Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
She also randomly affected an Irish accent.
“How can they go off-grid?” Niamh looked over at Fred’s computer.
Fred pulled her hands from the keys and leaned back as she laughed. “They ditched their setup. They even ditched their phones! Who ditches their phones? Like…what if they need to get delivery?”
As Niamh watched the proceedings, Tristan’s large form slipped through the hustle and bustle of the shifters on the grass. It was a testament to how stressed Austin Steele was that he was only using his shifters and not any of the gargoyles for travel prep. He was leaving nothing to chance.
Too bad Jessie’s crew would blow it all to hell the moment they showed up at the meetings. There was no controlling them, or even understanding them. Their chaos was a strong asset that Austin Steele didn’t yet appreciate. He would, in time. The moment that chaos was unleashed on the mages, they all would—Niamh was sure of it.
Tristan held the handle of what looked like a horribly beat-up metal box.
“So, get this.” Fred leaned on the arm of her chair, and though there was mirth in her eyes, Niamh could see respect, too. “I love these two! We gave them a scare the other week, right? Got into their system, put out that video—” She suddenly slammed her laptop shut and turned to Niamh. “Do you know what occurred to me last night? Jessie was worried about bringing me on because I was a thief, right? Fine. But then she shrugs off you guys creating some circus-like corpses out of people you don’t even know and putting them on display. Then framing your friends for them! Like…really?” She tilted her head at Niamh accusingly. “Really? Stealing is an issue, but you’re cool with all that?”
Fred had a shocking tolerance for the types of things Tristan and Niamh got up to. Even Jasper and Ulric had blanched at that setup with the enemy spies. Niamh had really put her all into that one, as had Tristan. Fred’s tolerance probably had to do with her still acclimating to magic in general. She didn’t have the ability to reason any of this out, not yet. Niamh was keeping her too busy. It would help her in the long run. Magic wasn’t a place for strict morals.
They hadn’t shown Jessie, though. Everyone had agreed it was best not to. She would’ve felt guilty, even though those mages were not only in bed with Momar but had helped orchestrate the attack on Kingsley and had large body counts themselves. It was best to stay vague. Jessie knew the sorts of things Niamh and most of her crew were capable of. They could just leave it at that.
But Fred? She’d been more concerned with how to break into various systems to post the video so everyone would be sure to see it. Then to create bots to share it…or comment…or some such thing, helping a ripple of fear and uncertainty spread throughout the mage community. It had been sensational, the reactions. Very effective. Better than anything Niamh could’ve hoped for. Her plans had grown ten times larger in scope. Now they were playing with fire—the only way to go!
“That’s why Jessie came around, like,” Niamh told her as Tristan stopped beside the porch. “She’s rational when ye explain things to her. What do ye got there?” she asked Tristan.
He held out the box—a 1970s cooler, on closer inspection. It had a metal top with scuffs and scrapes and a yellowish stain. The metal sides were dinged to all hell with black patches, as though someone had burned away the mustard-yellow paint. The brand name, Coleman, had what looked like a key mark through it, and the cooler itself bore plenty of dirt smears.
“Mr. Tom destroyed all your coolers,” Tristan said.
“I know. I bought new ones.”
“I saw. But your new ones are clean and pleasant looking.” He set the cooler on the porch. “This one is not.”
Fred grinned. “That’s one ugly and incredibly groovy cooler. If she doesn’t want it, I definitely do.”
Tristan put down the picnic-basket–style metal handles, one on each side, and pulled off the lid. “I’ve got a few beers in there, but it’s mostly basajaun brew I got off Phil, and some honey-flavored moonshine I got off an Irishman at the pub in the next town. I tried some. It’s awful.”
“The Irish have moonshine?” Fred’s eyes lit up.
“Poitín,” Niamh said.
“Bless you,” Fred replied.
“No, that’s what it’s called…” Niamh shook her head. “Never mind.” To Tristan, she said, “What do ye want fer it?”
Tristan looked out over the street, subtly shaking his head. “Nothing. It all just kinda…fell into my lap. I commented on the cooler, and the lady who owned it traded me for it.”
“What she’d trade you?” Fred asked. “I hope it was something good.”