Page 111 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

I scope the room. Same layout as mine. Same squishy rainbow furniture. Same criminally low ceiling. Except—ugh. The clutter.

I suppress a sigh, surveying the piles of clothes like some tragic shrine to poor life decisions. Shoes ring the mess like sacrificial offerings to the Terrible Fashion God.

Poor. Simple. Sandra. She’s so messy. If we lived together, I’d strangle her by week two.

Although... to be fair, back when Dracoth locked us up like adorable zoo animals, she kept me sane. If she’d had her clothes replicator back then, I probably would’ve been crushed to death by a landslide of gnome clothes. A fate worse than death: death by badly hemmed jeggings.

“Lexie...” Sandra says suspiciously, eyeing the French toast like it might hold the cure for cancer. “What the hell is this?”

“French toast, obviously,” I snort, moving over to her totem of shame. “Auntie Sandra’s so silly, isn’t she, Todd?”

Todd croaks—a deflating football sound.

“You go play here, now.” I lay him down on shoes covered in red-green furs that honestly look stolen from Santa’s grotto. Instead of frantic scampering like usual, Todd just kind of... slooshes forward a few inches, then flops sideways like an exhausted sumo wrestler buried in underwear.

Definitely starting him on a diet tomorrow.

“Yeah, but why’s half of it missing?” Sandra grimaces, pinching the toast as if it’s one of Michael’s disgusting, radioactive socks. “Is that—” She recoils, dropping it with a wet plop . “ Slime? ” she glares at me, sapphire eyes flashing like daggers. “Lexie. Are you trying to poison me?”

My eyebrows shoot up so fast it’s like I’ve been slapped.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” I snap, peering closer at the so-called slime .

“That’s clearly syrup, Sandra. Syrup. ” I sigh dramatically.

“I mean, I know it’s not haggis, or shortbread, or the Loch Ness Monster, or whatever else you Scottish people eat. ”

Honestly, so ungrateful.

“Ha, very funny. But last time I checked, syrup isn’t green, is it?” Sandra snarks.

Please. There’s only a smidgen of green.

“And the only monster here,” she adds, waving dramatically over the plate like she’s trying to exorcise it, “is wee Todd, after he slimed all over it. Right, Lexie?”

Busted.

My face heats up, but I forge ahead as Arawnoth teaches: with strength. “Well, if you were listening , I did say Todd found it yummy.” I shrug, feigning indifference.

Sandra narrows her eyes, glaring like an angry little fox. “Unbelievable,” she mutters finally.

She turns toward the wall, speaking as if addressing some invisible butler. “Room service. I’d like a proper serving of French toast. No slime this time. ” She shoots me a pointed look. “You want anything?” she adds.

“No thanks. I’m a stuffed turkey,” I grin, slapping my tummy like a drummer at a metal gig.

“That’s everything,” she finishes crisply to the invisible audience.

Perfect. Time to strike.

“So...” I purr, sucking my teeth like there’s a cactus stuck in them. “What ya been up to?”

“Oh, not much,” she says—way too fast, voice clipped, body stiff.

“Really?” I huff, cocking an eyebrow. “That’s weird. Seeing as you’ve been gone all morning .”

“Um... well...” she stammers, wilting like a freckled rose. “Wait. Have you been following me?”

Ouch. But let’s keep her on the back foot.

My face drops—not from outrage, but from pure, devastating hurt.

“That is,” I say gravely, “the single. Worst thing anyone has ever accused me of.” I reach instinctively for Todd’s comforting plumpness—but he’s just a motionless, black-red sock draped across the shoes like abandoned laundry.

Sandra frowns, clearly not buying my righteous indignation.

“Yeah, okay. I checked up on you,” I admit with a sniffling sniff. “Only because I was afraid Papa Smurf might’ve kidnapped you to his Mushroom Kingdom or whatever.”

“What are Smurfs?”

I blink. “Really, Sandra? Really?”

I shake my head, eyes glistening with theatrical disappointment.

“If you’re not even going to try to take this seriously, I don’t even know anymore.

” I toss my hands up, sighing, probably how Joan of Arc did before they burned her.

“At least, I take our promise seriously. I look after you. I make sure you’re safe, fed, included in all the fun—and all the terrifying crap that seems to follow me like a stalker ex-boyfriend—and what do I get in return?

” I tap my chest dramatically. “Accusations. And abuse.”

I avert my eyes, letting the words settle like little truth landmines she’s stepping all over.

“Lexie... I’m sorry,” Sandra says, wilting, her voice low, sincere.

Boom.

She leans forward, taking my hands in hers. Her blue eyes sparkle with that innocent sincerity only she can muster.

And dammit—I actually feel bad.

“Listen, Sandra—”

Zzzzap!

A murder-orb darts out of a sliding wall panel, making my heart leap out of my chest. “Fucking murder—” I shriek, raising my hand to attack, before remembering: these murder-orbs bring delicious food.

“Uh, sorry. It’s my MBSD—Murder Bot Stress Disorder.” I exhale shakily.

“It’s okay,” Sandra grins, eagerly eyeing the orb lowering her steaming plate like it’s a winning lottery ticket. “Hmm, bread,” she practically drools, barely waiting before digging in. “I’m bloody starving.”

Perfect. She’s distracted by deliciousness.

“So you were about to tell me...” I prompt, wearing my most innocent face. “About what happened earlier?”

Sandra mumbles through a giant mouthful, then swallows hard.

“Oh, right. Yeah.” She wipes her mouth with the back of her sleeve—gross—and leans back. “Well, I was doing what you asked, Lexie. You know, making friends with Rocks. She introduced me to Krogoth, Noroth and...”

She pauses, a dreamy look crossing her freckled face. Her eyes drift toward the wall like she’s searching for the meaning of life.

I frown, following her gaze, half expecting to find Todd glowing while doing backflips.

“Logarn,” she finishes wistfully. And it’s definitely not the French toast talking.

Uh oh. Dreamy sigh. How random. But I don’t have time to mock her questionable taste.

“Sumo Face and Blonde Goth? Did they say anything about Bitch Brick?” I ask, barely containing my excitement.

Sandra freezes, then jabs a plastic fork at me like I’m also French toast she’s about to maul. “Why do you always do that?” she demands.

“Do what?” I blink, scrunching my face like she’s just accused me of murdering the President.

“Belittle everything with stupid names—like everyone’s beneath you,” she snaps, glaring.

Because they are—well, everyone except Dracoth.

“We can’t figure out why you’re acting this way. Especially at the summit.” Sandra’s voice softens, almost like she feels sorry for me. “It was crazy, Lexie.”

We. The word slams into me harder than a parking ticket.

I’m losing her.

Bitch Brick.

She must have warped Sandra’s mind, just like she tried to warp mine. I shiver. I have to be careful. Careful not to reveal too much in case it trickles back to the enemy.

“Rocks is a lovely person,” Sandra insists, her whole face lighting up.

“You should hear all the mental things she’s been through.

Surviving a jungle full of giant monsters while chased by murderous Klendathians desperate to save Krogoth from execution.

” She shakes her head, giggling. “Could you imagine it? I’d die of fright just thinking about it. ”

Yeah, if only.

“She was really excited to meet us,” Sandra continues, smiling sweetly. “Especially you. But then you had to, you know... Lexie it up. ”

“Okay. Rude! ” I huff, wounded. Since when is my name a synonym for disaster?

“But what about the vote?” I press, lowering my voice into a conspiratorial purr. “Has she been talking to the Big Chiefs? Offering them deals? Bribes? Sex? Tell me!” The hunger gnaws inside me—real, desperate.

Sandra just blinks. Once. Twice. Frozen in freckled shock like she’s just witnessed a live goat sacrifice. “You’re ridiculous ,” she mutters finally, stabbing another forkful of French toast and ignoring me.

“What?” I squawk, leaning over. “Oh, don’t be such a tease.” I smile as sweetly as I can manage despite my heart hammering against my ribs. “Spill the juicy beans already. This is really important for our futures, Sandra.”

Sandra’s expression hardens. “I’m not comfortable being your spy anymore.” Her voice quivers with the force of it. “Not when you’re starting fights and drama with good people for no reason. For fuck’s sake, Lexie—someone could get seriously hurt! Have you ever thought about that?”

Her eyes blaze, blue sapphires cutting straight through me. “No. You only think about yourself. And I am sick of it!”

She screams the last part with such force I physically flinch, hands raised protectively.

“But... but you’re my Ginga Ninja,” I stammer, voice cracking. I try a weak, hollow laugh. “I need you, Sandra,” my eyes moisten for real this time. “You’re my only friend.”

Sandra doesn’t melt. She only shakes her head, eyes as cold as when she blamed me for Kazumi’s death.

“Even now—with the stupid names, ” she says bitterly. “Maybe Rocks is right about you.”

The world tilts sideways.

“When she reads your thoughts,” Sandra sneers, “the only thing you think about is eating, sleeping, and pooping. Her words.”

Rude. Fucking. Bitch.

A black void yawns open inside me, the same hideous, icy dread I thought I left behind.

Betrayal. Abandonment. The curse that haunts me no matter how brightly I shine.

I could cry. I could lash out. I could rip the whole damn ship apart. I want to. At least I’d feel real. Visible. Heard. Not detested by selfish, hateful people using me to better themselves, until they throw me out like hobo garbage.

But I breathe deep. This isn’t Sandra’s fault. It’s Bitch Brick’s.

I wipe my eyes, smile through the cracks, and cup Sandra’s face gently.

“It’s okay. I forgive you,” I whisper. “I know she’s controlling your mind.” I sniffle, nodding solemnly—my Elerium promise. “Don’t worry, I’ll beat her. And then you’ll be my ginger-in-waiting again.”

Sandra slaps my hand away like I’m contagious. Clearly mind-controlled. Her freckled face twists with rage. “What mental shit are you on about now?” she sneers, twisting the stiletto heel deeper. “If anyone’s mind-controlling me, it’s you.”

“Shush, Sandra. No more words.” I place a finger to my lips, my words calm, understanding. “You’ll understand soon. And then you’ll thank me,” I murmur with sad, infinite patience. “Don’t worry—I’ll not hold this against you. Because we’re best friends.”

Sandra’s mouth works soundlessly, utterly flabbergasted.

Without another word, I hoist the Divine Cherub’s half-sleeping, slightly less plumpness onto my shoulders—the universe’s angriest, stinkiest scarf.

I wish I could say more. Set her mind at ease, but it’s too risky. I need to keep the billiards close to my chest, now she’s a double agent.

“We’ll talk soon,” I promise cheerfully, already halfway to the door, feeling lighter, freer, more determined than ever to beat Bitch Brick.

As I pass through the stomach-churning holographic barrier, Sandra finally calls out after me:

“Ugh! What the hell is that smell?! ”

I smile to myself, never breaking stride.

Victory.