Chapter 27: "Call Me Maybe (Or Don't, I'll Just Panic Quietly)"
In which Evan makes a brave phone call, Talia sleeps like a log, and Asterion casually plays emotional counselor.
Talia had experienced bad mornings before.
Oversleeping through mani-pedi appointments.
Forgetting to charge her hair straightener.
Even once waking up with glitter in her mouth.
Don't ask.
But this morning?
This was new.
Her skull felt like it had been used as a maraca in a gorilla band.
Her muscles ached like she'd been boxing invisible kangaroos.
And her memory?
Well...
Let's just say it had more blank spots than a cable TV rerun marathon.
She blinked against the soft golden morning light filtering through her luxury blackout curtains—because rich people's blackout curtains still had to be aesthetic.
The chandelier above her seemed to sway slightly.
Had there been an earthquake?
No.
She was the one swaying.
Talia groaned as she pushed herself upright, hair a mess, mascara halfway to raccoon mode.
She looked around her extravagant room—
plush velvet pillows, an unnecessarily large mirror, more perfume bottles than a small department store—
and for once, none of it made her feel grounded.
"Okay, okay..."
She rubbed her temples.
"Think."
She remembered the party.
That much was clear.
Loud music.
Too many drinks.
Someone jumping into a fountain.
And Sofia daring someone to kiss a ghost plushie for "ghost protection."
Because Sofia was nothing if not committed to the bit.
And then...
Evan.
Talia frowned.
The image was blurry in her head, like a scrambled television channel.
One moment, Evan Mercer had been exactly what she'd always assumed he was—
awkward.
Background noise.
One of those people you knew existed because he occasionally walked past your locker.
The next?
He was saving her.
Not in the:
Oops, I tripped and he caught me
way.
More in the:
Actual action hero carrying me out of a supernatural disaster while fighting something glowing green
way.
"...That couldn't have happened."
She stared at the wall.
"That's not Evan."
Right?
Evan was the kid who wore shirts two sizes too big and spent most of his time with Mara and Toby.
The guy who, until recently, looked like gym class considered him a personal enemy.
Not...
whatever she'd seen last night.
Her stomach did a strange little flip.
Then she noticed her phone lying on the floor.
Unlocked.
Weird.
Talia protected her phone like it contained state secrets.
Nobody was getting through her messages without surviving a password, facial recognition, and several deeply embarrassing photos of Sofia.
She picked it up.
Missed Call: Evan Mercer
Her breath caught.
He'd called her?
Why?
When?
Had she answered?
Had she said anything?
Oh God.
Had she said something embarrassing?
She threw the phone onto the bed like it had personally betrayed her.
The pounding in her head wasn't only the hangover anymore.
Now there were feelings.
Confusing ones.
Which was worse.
Talia hated things that didn't make sense.
Like pineapple on pizza.
Math.
And...
feelings.
"This cannot be happening."
She pointed accusingly at absolutely nobody.
"I do not like Evan Mercer. That's basically a rule."
Her brain disagreed.
Apparently so did her heart.
Traitors.
She stumbled toward the minibar and poured herself something fizzy and probably not medically recommended for hydration.
Not her classiest moment.
But right now?
She needed a distraction.
Her gaze drifted toward the window.
Outside, the sky was perfect.
Blue.
Soft clouds.
Birds doing bird things.
Everything looked normal.
And somehow...
that felt wrong.
Like the world had shifted slightly while she was unconscious.
Like someone had changed the rules and forgotten to give her the updated handbook.
"Great."
She took another sip.
"Either I'm losing my mind..."
She glanced at the phone.
"...or Evan Mercer is secretly some kind of vigilante."
Neither option was comforting.
One made her question reality.
The other made her question her taste in boys.
Both gave her a headache.
But beneath the pride, expensive makeup, and defensive sarcasm...
something was stirring.
A realization she couldn't name yet.
A memory just out of reach.
And a boy who might not be quite as forgettable as she'd once thought.
Evan stared at the phone in his hand like it might explode.
He'd saved the number as:
Talia (???)
Because even he wasn't completely sure how he'd gotten it.
Maybe she'd given it to him during the chaos.
Maybe one of the mansion guards had.
Maybe Asterion had somehow arranged it because apparently ancient cultivators had no respect for normal teenage social boundaries.
Honestly, anything after supernatural-DJ-chaos-o'clock was a blur.
Still...
the number was real.
My thumb hovered over the call button like it was a detonation switch.
"Okay," I muttered. "This isn't weird. I'm just checking on her."
Perfectly normal.
Polite.
Responsible.
Possibly heroic.
Definitely not awkward.
I tapped the screen.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
My heart started pounding harder with every tone.
Then—
Voicemail.
Oh.
Great.
Somehow worse.
"Hey! Uh... it's Evan. Mercer. From, uh... last night."
I closed my eyes.
Excellent start.
"I mean, not from last night like that. We didn't—"
Stop.
Stop talking.
"Okay, wow, this is getting weird."
Correct.
"ANYWAY. I just wanted to make sure you're okay. You were pretty out of it after the whole... supernatural thing."
I rubbed my forehead.
"So, yeah. That's it. Hope you're feeling better."
Pause.
"Cool."
Why did I say cool?
"Alright. Bye."
Another pause.
"Sorry."
I hung up.
Then immediately slapped the phone against my forehead.
"Smooth, Mercer."
I fell backward onto the couch.
"Real smooth."
I groaned into a cushion.
"You sounded like someone trying to order coffee at a bank."
Asterion's voice came from the mental space nearby.
"She's fine."
I lifted my head.
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"Like physically fine?"
"As far as I can tell."
"Mentally fine?"
A pause.
"Or Talia-version of fine, where she acts cool and then socially destroys someone three days later?"
Asterion appeared across from me in the shared mental space, examining one of the daggers he'd built.
"She was checked after you brought her home. She's sleeping, breathing normally, and recovering."
I blinked.
"You checked?"
"I made sure Sebastian's people confirmed she was safe."
Oh.
That was...
actually responsible.
"And?"
Asterion's mouth twitched.
"Apparently she drools."
I stared.
"You asked them that?"
"No. Someone volunteered the information."
I wasn't sure whether that made it better.
I sighed and stared at the phone again.
I hadn't meant to care this much.
Honestly, Talia had never really been part of my emotional Venn diagram.
She was Sofia-adjacent.
Popular.
Sharp-tongued.
The kind of person who could weaponize a raised eyebrow.
But last night...
She'd been limp in my arms.
Completely dependent on me.
Trusting me without even realizing it.
"She's different now," I muttered.
Then frowned.
"Or maybe..."
I looked down at my hands.
"...I am."
Asterion glanced toward me.
"People change."
That was it.
No elaborate speech.
Then he added:
"And sometimes you only notice someone properly after circumstances force you to look."
I stared at him.
"That was suspiciously wise."
"I'm nearly a thousand years old. It happens occasionally."
"Occasionally?"
"Don't push it."
I smiled despite myself.
Then my eyes dropped toward the dagger in his hands.
Wait.
That thing looked familiar.
Very familiar.
"Hold on."
Asterion looked up.
"What?"
"Is that from yesterday?"
"Yes."
My eyes narrowed.
"The workshop stuff?"
"Yes."
"You actually built all of that?"
Asterion smiled.
Oh no.
"Wait."
I sat upright.
"You're telling me you made plasma rifles last night?"
Asterion didn't answer immediately.
He just gave me that look.
The one that said:
You have absolutely no idea what I've been doing while you've been asleep.
Then:
"Come."
I became instantly suspicious.
"Come where?"
Asterion reached over and tapped two fingers against my forehead.
The mental world shifted.
Reality melted away.
And suddenly—
Welcome to the Armory.
At least, that's what my brain immediately named it.
A massive section of Asterion's mental space unfolded before me.
Steel floors.
Glowing formation lines.
Weapon racks.
Armor stands.
Floating displays.
Enough dangerous equipment to make every responsible adult in Havenbrook spontaneously develop chest pain.
I stopped.
"Whoa."
That was the only word my brain managed.
Daggers.
Shields.
Firearms.
Long rifles.
Steel wire systems.
Smoke bombs.
Autonomous drones.
And yes—
actual energy weapons.
One rifle hovered above a display platform, glowing faintly along its barrel like a lightsaber and a Tesla coil had decided to co-parent.
I reached toward it.
A formation flashed.
THUNK.
Invisible force slapped my hand away.
Not painfully.
Just enough to insult me.
I looked at Asterion.
He looked completely unapologetic.
"No."
"What do you mean, no?"
"Exactly what it sounds like."
"You showed me the loot!"
"Yes."
"And I can't use it?!"
"Correct."
"This is worse than downloadable content."
Asterion pointed toward another section.
"You have access to these."
I turned.
My jaw dropped.
Armor.
Sleek.
Blue-black.
Compact.
Lightweight.
Subtle glowing lines ran through it like trapped moonlight.
Parts of the back looked designed to open into some kind of flight system.
"Is that..."
I stepped closer.
"Flying armor?"
"Eventually."
My excitement died slightly.
"Eventually?"
"The flight function is locked."
"You hate happiness."
"I dislike preventable spinal injuries."
Fair.
Beside the armor rested two daggers.
Silver and black.
Simple.
Sharp.
Spiritual energy hummed around their edges.
I reached for one.
This time nothing slapped me.
I picked it up.
The balance was...
perfect.
Like it had been made for my hand.
Probably because it literally had.
"These are mine?"
"Starter equipment."
I stared at him.
"This is your idea of starter equipment?"
"Yes."
I looked back at the armor.
Then the daggers.
Then the rest of the armory.
"I've been living wrong."
Asterion ignored that.
"The armor will protect you from physical and low-level supernatural threats. The daggers can interact directly with spirits."
He gestured toward the locked weapons.
"The rest stays restricted until you demonstrate enough control."
"How much control?"
"More than you currently possess."
Rude.
Accurate.
But rude.
As we began walking toward the edge of the armory, Asterion picked up two small pendants from a nearby table.
Both shimmered faintly with silver-blue light.
I stopped.
"What are those?"
"For Mara and Toby."
My expression changed immediately.
Asterion handed them to me.
"Protection amulets."
I examined one.
Simple design.
Nothing flashy.
But I could feel something inside it.
A formation.
Layered.
Carefully built.
"They react to nearby supernatural danger," Asterion explained. "If something attacks, the defensive formation activates automatically."
"How strong?"
"Enough to stop low- and some mid-level threats."
I stared at him.
"You made these for them?"
"Yes."
"You didn't have to."
Asterion's expression became almost annoyed.
"Of course I did."
I blinked.
"You're going to keep putting yourself into dangerous situations. They're going to follow you into some of them."
He folded his arms.
"I'd prefer your friends remain alive."
Something warm settled in my chest.
I looked at the pendants again.
"Toby is going to try to dismantle his."
"Tell him not to."
"He absolutely will."
"Then tell him the formation will shock him."
I looked up.
"Will it?"
Asterion smiled.
Oh.
Good.
"Mara will pretend hers isn't a big deal."
"Will she wear it?"
"Every day."
"Then I don't care what she says."
I laughed.
Fair.
The mental armory began fading around us.
Asterion's voice followed.
"They don't need to understand everything yet."
The pendants remained in my hands as reality returned.
"They just need to stay safe."
Talia had officially upgraded her emotional state from:
Ugh, I need a drink
to:
Fine, I'll wash my face and pretend I have my life together.
She stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a designer robe, hair now falling in a smooth glossy curtain that screamed:
I totally did not spend ten minutes staring at myself wondering what happened to my life.
Her headache had eased.
Slightly.
The fog in her thoughts was giving way to curiosity.
Dread.
And a small but rapidly growing amount of existential panic.
She collapsed onto her bed and grabbed her phone.
A voicemail notification blinked.
From Evan.
Talia hesitated.
Then pressed play.
"Hey! Uh... it's Evan. Mercer. From, uh... last night. I mean, not from last night like that. We didn't—okay, wow, this is getting weird. Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you're okay. You were pretty out of it after the whole supernatural thing. So, yeah. That's it. Hope you're feeling better. Cool. Alright. Bye. Sorry."
Silence.
Talia stared at the screen.
Then replayed it.
Once more.
Her brain stopped somewhere around:
Hope you're feeling better.
Because underneath all the awkwardness...
He sounded genuinely concerned.
No joke.
No flirting.
No attempt to use saving her as social currency.
He just...
wanted to know she was okay.
Which somehow made everything more confusing.
Then another thought hit her.
Evan didn't have her number.
At least...
she didn't remember giving it to him.
She checked her recent calls.
The missed call was real.
Timestamped shortly after everything she'd half-convinced herself had been a nightmare.
Her stomach dropped.
"That wasn't a dream."
She sat upright.
Slowly.
Because if it wasn't a dream...
Then Evan Mercer had actually carried her out of a supernatural disaster.
He had actually fought something glowing green.
He had actually run through the streets with her in his arms like some ridiculous action hero.
The same Evan Mercer who, only weeks earlier, wore oversized clothes and looked like gym equipment had a restraining order against him.
"What kind of reverse-Cinderella fever dream am I living in?"
Talia got up and began pacing.
Bits of memory surfaced.
Fire.
Music.
Green light.
Evan's face.
Stronger.
Sharper.
Terrified—
but moving anyway.
Then the motorcycle.
Wait.
Was there a motorcycle?
Her memory refused to cooperate.
Annoying.
She checked the voicemail again.
Then thought about school.
Evan had been acting differently.
Not:
forgot my homework
different.
Different-different.
Standing straighter.
Talking back.
Actually looking people in the eye.
Not panicking when Sofia passed him.
And definitely not moving like the same awkward boy she'd known before.
Talia stopped in front of the mirror.
"Okay."
She pointed at herself.
"Let's be rational."
A pause.
"Evan. Freaking. Mercer."
She paced again.
"Who has been acting weird for days."
Another turn.
"Not normal weird."
She gestured dramatically.
"Like he took a bath in confidence and started drinking protein shakes made out of secret government experiments."
That sounded ridiculous.
Which was unfortunate, because so did everything else.
She couldn't stop thinking about it now.
He'd changed.
Not just physically.
There was something sharper in the way he carried himself.
Something dangerous.
Something...
Interesting.
Her lips slowly curled upward.
Because this?
This was drama.
And Talia understood drama.
School had always been its own little kingdom.
Popularity shifted.
People rose.
People fell.
And Evan Mercer going from invisible hallway background character to mysterious night-time vigilante?
That was a plot twist.
"He's like Robin."
She considered that.
"But dumber."
Another pause.
"And less coordinated."
Then she remembered him carrying her through a burning supernatural nightmare.
"...Maybe slightly more coordinated now."
To be fair, Evan's parents had enough technology in their basement to arm a private military.
So if Evan was doing vigilante work, maybe he'd finally started using Mercer equipment.
That could explain the armor.
The weapons.
Some of it.
It didn't explain how he'd fought like he'd been training for years.
Talia sat on the edge of the bed.
She replayed the voicemail again.
There it was.
Warmth.
Sincerity.
Awkwardness.
And underneath all of it...
something steadier than she'd ever associated with Evan Mercer.
Something had changed in him.
And whether she liked it or not...
She wanted to know what.
Not swooning.
Not falling.
Absolutely not.
Just...
Interested.
Because a loser suddenly transforming into a mysterious vigilante with expensive motorcycles, combat skills, and a secret life?
That was exactly the kind of mystery Talia couldn't leave alone.