33. WEN

Ihaven’t killed Godric. Yet.

When I do, I won’t make it quick. I’ll do it over sixteen days, the exact length of time he left me, without a word, to die a little every day.

So yeah, he came back when I needed him, saving me from Azazel’s Ligare. But his spectacular rescue blurs in the haze of rage when I remember the Hellish time I suffered for nothing. He went away of his own accord, dared to ‘It’s Classified’ me in lieu of an explanation, and didn’t even say he was sorry.

He did say I lost the precious weight he made me cram on. That was all he cared about. That his work has been undone, and his stupid weapon has withered with worry and dread for him.

I’ve seen him only once since. He descended on our table at breakfast the next day, told me he approved the Congress’s proposals, and to focus on Astaroth’s Transcendence Training, Caine’s Celestial Physics, and Zerachiel’s Celestial Meditation. He would let me acclimate to my new curriculum and schedule for a while before resuming our training. Then he was gone.

He remained gone.

I’ve only had glimpses of him from afar, mostly while he circled me high above like the semi-Celestial vulture that he is.

His distance carried to the virtual realm, too, when he used to inundate me with quizzes and reminders and tips and comments. After he reauthorized my map, told me what to eat and to report my “gains,” my constantly pinging tablet went comatose.

Even the connection I’m now doubting ever existed between us has been dead silent. It makes me feel empty, abandoned, and even madder that I feel this way—when he feels nothing.

Then the silence shattered on incessant pinging at four am this morning. It used to be his favorite time to wake me, when he’d bothered to train me. Since he’d made sure I can’t silence his notifications, that earned me pillow missiles accompanied by Grace and Blight zaps until I locked myself in the bathroom.

And I found his deluge of messages.

His rant, more like.

Why have I not been messaging him? With details of my every breath and step? With every bite of food and ounce of weight gain? With every spark of progress and inkling of thought? How dare I be silent all this time? If I was sulking because he wouldn”t tell me why he left, he is out of patience with my childishness. I will resume messaging him, with all of the above. At once. Or else.

That’s right. He’s angry. At me.

He really deserves to die. Slowly, creatively. At my hands.

It’s a good thing I listened to Sarah and have been journaling to vent my fury. I’ve amassed quite the assassination recipe book. I bet it would make a bestseller if I published it online.

How to Kill a Heartless God(ric).

Sarah cracked up when I told her about it, before assuring me my anger was no laughing matter. That after what he put me through, disappearing without a word, it was more than justified. She even said if I come up with a revenge plan on that “callous dickwad,” she was in.

That was a major development in Sarah’s growth, when only months ago she was awed by any quasi-Celestial, and it pained her when I even called them names.

As for me, I almost don’t know who I am anymore. The one thing that’s been taking my mind off planning to murder him was being out of it with exhaustion. Running around between my Cadet Basic Training and my new Null curriculum has been brutal.

I can’t imagine adding his training to that. I should kill him, just to take it off my plate.

And here comes the object of my wrath and obsessions, wreaking havoc among the cadets, female and male alike, heading to our breakfast table.

As always, he doesn’t acknowledge anyone as he glowers down at me. “White, you’re with me.”

I give him a drop-dead glance, and slurp my kombucha noisily. I know how much it irritates the Mr. Perfect Table Manners in him. “No. I’m with Astaroth.” I consult the Academy-issue activity tracker that can probably tap dance. “In twenty-five minutes.”

“Thank you for confirming the schedule I organized for you. I’ll be observing your session today.” He glares down at my tray. “You haven’t finished your food.”

“And I won’t finish it.” I slam down the bottle, rattling every plate on the table, and making Sarah jump.

As I wince an apology at her, she shakes her head, giving me a discreet thumbs up, mouthing, “Give him Hell.”

He turns in time to read her lips, too.

Wonder of wonders, she meets his menace head on, tilting her chin up and mouthing clearly, “The least you deserve.”

His eyes widen, as if he can’t believe what just happened. I can’t either. I want to throw myself across the table and hug her.

Godric’s heavy gaze follows our BFF moment, before he exhales. “Follow me.”

I only sit back in my chair. “No. I’m going with Sarah and Jinny. And Matt.”

At that last name, Godric turns the brunt of his gaze where mine wandered.

Matt waves at him nervously. He expected to see a male, judging by the obsidian lightning skittering around his irises. It disappears as soon as he sees her, but the scowl remains, even deepens, as he lingers on her a moment too long.

As Matt shrinks down in her seat, I wince another apology at her, for putting her in his crosshairs, then turn to impale him on my bitterness.

“As you can see, I have companions who want to be with me, and more importantly, whom I want to be with.”

I grimace yet another apology at Jinny for that blatant lie. She waves it away, crunching cereal faster, eyes darting between me and Godric. She’d forgive anything as long as it pisses him off. She also wouldn’t be this invested if someone was about to lose their head, literally, in one of her kind’s gladiatorial rings.

I turn to Godric with a shooing gesture. “Why don’t you fly off and disappear? You’re an expert at that, after all.”

He holds my gaze, a nuclear reaction in his, before he turns around and stalks away.

Unable to believe that was all it took, I start to sag in my seat. Next second, I catapult out of it with a sharp cry of shock and pain.

The leash.