflicting emotions comes over his face and I know my gambit is working. “Well… I bet the little sunshine would teach me. I’ll have to get Chessie to order the right stuff. That’s pretty specific, I think. Maybe Baby Girl can talk to Holliday since he works in the armory.”

My grin widens when I realize I’ve successfully redirected his questionable desire to fire bullets at things. I don’t doubt my twin could become good at it; he’s ridiculously capable that way, but I really don’t like giving him another method of murdering people. He’s crazy enough as it is, and I refuse to add anything capable of blowing a hole through someone from miles away.

By the time he’s finished his tangent on compound bows, we’re back to the other side of the lake and heading for the stadiums. The staff housing is past that, tucked behind the arenas and the Dupreé building. We’ll get there soon enough, but I simply don’t trust the open spaces in this place. Something about the layout sets off my sensors and I can’t put my finger on it. The student body being as stand-offish and rude doesn’t help, either. Getting a bead on which people need to be watched is difficult, even with Fitz hacking and Ren translating.

Fucking Council bullshit allows this place to operate like it’s harboring state secrets, not artsy rich preds.

“Hey, bro,” Fitz says as bumps into me. “Look over there.”

I turn my attention to the group of preds making their way across campus, noting they’re heading for the staff housing. None of them look familiar, so they’re not our girl’s teachers. “Yeah, so? ”

“If we mosey a little closer we might catch some gossip,” he says with a smirk. “Everyone knows who we are, so they tend to avoid us. But this is out in the open, man.”

“Good call,” I admit as I pretend to be looking at the practice arena while we stop walking. “Just don’t get insane if we hear something we don’t like. I enjoy flying under the radar here.”

He snorts, looking playfully offended. “ Moi? Je ne le ferais pas, mon frere! ? 1 ”

“I have got to stop that gargoyle. He’s teaching you the most obnoxious shit when we’re not looking. When did you start learning French?”

Fitz grins smugly as he shrugs. “I’m a true Renaissance tiger, bro. Once Baby Girl helped me figure out how I learn, I decided to pick up as much as possible. Truly, I am the superior Khan—admit it.”

Arching my brow, I shake my head. “Never. Now shut up so we can follow these chicks.”

We’ll leave the miracles our girl has worked to later discussion; I’m on a mission now.

“Find anything?” I call out as I rummage through the giant fucking closet the ballet prima has stuffed to the gills. It’s as much a costume trunk as it is a functional closet and I can’t imagine why the fuck she would need this stuff on hand at a school. Most of it is barely worn and zippered in protective, labeled bags, so I don’t think she’s passing on her legacy to the dancers here.

No, this suite is a monument to a giant ego that’s no longer being stroked by adoring fans.

“I’m working on the laptop. Most of it is searching for shit about her performances and fan sites, but there’s a hidden partition I’m prying open. You?”

“Swimming in satin and tulle, but not finding much. I’m trying to get behind everything, though, in case there are secret panels or boxes.” I pull my head out of the pile of material, sucking in a breath of non-stale air as I survey the closet again. I didn’t find a floor panel in the obvious places, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a hidey-hole somewhere.

Fitz laughs, and I hear keys clicking rapidly. “We definitely need to watch this bitch with our girl. She’s one hundred percent body dysmorphic and her web shit is filled with bad juju in that realm. Lucille was a bad enough influence; I don’t want her hurt by some self-obsessed old biddy with an ax to grind.”

“True. Maybe you should finagle cameras in the studio?” Grunting in irritation, I move to a free-standing shelving unit in the middle filled to the brim with ballet shoes in various conditions. Some have to be from shows—they have dates on the shelf—and some must be working equipment. There’s a ton of colors and styles, but I don’t know my ass from my elbow about this shit. The gargoyle probably would, and he’s not here.

Maybe the display is showcasing more than her ego, though.

Pulling a pick kit out of my pocket, I get to work on the lock on this side of the fixture. It only takes a few moments for it to click open, and I gingerly push the glass aside with the tool. I don’t want to leave prints on it, so I nudge it the rest of the way and look at the ten shelves towering in front of me. I don't know Fabreaux at all—only what her bio and info Fitz dug up say. But since she’s obviously her own biggest fan, I assume anything important would be tucked into the rarest pairs.

“Any idea what the most famous ballerina roles are, bro?” I yell over my shoulder. He might not know, but he and Princess talk non-stop, so she might have mentioned this shit.

“Um… the ‘G’ one. Damn, she said this,” Fitz hollers back. “Damn my brain. Gimme a sec and I’ll have it…”

I grin as he fumbles, not growling because he’s trying to recall something that’s probably very obvious. Being more patient with my twin has made everything easier, and even though I could probably have Googled it by now, I’m letting him sift through the chaos instead.

“I got it!”

“The laptop?”

“No, damn it. The ballet is Giselle . You can’t see me, but I’m doing the dance.”

My lips curve as he continues to babble, adding a few other options now that he’s on a roll. Fitz’s victory dance is much more fun to watch in person, but I’ve got shoes to search. “Good job.”

“Why the hell do you need to know anyway?”

I leave his question hanging for a minute as I carefully pull a pair of white shoes that seem like they’re damn close to falling apart. The smell of sweat and blood emanates from inside and I rear back a bit as it hits me. It’s one thing to have a cerebral knowledge of what happens to dancers' feet in their pointe shoes and quite another to have it invade your senses. Holding them gingerly, I use the pick tool to fish around inside to see if there’s anything in the stinky things.

Holy shit.

I’m able to maneuver the pick until it catches on the ring, and I watch with baited breath as I carefully lift the keys out of the shoe. “I’ll be damned.”

“What?” Fitz yells.

“Nothing. I found something, but I have no idea what the fuck it goes to. Keep working on the computer. ”

He mutters an invective and I shake my head, sighing at his childish need to know everything immediately. I know it stems from his ADHD, but I need to get these things back in the case and check the other four ballets he rattled off before we get caught in this museum.

“Okay, Nutcracker, Swan Lake, Giselle, Sleeping Beauty, and Romeo and Juliet ,” I repeat to myself. “Where the hell would the rest of you be?”

A bright red pair of battered shoes near the top catch my eye and I grin when the tag says Sleeping Beauty . I set the Giselle pair back in their spot, then reach up to grab the red set. The shoes are all tucked one inside the other, with ribbons wrapped around them in the display, so I have poke around for a moment before I find the next treasure.

It’s a flash drive on a key ring and I guarantee it’s going to be a fucking bitch to deal with.

“Got a flash drive, man,” I call out before I place the shoes in their spot. “I have three more places to check. I don’t know if this is her only secret hiding place, though.”

“Who is this chick, anyway? She’s got military grade encryption on a machine she uses to troll other pro dancers on Instagrowl. Like, shit doesn’t match,” Fitz says with a grunt of annoyance. “And I do mean troll… because she’s absolutely fucking brutal to people who should be her colleagues. It’s gross as hell.”

“That’s on par with the level of ego in this closet.” I think about it for a moment, and add, “We know the parents like all ours raise kids to think their shit doesn’t stink. Fabreaux is a bit older than us, so she was probably put on this ridiculous pedestal and sees everyone as beneath her. I hate those people.”

Fitz snorts, and I can almost see him shaking his head as I’m fishing in the Nutcracker shoes. “Nope. This woman literally hates herself; you can tell by this damn shrine. She needs everyone around her to worship at her feet. It’s a pretty sure bet Asani is fucking her to keep her on his side. That’s what she’d crave the most—the bad boy who thinks she’s a bad girl.”

Gross.

“Stop that shit. I do not want to think about that in the slightest.” I shiver, feeling squicked by imagining my asshole cousin with anyone, especially this bird. “No need to analyze; we know she’s a bad egg because she’s in with him and his merry band of fools.”

“True. But I’m planting a virus in this system now so we can work on cracking her shit from my real equipment. We’ll know every dirty deed she’s been part of soon enough.”

Thank fuck. I’m tired of feeling up her nasty ass footwear.