For All My Hard Work

I teleported home as soon as I turned off Beck's street, warping through a whirl of color and sensation to land in my room, trembling with adrenaline. Now that I had a chance to take a few breaths, I could admit something to myself. I may have gone to Beck's looking for closure and freedom...

...but I'd left fearing for my life. 

How had it come to that? Beck had always been physically impulsive, ready to throw a playful slap or jab, giggling in the way that girls do when they think their man enjoys being shoved and hit for some reason. I'd always ignored it, shrugging off her little girl whacks because of my greater size. Most guys do. But she'd frosted me with a Glyph after less than two minutes of argument. Was she really that thoughtless? She'd had the Text less than a full day and she'd already used it as a weapon against me. To attempt to control me. 

I shivered, still cold and wet. I was sure, now, that I'd made the right choice. I could never have committed myself to a course of action as I had, if I was still with Beck. This night was only more proof of that. She was not interested in me bettering myself.

I needed a long, hot shower. Again. And then about four days of sleep.

I was just trying to pull wet shirt off when my phone chirruped.

From: Beck

Sent At: 09:45 PM

im rly sry about what just happened. can u call me

I laughed without humor and tossed my phone on the bed. I'd made the right choice.

*

I woke up the next morning to the rhythmic thudding of a wrinkly old fist on a cheap door. Sunlight drew golden lines across my ridiculously cluttered room, at an angle suggesting noon. I grumbled to myself and rolled out of bed, pulling on a dry shirt. 

The door was still hopping under my landlady's assaultI when I reached it. I timed opening it so that Ms. Dean's next whack hit air, and she scowled geriatrically at me.

"Well, I'm glad to see you're alive," she scolded, looking me over with palpable disapproval.

"Are you?"

"I am. If you'd died, though it wouldn't come as much of a surprise, I wouldn't be getting my rent. Today. When it's due."

"How the time does fly," I muttered, reaching into my pocket for my wallet. Ms. Dean aimed another scowl at me and held up a handful of envelopes. 

"You've also got mail you haven't picked up."

"Yeah, the letterbox is on the first floor, and-" I paused. I'd almost just casually mentioned my teleporting spree. "...it's been so, you know, cold out. So I just rush straight up here."

"Oh, I know perfectly well what boys your age are up to when they're in their bedrooms alone. I'd not have it in my house, but they've changed the laws. Can't boot you for lewd conduct, the state man says."

"You tried to evict me?"

"I only inquired as to whether such behavior can be appropriately dealt with, is all." She said this perfectly straight, as if researching ways to punish me for self abuse was perfectly normal landlord behavior. "I deserve to know my rights."

"Such as they are."

"And who do you know in St. Lucia?"

My stomach did a backflip. "What do you mean?"

"One of your letters. It's from St. Lucia. Got some kind of godless sigils on it." She held up one of my envelopes, a plain white rectangle with a silvery Text-scribble where a stamp would go. "You're not right, boy."

I snatched the envelope, earning a shocked glare from the already glaring old woman, and ripped open the end. Peering inside, I saw a perfectly mundane, computer-printed page.

A paycheck.

There were more digits than I am accustomed to. My stomach performed an encore of its amazing gymnastic routine.

"Well?" Ms. Dean growled, "What is it?"

"A get-well-soon card. Listen, I need to run to the bank. Like, run. Very fast."

"I need my rent money-"

"Yes, and I will get it, at the bank. No cash on me. Completely forgot what day it was." 

She eyed me like a gypsy I'd just finished offending. It was a similar feeling to expecting a Glyph to the face. "All right. But I'm no moving from this spot until I've been paid what's due."

"I couldn't ask you to. I'll be right back, really."

"Now, boy, you ought to-" 

I shut the door in her face. And if I got evicted for rudeness, so be it. 

What the hell. 

I pulled the check from its envelope and stared. My name. Yesterday's date. All the normal withholding and taxes. This looked legitimate.

How could Conclave be paying me already? I counted on my fingers and laughed out loud. I hadn't even had the book a week! I hadn't done anything!

But then again, I reflected, neither had anyone in Conclave. 

I ran my eyes across the string of numbers again. It felt good to look at them. Disturbingly good.

I instantly understood the corruption of Conclave- you throw this many zeroes at someone, and the first thing that pops into their mind is a life of luxury. My thoughts lingered on a warm place, a forever warm place of sun and sea without winter... a sip from a pineapple filled with icy rum and the feel of white sand like sun-warmed confectioner's sugar... 

I shook my head and started rummaging in my closet for a sweater. I was regretting leaving my warm coat at Beck's the night before, especially with its perfect inner pocket to conceal my Text. I settled on a hoodie with a wide front pocket, and stashed my Text there. It wasn't as good as my coat...

...but I could afford a new one.

* * *

I stepped into the lobby of my bank, still feeling like I was dreaming, waiting and expecting to wake up any second. My phone chirruped, and I silenced it without looking at the screen. No distractions.

The girl behind the counter was pretty, with eyes the variegated emerald of cash. I knew her from previous visits, and was hoping she'd recall my patronage and pleasant attitude... instead of suspecting some kind of fraud.

I filled out a checking deposit form and ambled up to... I think her name was Courtney, but I could never remember. I tried to look calm.

"Hey Tyler, how are you today?"

"Good, good," I said, feeling pompous as I did. "Just making a deposit... new job."

"Oh, cool, all done with the bookstore?"

"Not for now," I replied, realizing that I hadn't decided what to do about my B Word job, "Just picked up something else on the side."

I handed over the check and my deposit slip. It felt like giving away my soul. I watched, heart pounding, as Probably Courtney looked over the paycheck, eyebrows leaping higher every second. The last thing I expected her to say was:

"Oh, so you must know Leah!"

"I what?"

"Leah Weon, she works with these guys too. Her paychecks come from St. Lucia, I guess it's some kind of work-study thing for up and coming investors? She tried to explain it to me, but I couldn't make heads or tails of it."

I pondered this as Probably Courtney clicked away on her computer, depositing the huge check without a moment's hesitation. Something fell into place in my head. "What does this Leah look like?"

"She's pretty, maybe five five, like really skinny, dark hair... I think she's like one fourth Korean or something... oh, and she always carries around this old book, on a chain."

Lee. Of course.

"Oh, Leah," I said, smacking my forehead as though I should have known this all along. "That Leah. I don't know what I was thinking. Yeah, she's... something else."

"What's the deal with the book?" Probably Courtney asked, handing me a receipt. "Is it like a diary?"

"It's... related to work. Well hey, I'll tell her you said hi," I muttered, looking down at my receipt and feeling my stomach jump. It was not a completely unpleasant feeling. I almost turned to go...

...but suddenly decided I needed a day to myself. Too much Beck. Way, way too much Lee. Even the bookstore had begun to wear on me, the past few days. And it wasn't every day I suddenly became head-spinningly wealthy.

"You know what," I said, turning back to the counter, "I think I'd like to withdraw some cash."

"How much?"

I grinned. "Well," I said thoughtfully, "I really have always wanted a car..."

*

Reviews

[Ness]

Good chapter, very good imagery as always. I'm really excited to see how he spends his money, besides a car

[UponATyme]

I love that you call her "Probably Courtney" in your narrative. It really made me laugh. I'm worried that Tyler is going to get audited, but if they're sending legit paychecks, I don't think he'd have to worry too much. What exactly is the cover organization for Conclave? They can't just go around advertising that they're magic-wielding non-heroes, can they?