Her First Mistake

Chapter Twenty: I Don't Carry a Dictionary Everywhere

    I stuffed my hands into my pockets as I waited for Dad to open the door. There was a moment before a shadow covered the line under it. "Who is it?"

   "It's me, Dad."

   He didn't hesitate. The locks unlatched and the door cracked open. A tired, brown eye looked through the gap. It widened and crinkled as my father smiled. Despite myself, a flood of relief hit me and I smiled. "Gonna let me in or do I need to pick the lock to prove it's really me?"

   He snorted. "I don't feel like replacing it again."

   "It would be the fourth time, right?"

   "Maybe if you wouldn't keep forgetting your key--"

   "It's not my fault that it's faster to pick this lock than to use that old thing--"

   The door fully opened and he stepped, wrapping me into a hug. I relaxed and snickered, hugging him back tightly. He pulled back and examined my face. "How've you been?"

   Oh, perfectly fine. Got attacked by Dani again. Learned that she really wants me dead. No biggie. "Well enough." I shot a look over my shoulder at Alexie. "Considering who I've been stuck with."

   He blinked at me. Dad squinted up at him, gauging. He clearly recognized him, not fooled by the hat. "Albers."

   "Ronald," replied Alexie evenly.

   Dad was going to keep glaring at Alexie and I knew Alexie wouldn't blink until he stopped. I sighed and put my hands on my dad's shoulders. "The testosterone is killing me," I complained, pushing Dad into the apartment. "Yeah, you're both big mean men. We get it. Chill. your asses."

   Dad looked at me with a frown. "Watch your language."

   "I don't carry a dictionary everywhere, Dad. You should know this by now."

   Alexie shook his head. "I'll be back." His footsteps moved down the hall. I knew he probably didn't like staying in one place. I moved into the apartment and shut the door. Dad reached behind me and flipped the lock. "That man," he grumbled.

   I snorted. "You have no idea."

   Nothing had changed in the apartment. Dad still refused to accept one style of furniture. Some of the chairs were leather, some fabric. None of the wood matched. When my mother reigned over the decorations, it had all matched. Slowly, as things broke and were replaced, Dad had managed to put together the best mis-matched apartment in history.

   I dropped onto the couch and kicked off my shoes. Dad returned from the pantry and tossed me a blue box. I grinned and tore open the Poptarts. "You know me so well."

   "I do." Dad sunk into his seat and blew out a breath. "So, has Alexie figured out how to train a witch?"

   I paused, a Poptart hovering in front of my mouth. "What do you mean?"

   Dad frowned. "Aren't you a witch? Both your mother and I are."

   "Uh, no?" I bit into my Poptart and exhaled with joy. Damn, I'd missed Poptarts.

   He blinked. "How's that possible?"

   "I'm a secret agent and not your child at all. Sorry, I forgot to tell you," I said sarcastically. Dad snorted. I took another large bite of Poptart goodness.

   "Then what are you?"

   "A mage," I said around my food. Dad smacked my knee. "Swallow before speaking." I snorted. "A mage, you said?" At my nod, he rubbed his scruff. "Well, I guess it makes sense. Anabel's mother was a mage. What's your color?"