by JL Madore
Scarlett stepped into the room fully and set a tray of blueberry scones and whipped butter on his desk. “In the future, if you want privacy, close your office door. And if you don’t wish people listening, bite your tongue.”
He scowled at the home-backed offering, his traitorous stomach growling at the food. “I didn’t realize the thought police patrolled the halls. Lesson learned.”
Scarlett rounded his desk, her long, blonde waves flowing out around her shoulders as she propped her well-manicured, porcelain hands on her hips. She looked like a poster pinup from a 60s movie. “I believe being dead and unable to communicate with anyone for close to twenty years gives me a right to weigh in. How long were you separated from those you love? Right, a whole thirteen months. How terrible for you.”
Tanek rubbed a hand over his face. When would this nightmare end? “Don’t southern belles live by some Miss Manners social code? Seen and not heard or something?”
Her lips pursed as a flush of pink mottled the alabaster skin of her cheeks. “I might be rusty on social graces, but if I heard you disparage the gift of a second life, perhaps your sweet Lady did as well. It seems to be bad taste to voice such a thoughtless statement after defying death and reuniting with your family. Then again, what do I know about it?”
“I have no idea, but I bet you’re about to tell me.”
The stapler flew across the desk so fast he almost didn’t have time to duck. The black Staedtler buzzed the side of his ear and burst open on the wall behind his head. Silver teeth exploded, and he blocked his face from the shrapnel.
The thunderous slam of the war room door reinstated his privacy. Tanek picked up a scone and dipped it in the dish of butter before turning back to his black, blank monitors and feeling even more useless than he had before.
Perfect.
Ren sipped at the rim of a pretty, flowered cup and wondered about the cause of all the shouting. Not that it was any of her business, but she felt a little better about the hostile front she’d faced knowing the warrior, Tanek, was now at odds with another female of the household. She shook herself inwardly. That wasn’t nice at all. She shouldn’t take any pleasure in the discord of others. Her sister was wearing off on her.
As the blonde ghost stormed past the kitchen, muttering to herself, Ronnie rose from the table. “If you ladies will excuse me a moment.”
Austin came back to the table, a warm bottle of milk in hand. She passed it to the angel holding an infant boy. “You were saying, Ren? Lady Divinity sent you down to aid Ringo. How exactly?”
She set the dainty cup in its saucer and swallowed. “I’m not exactly certain. She said if I were amenable, she would ask me a favor—to pack a bag and come here to watch over a precious boy during what is to be a trying time. She said that I should trust in her judgment and in my instincts. That everything would work out as it is destined. That’s really all I know.”
Cassiane, the statuesque, ginger-haired Shedim Mistress, frowned. “That doesn’t bode well, nor does it give us much to go on. What sort of trying time? A trying time for Ringo? Regarding his transition? His seizure? A trying time for Ringo means a trying time for all of them.”
“There’s so much turmoil to pick from,” Thea said, pausing with the bottle to burp the child. “What if it’s about what’s happening with the males?”
“Don’t go there,” Austin said, offering her friend a kind smile. “There’s no use in speculating the worst.”
Ren shrugged. “Apologies. I truly don’t know more than what I’ve said. Milady asked, and I came.”
“Well,” Austin said, seemingly tired and worried about something else altogether. “I guess patience is the virtue of the night. We must trust that everything happens as it is meant.”
Ronnie chased her mother all the way up to her room on the third floor. Man, Scarlett Hennington could book it in pumps. Fists swinging at her sides. Hair bouncing against her back. She was a speedboat rocketing across the lake, leaving huge, white-crested waves in her wake. Whatever she and Tanek argued about, the woman was on fire and ready to blow.
“Mama,” she said, jogging to keep up. “Mama, hold up.”
Her mother stopped and turned, her eyes glassy and ready to brim with unshed tears.
“What on earth did Tanek say to you?”
Her mother stared up at the ceiling and blinked while she fought for control. “That man had the gall to say he regrets coming back to the living. He has a family. He has a purpose within these walls. It was a selfish, insensitive thing to say, and I told him so.”
Ronnie let that sink in and drew a deep breath. “And I see how well that went. Was he judging you for your decision?”
“No.”
Ronnie took her mother’s hand and led her into her suite. It was across the hall from Sunshine’s, and she didn’t want to wake up their little monkey this late at night. “Tanek’s opinion about his own life shouldn’t upset you. His frustration isn’t new. He’s struggling.”
“Yes. Struggling with gratitude.”
Ronnie sat her mother on the loveseat and took a seat on the coffee table opposite her. “Danel’s worried about him, as are the others. Try to understand it from his perspective. Tanek went from being the commander of an immortal garrison of warriors to a shut-in. After almost three thousand years as a leader and hero to their entire race, he’s now finding his footing as a glorified babysitter.”
Her mom gave her a beautiful scowl, and Ronnie loved it—loved every moment she spent with her. “Veronica, dear, I was married to your father for twenty years and followed his life for almost another twenty after that. The bruised ego of an autocratic alpha male is not new to me.”
The mention of her father picked at her heart’s wound. She missed her daddy, soooo very much. “No. I suppose not. But look at where Tanek is right now. The men—all of his men—are in danger and out of contact. What do you think it costs him to know he can’t get to Danel and the others? Goodness, Mama, he was forced to send two wives to try to help.”
“You said Storme and Layne possess skills that he thought might help?”
“They do, but still, those are the wives of his brothers. He sent them into harm’s way. On top of that, his cameras show him nothing. There is definite exposure of the Otherworld to the humans at the witch house, Hark’s identity is blown, and his little brother had a seizure today, and no one knows why.”
Her mother stared at her hands, clenched in her lap. “I suppose it has been a stressful day for him.”
Ronnie nodded. “Tanek’s a really good guy. Please don’t think poorly of him for something he may or may not have meant, during a crisis moment in his life.”
Scarlett drew a deep breath. “I threw a stapler at his head.”
Ronnie blinked. “You did what?”
She waved it away with an elegant flick of her fingers. “I don’t regret it—her certainly deserved it—but it wasn’t very ladylike. I regret that for my sake, not his.”
Ronnie sat back and scratched her head. Her mother died when she was young. She remembered her as a pinnacle of grace and elegance, sweet and nurturing. It was a little girl’s view, and she had a lot to learn about the woman.
Suddenly, she wished she’d been in the war room to witness her mother’s fit. “Well, the good news is, you’re from the south, Mama. You know what you have to do.”
Storme had no trouble hopping fences and crossing the two blocks to gain access to the vicinity. The home ablaze actually backed onto a powerline property and she used the open green space to figure out her best point of approach. Keeping to the shadows—and with brilliant, forty-foot magical flames, there were a lot of long shadows—she crouched and focused on shifting back with clothes on. Not naked—come on, Storme. You can do this, girlfriend. You got this.
Moment of truth.
She and Phoenix had been working on developing her Shadow Caster skills and—okay, almost—she sorta flashed clothes back on her naked body. She said sorta, bec
ause she ended up wearing a pair of Phoenix’s boxers, a tacky Christmas sweater, and an argyle sock on one hand.
Tacky beat naked. Sorta. No time to dwell.
Calling on her powers from the Wiccan part of her magical life, she began spellcasting and approached the flames. By the urgent sensation of panic that gripped her, the original spell was layered with a deterrent for other witches to tamper with it.
Tough. Her husband was in this cosmo-swirl somewhere, and she wanted him out. She upped her commitment and forced her way through the discomfort.
Tanek told her not to push into anything that was beyond her ability. The warrior’s level of bossy, overprotective dominance was quite sweet. Phoenix would approve.
It took her probably three minutes to get inside the core of the magical storm, though it felt much longer. The house was demolished. Slivers and bits. She’d say it looked like a bomb went off, but yeah—a bomb went off.
Thankfully, the magical storm behaved much like a real storm, and she was now in the eye. While a funnel of pink and champagne danced around her, she didn’t need to focus on that for the moment. Part of her didn’t want to walk over the debris and risk hurting someone beneath, but logic dictated she was the most vulnerable person in that mess.
Hark was the easiest to find. He was laying on a heap of shingles, looking like he’d just stretched out to take a nap, which he had. A powerful slumber curse was hard to fight.
Kneeling at Hark’s hip, she rolled him onto his back and took the comm earpiece from his ear. “Tanek?” she said, taking possession of it. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes! Thank you, sweet lady. Are you okay?”
“So far, so good.” She flipped back the lapel of Hark’s jacket and unsheathed one of his throwing stars. There was no way she’d touch his Crystalline dagger—it was the weapon to banish Darkworlders, after all—so this would have to do. She drew two fingers across the sharpened steel and dragged a line of blood across the Moor’s forehead.
Focusing on her intensions, she cast a reversal spell. “Bad intensions, heart, and mind, hath brought you under a witch’s bind. Reclaim your strength; it’s yours to take. Break the spell and now awake.”
As the slumber curse lifted, Hark’s eyes fluttered open.
“Hi there, sleepyhead,” Storme said, rising to her feet. “Care to help a lady find her mate?”
After a brief moment of disorientation, Taharqa was up and helping her search the hundreds of square feet of house wreckage.
“I’ve got a body,” Hark said, tossing a horribly ugly chandelier out of his way.
Storme stared at the dismembered man’s arm, and the blood rushed to her feet. She had no choice but to bend over and try not to pass out. “No,” she said, more to herself than him. “They’re sleeping. They’re immortal.”
Hark was at her side a second later. “Hey, sorry. Crime scenes don’t register anymore, and I handled that badly. Anyway, that wasn’t one of our guys. Likely the dead they came to investigate. I’m sorry I frightened you. He gives us a starting point, though. We’ll begin searching around here.”
With his arm across the small of her back to steady her balance, they worked their way over to where Hark found the body. “I can’t sense him. Shouldn’t I be able to sense him?”
Hark straightened and threw a door off to the side. “I can’t answer that.”
She stared at the magic swirling around them. The walls of the storm weren’t more than thirty feet high now. They needed to hurry. “It must be worked into the spell on some level. A block on detection or something.” She rambled off possible reasons, to keep from jumping to the worst conclusions.
“I’ve got Colt.”
Storme ran over and took care of waking Colt and getting him oriented while Hark went back to searching. “Hey, Colt. How are you feeling?”
Colt’s eyes burst into the most brilliant turquoise glow she’d ever seen. “Where is Brennus?”
“I’ve got him,” Hark called from twenty feet away. Straining with a ceiling beam, he fought to get his brother-in-arms uncovered. “Give me a hand, Cop.”
Colt rolled to his feet and flicked his hand. Not only did the bent beam fly off his mate, but every bit of wood, wire, and debris flung off him in a sudden blizzard of cold wind.
Hark blinked at the Ice Demon and stepped back. “That’s new . . . and piss-pants scary.”
“Wake up, B,” Colt said, pulling his husband into his lap. He brushed the filth from Brennus’s face and straightened the long, russet General’s braid beside his face with gentle fingers. “Come on, Celt. Open your eyes for me.”
“I’ll have to wake him,” Storme said, rushing forward to help. A blast of cold air hit her in the face, and she pulled her hands back. “Colt? It’s me. I’d never hurt Brennus. He’s under the power of a witch’s spell.”
She waited the few seconds it took for logic to work its way through the demon’s panic. When he gave her a quick nod, she released the spell, backed away, and left them to each other.
“So, where’s Phoenix?”
I’m here, kitten.
She felt the tender caress of his words in her mind and turned to where Hark had unearthed her mate. She rushed over and dropped to her knees. Brushing filth from his cheeks, his face blurred behind a wall of tears. “You’re awake. How’d you break the spell on your own?”
I didn’t. It was all you, my love. I felt your power and fought toward it. Your interruption of the spell for the others brought me out of it.
That their connection ran so deep wasn’t a surprise.
When he first suggested she assume the role as his familiar, she was insulted and hated the idea. She didn’t want to serve him. He’d assured her it would never be like that.
They were part of each other, their magic connected in a way she hadn’t imagined or understood.
It still astounded her at times.
He looked her over, and the warmth of his smile made her insides flutter. He fingered the red bow on her ugly sweater and chuckled. At least all your important parts are covered this time. Well done, kitten.
“And it’s festive, don’t you think?” She flapped Rudolph’s ear, and they both sluffed off a bit of the night’s tension.
He stretched his neck and winced as he raised his hands to speak. So, what’s the sitch?
Hark fielded that one. He helped Phoenix to his feet and glanced around at the destruction. “Full Otherworld exposure. My identity is burned. The others are down at a secondary location. Basically, we’re fucked on all fronts.”
Brennus cursed, his brogue particularly thick as he and Colt uncovered the bodies of two more men. “This turned out to be quite a big night for the forces against, aye?”
Storme wrapped herself around Phoenix’s side and pressed her cheek to his chest. “Someone should check in with Tanek and see what’s happening with the others. Layne and the dragons weren’t having much luck there, last I heard.”
“Aye,” Brennus said, squeezing Colt’s shoulder. “Consider it done, lass. And thanks for the save.”
Storme’s skin tingled to life as Phoenix reached out with his powers to test the strength of the magical fire surrounding them. She looked up at him, thankful to see his miserable scowl. “I figure, we clear the scene and put this fire out from a distance, then go help the others. I don’t have the strength to take this down. This is on you, tough guy.”
Phoenix nodded and raised his hands. Brennus, have Colt clear his men but leave the original two victims. Once you two are clear, I’ll fly Storme up the funnel and find a rooftop somewhere that will give us cover to shut this down.
“Flying out of here is a no-go,” Hark said. “There are news helicopters circling.”
“I gotcha,” Colt said, scowling at the stern look Brennus was flashing him. “It’s fine, B. I’m in control. Seriously, what’s the sense of having wicked god powers and not using them?”
Before Brennus could argue, Storme found herself alone with Phoen
ix on a rooftop, staring at the magical funnel behind the line of chaos. “Do you think it’s safe for Colt to be accessing Avestaexa’s powers like that?”
Phoenix shrugged. I think that’s up to Colt and Brennus to figure out. We’ve got enough on our plates. Now, let’s get this party shut down.
CHAPTER SEVEN
One moment, Hark stood in the heart of a demolition zone witch storm; the next, he was behind the bar in the war room. It took a second for his senses to align, but when they did, he wondered why Colt put him there instead of at the warehouse with the others. Exposure? Probably. Deciding to take the hint that he was benched, he reached for a bottle. “You want a drink, boss?”
Tanek jumped and glared over from staring at his wall of monitors. “Where the hell did you come from? You scared the crap outta me.”
“Sorry. Drink?”
“Double.”
Hark poured them both full glasses and headed over to the comm’s station. “Colt poofed me here. I guess he wants me off the streets until things cool down.”
Tanek accepted the tumbler, pointed to the screen, and let out a long breath. “Okay, I’m back online, boys. Glad to see you up and around.”
They were viewing things from Brennus’s vest camera and looking at a warehouse engulfed in witch fire. Hark felt weird not being there, but between Brennus, Colt, and the dragons, he was sure they’d figure it out.
“With an Ice God trump card, everything else tonight should be cake,” Tanek said.
“As long as Brennus doesn’t lose his mind.”
Tanek took a sip and set his glass on the desk next to a plastic graveyard of what used to be a stapler.
“You lose your cool, my brother?”
“It’s been a night.”
Hark stepped in behind him and sipped at his liquid sedation. His mouth was dry and filled with bits of dust and grit from napping in a war zone.
Tanek was right. Between Phoenix and Storme putting out fires and rallying the troops, and Colt and Brennus watching their backs, there wasn’t much left to worry about. “If I’m not needed, I’ll inform the wives that we’re headed into the solution and grab a shower before the debrief.”
