The drive back to the mansion took longer than expected because Iris insisted on docunting every single detail of the festival for her manga research. Sarah had claid shotgun and spent the entire ride taking selfies with different facial expressions, each one apparently representing a different emotion she wanted to capture for her art.
"The fog machines were genius," Sarah announced for the fifteenth ti, scrolling through her phone. "And Isaiah, you looked like you stepped out of an oto ga. I’m definitely using you as reference for my next character design."
"Please don’t."
"Too late. I already sketched you during breakdown. Harlow said I could keep it."
I glanced in the rearview mirror at Iris, who was grinning like she’d won the lottery. The festival had been everything she’d hoped for and more. She’d made forty-three dollars in tips from the dessert station, acquired enough manga recomndations from Sabrina to last six months, and sohow convinced Vivienne to teach her proper spreadsheet formatting techniques.
"Your girlfriend is scary," Sarah continued, completely oblivious to the complexity of that statent.
"Which one?"
Sarah paused mid-selfie. "Wait, you actually have four girlfriends? I thought Iris was exaggerating for dramatic effect."
"It’s complicated."
"That’s what people say when they’re sleeping with multiple won but don’t want to admit it." Sarah’s observation was delivered with the blunt honesty that only fourteen-year-olds possessed. "My mom’s divorce lawyer says that’s the most common phrase in family court."
Iris snorted with laughter. "Sarah’s mom is on husband number three. She’s an expert in complicated relationship dynamics."
"Mom says n who claim things are complicated are usually just cowards who can’t make decisions." Sarah turned in her seat to look at directly. "Are you a coward, Isaiah?"
The question hit harder than it should have coming from a kid in platform Mary Janes and enough glitter to blind a satellite. Because the honest answer was yes, probably, at least when it ca to the Valentine sisters. I’d spent weeks letting them make all the decisions while I stood around looking confused and accepting whatever arrangent they proposed.
"I’m working on it."
"That’s not a no."
Smart kid. Too smart.
The Range Rover’s GPS announced our arrival at the Valentine estate, and I pulled through the front gates that opened automatically. The mansion looked different in the early evening light, less imposing and more like sothing from a fairy tale. Which was probably intentional. Everything about this place was designed to create specific impressions.
"Holy shit," Sarah breathed, pressing her face against the window. "This is where you work? It’s like Downton Abbey had a baby with a Disney castle."
"Language," Iris warned automatically, though she was grinning.
"Sorry. Holy heck. Better?"
Mrs. Tanaka t us at the front entrance, her timing perfect as always. She looked completely unsurprised to see Sarah’s gyaru fashion explosion, which either ant she’d been warned or nothing shocked her anymore after twenty years with the Valentine family.
"How was the festival?" she asked while helping carry bags and costu pieces.
"Profitable," Vivienne announced, appearing in the foyer with her tablet. She’d changed out of her vampire costu into a cashre sweater and dark jeans, looking like she’d stepped out of a magazine spread about casual elegance. "Final numbers show we outsold 3-C by forty-seven percent. Patterson is considering framing the receipts."
"Where are the others?"
"Cassidy is in the garage working on her car. She claims she needs to decompress, but I suspect she’s avoiding conversation about Rebecca Ashworth." Vivienne’s tone suggested she had opinions about that situation. "Harlow is in her room editing festival photos for social dia. She’s created what she calls a highlight reel, though it’s mostly just different angles of you making coffee."
"And Sabrina?"
"Library. Reading. She said sothing about needing to research rotation scheduling thodologies, which sounds ominous even by her standards."
The familiar chaos of the Valentine household wrapped around us like a warm blanket. Staff moved through the background managing the daily operations of extre wealth, while the sisters occupied their respective territories throughout the mansion. It felt like coming ho, which was dangerous thinking for soone who technically lived in a Kensington apartnt with a growing water stain.
"Can we see the garage?" Sarah asked with the enthusiasm of soone who’d never t a boundary she couldn’t cross. "I want to et the scary sister who threatened to kill people over tennis scores."
"Cassidy doesn’t threaten people over tennis scores."
"What does she threaten people over?"
"Everything else."
Sarah’s eyes lit up like this was the best possible answer. Iris shook her head with the resigned expression of soone whose best friend had questionable taste in entertainnt.
We found Cassidy in the six-car garage, lying on her back underneath the Toyota Supra with her legs sticking out. She’d changed into ripped jeans and a tank top that had seen better years, and there were grease stains on her hands that suggested actual chanical work rather than performance.
"Cassidy, you have visitors."
Her response was muffled by the car’s undercarriage, but it sounded distinctly uncomplintary. A few seconds later she rolled out on a chanics creeper, her hair pulled back in a ssy ponytail and a smudge of oil across her cheekbone.
"Oh. It’s you." She sat up, using the back of her hand to push hair away from her face. "And the tiny gyaru who was taking pictures all day."
Sarah stepped forward without hesitation, apparently immune to Cassidy’s intimidation factor. "Your car is beautiful. Is that a 2023 GR Supra? The 3.0 Premium with the adaptive suspension?"
Cassidy blinked, clearly not expecting technical knowledge from soone who looked like an ani character co to life. "2022. But yes, the 3.0 Premium. You know cars?"
"My dad’s a chanic. He let help rebuild a Mustang last sumr before Mom found out and made him stop because it wasn’t ladylike." Sarah circled the Supra with the reverent attention usually reserved for religious artifacts. "This is completely stock?"
"Mostly. I did the exhaust myself, and the cold air intake. Nothing too crazy." Cassidy’s defensive posture had shifted into sothing approaching pride. "Your dad taught you well if you can spot the year difference."
"The side vents are slightly different. 2022 has the cleaner lines." Sarah ran her fingers along the car’s flank with obvious appreciation. "Can I see the engine?"
Twenty minutes later, Cassidy and Sarah were deep in conversation about horsepower modifications and turbo upgrades while Iris sat on a workbench sketching their interaction. I leaned against the garage wall and watched one of the most aggressive people I knew patiently explain fuel injection systems to a fourteen-year-old in a miniskirt.
"She’s different when she’s talking about sothing she actually cares about," Iris observed quietly.
"Most people are."
"Not you. You’re the sa level of exhausted and sarcastic regardless of the topic."
"That’s called consistency."
"That’s called emotional unavailability."
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