My Signing Bonus is a Concussion

Rome stood up from the chair. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest. His shoulders felt like someone had been using them as a stress ball for the last hour. He rolled them, feeling the joints pop and crack. Stretched his neck to the left, then the right. The ritual circle on his chest pulled at his skin, still tingling faintly.

He looked down at himself. The once-white fabric of his favorite work shirt hung open, ripped straight down the middle where Amelia had torn it apart. The silvery lines of the faded ritual circle decorated his chest like the world's most arcane temporary tattoo.

"You know," Rome said, his voice coming out dry and exhausted. "You drew on me. And you ruined my favorite work shirt."

Amelia laughed. Not a polite chuckle or a condescending snort. An actual, genuine laugh that sounded like wind chimes in summer.

"Don't be so dramatic. It had paint stains."

She gave him this dismissive once-over, like she was evaluating livestock at a county fair.

"Besides, if you're going to be my student, you can't be walking around looking like a stray. I'll buy you a new wardrobe. Consider it a signing bonus."

She winked.

The casual way she said it, like buying someone an entire wardrobe was equivalent to picking up coffee, made Rome's brain stutter. This woman lived in a different economic reality than he did. Probably a different reality in general.

He ignored the wardrobe comment. His brain was too fried to process casual displays of obscene wealth right now.

"So... what now? Do I sign some papers? Is there a pamphlet?"

He was grasping for normalcy. Some kind of bureaucratic procedure he could cling to. Fill out forms. Initial some boxes. Get a student ID with an awful photo. The usual college stuff.

"Now," she said, her tone shifting to something brisk and businesslike, "we clean up my mess."

She pointed with one perfectly manicured finger at the empty takoyaki container sitting on the floor near the chair.

"Be a dear and grab that for me, won't you? Can't leave a mess for the cleanup crew."

The request was so mundane. So absurdly normal after everything that had happened in the last few hours that Rome didn't even question it. Just autopilot kicked in. New student. Basic task. Sure.

He walked over to where the plastic container sat and bent down to pick it up.

His fingers closed around the empty container. He straightened up.

Then he felt it. A sharp impact against the back of his neck.

Rome's vision immediately went fuzzy at the edges. The warehouse tilted sideways. His knees turned to water.

Oh you've got to be kidding me.

His last coherent thought before the darkness swallowed him whole was a groan of pure, undiluted annoyance.

Not again.

The takoyaki container slipped from his fingers as he collapsed.

===

Warmth.

That was the first thing Rome registered. Warmth on his face. Gentle. Pleasant.

The second thing was music. Loud music with a driving beat and a woman's voice hitting notes that could probably shatter glass.

Wait.

He cracked his eyes open.

Blue sky. Brilliant, cloudless blue that stretched forever. Sunlight streaming down from above, warming his skin.

He wasn't in a chair. He wasn't in the warehouse. He was reclined in something comfortable and leather-scented.

Rome turned his head slightly. Ocean. Sparkling water extending to the horizon, waves catching the light like scattered diamonds. On the other side, lush green hills dotted with expensive-looking houses.

They were driving. Along a coastal highway that looked like it belonged in a car commercial or a music video about living your best life.

The music resolved itself into coherent lyrics as his brain rebooted.

"I'm addicted to you, don't you know that you're toxic!"

Rome was in the passenger seat of a pristine, cherry-red vintage convertible. The top was down. The leather seats were so immaculate they looked like they'd been detailed by angels. A warm ocean breeze ruffled his hair.

Behind the wheel, Amelia sat looking like she'd stepped out of a fashion magazine. Big, impossibly chic sunglasses covered half her face. Her white hair whipped dramatically in the wind. One hand rested casually on the steering wheel. The other held a fancy-looking coffee cup from her center console.

She was humming along to Britney. Perfectly on pitch. Looking completely in her element as she drove this vintage dream machine down the highway at probably illegal speeds.

What is my life right now.

Rome sat up. His head pounded in protest. Every movement felt like his brain was sloshing around in his skull.

He looked at Amelia. She didn't glance at him. Just kept driving, kept humming.

"Did you have to knock me out again? Is this going to be a thing?"

She turned the music down. Not off. Just down to a level where they could have a conversation without shouting.

"Of course it's a thing," she said, not taking her eyes off the road. "You're an unregistered, potentially volatile Demonic entity who just survived a B-Rank encounter. Did you think I was going to let you walk out the front door?"

She took a sip from her coffee cup.

"The paperwork would be a nightmare. This is cleaner. And faster."

Rome stared at her. At the side of her face, since she still wasn't looking at him. At the way the sunlight caught in her hair and made it look silver.

This woman is insane.

And also my new teacher.

And also the person who literally owns me now since apparently I'm her student which means I'm her responsibility which means...

He gave up trying to logic his way through the situation.

Logic had left the building somewhere around the time he'd seen his first shadow creature.