Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth: Conduit World

Dressed in one of his trademark overly pressed, overly tailored gray suits, the Earl of Hereford, member of the World Council, is leaning against the lockers. I might not know him particularly well, but Elias — Eli as I call him — is not a leaner. He’s also been working continually since he showed up — late — with his phone in one hand and a tablet in another. “Just don’t kill anyone.” That’s easier said than done. I outmatch everyone scheduled to step into the ring with me. Yet there was so much interest that there’s a fucking waitlist in case anyone cancels last minute. The door to the locker room opens and closes again, during which time I eye a woman sipping champagne beyond it. Likely a mistress, because her jewelry is verging on ostentatious and the lord standing next to her is thirty years older. I keep going with the tape. Because the thing is ... I need the money. My bastard father’s estate is in shambles, run into the ground by all the legitimate heirs that got to it before me. Well, technically I’m the bastard