I fucking hate Dave & Buster’s, and not for the reasons you’d expect. Not because the food is shitty (it is), or because it’s loud and obnoxious (it is), or even because the people who like going there are the kind of people who make me contemplate violence (they do). I hate that place for a far simpler reason.
What self-respecting adult male goes by the name “Buster?”
I can’t feel good about being in that guy’s place. Gods, can you imagine him hitting on you? A dude named “Buster” making a play to get into your pants?
I threw up in my mouth a little.
But that’s where I was—not talking to Buster, but at his place. His loud, obnoxious, violence-inducing, shitty-food-serving place. And my umbrella was broken.
Not full-on broken. But it wouldn’t retract right, and that was bad. Really bad. It’s not a normal umbrella. It’s a weapon of sorts. A magical weapon. The average mundane wouldn’t notice anything off about it, but another witch? Oh, they’d be onto me from a mile away, all because the damn thing wouldn’t close the way it should.
Plus, Gary was late. It was one of those days.
Gary’s kind of an idiot. So when he walked up with an oversized sugary drink in his hand, I was hardly surprised.
“This is really good,” he said.
“Mm,” I managed to reply.
“You want one?”
“Uh, no thanks.”
“Zoey, you’re too uptight. You could use a drink. I’ll wave the waitress over.”
“Do not do that, Gary. I don’t want a drink. I wanna do our business and get the fuck outta here. Can we just do that?”
Gary set his drink down. He made a gesture of it, so I knew something I wouldn’t want to hear was coming next. He likes to be dramatic.
“About that,” he said. “There’s a … slight issue.”
Most of the time, I’m good about maintaining a poker face. But Gary knew right away how I felt about his “slight issue.”
“The job is the same,” he said hurriedly. “The buyer still wants the amulet. Nothing more. Security is the same. No new wards or protection spells. It’s the timeline that’s changed.”
Okay. It could be worse. I raised my eyebrows and waited.
“24 hours,” he said. “From now.”
“Wait. What the fuck? What the fuck, Gary?”
“You’ve done it before, Zee.”
“The fuck I have. Santoro is on a whole different level. I don’t make a habit of stealing from vampires. This was already a risky job. Tell Daegon to go fuck himself. Find someone else.”
Gary got uncharacteristically serious. “That’s not gonna work. The boss said to tell you we’re past no-go. Do this, or he puts a hit out on you.”
The fucking audiacity.
“I see,” I said. “24 hours, then.”
“Good,” Gary said, taking a long sip. “I’ll let the boss know.”
And when I’m done with Santoro, I’ll deal with Daegon. I don’t take orders from anyone.