Between Linus and Grier, they had pitched in enough when they captured Liz and brought her in.
The rest fell onto our shoulders, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“There’s nothing wrong with asking for help when you need it.” Midas pressed a lingering kiss to my temple, and warmth spread through my chest. “You’re not showing weakness when you admit you can’t accomplish the impossible alone.”
“I know, I know.” I blasted out a long sigh. “I’ve got the OPA, and I’ve got you.”
“And the pack.”
With me mated and now engaged to their beta, I was as pack as it got without being born gwyllgi. I had no problem with joining a new family. It was dragging them into OPA business, where they might get hurt, that gave me heartburn.
Further complicating matters, I also couldn’t afford to be seen as relying too heavily on any one faction if I wanted to maintain the neutrality required of my position.
To cut ties with the pack and stand alone would be the easiest thing, careerwise, except for the part where that option sliced out my heart. Call me selfish, but I was done sacrificing every scrap of happiness in my life on an altar of guilt.
I loved Midas. He was mine. I was keeping him—and his mom too.
“Ahem?” Remy cleared her throat. “What about me?”
Warmth kindled in my chest at the reminder of how blessed I was to have such good friends.
“And an army of Remys,” I amended. “Who stands a chance against those?”
Preening, she fluffed her hair then readjusted the flower behind her ear.
“I’m going to run up to my apartment—” she grinned wide, “—to grab a measurement real quick.”
Never let it be said she let a tiny thing like an impending attack cramp her decorating style.
“Have fun.” I saluted her enthusiasm. “Let us know if you need help moving your things.”
“What things?” She bounded into the elevator. “I brought my trash bags full of clothes over last night.”
The doors closed between us before my brain and tongue settled on an appropriate response.
As they did, Ambrose stepped free of my outline, his shadowy finger pointing toward the front entrance.
The door to the lobby swung open on its own, as if wind had nudged it, and Hank blurred into motion.
Dude was fast. Crazy fast. And boy howdy was he pissed.
Shoving through the door, he launched into a flying tackle, smacked into an unseen threat, and took it down. He pinned it—whatever it was—with his hands around its throat. Or so I assumed, based on the choking noises.
From where Midas and I stood, Hank appeared to hover a foot above the floor. It was downright odd to watch him do more than glare or stand silent sentinel…while glaring…usually at me. I knew he had the moves, or he couldn’t hold down the doorman job, but knowing and seeing are two different things.
“Show yourself,” he snarled, his upper lip quivering, “or I rip out your throat.”
Midas and I prowled closer, senses alert to any other threats who might have used this distraction to slip in after Hank abandoned his post.
Ambrose slithered a circle around Hank, sniffing at whatever he wrestled with beneath him.
“Don’t kill me,” a girlish voice squeaked. “Please, don’t kill me.”
“Show yourself,” Hank repeated, “or I’ll kill you, and then I’ll see for myself once your magic fades.”
“I’m too scared. I’m sorry.” A sob burst out of her. “I can’t think.”
“Wrong answer.” Hank increased his pressure, and the struggle went out of her. “There we go.”
Before our eyes, a lanky teenage girl with elfin features materialized in a limp sprawl of limbs.
A sour taste coated my tongue. “Is she…alive?”
“She might be coven—” Hank turned his growl on me, “—but she’s just a kid.”
“She might be just a kid,” Midas warned, “but she’s still coven.”
The barbed twist of his own words must have put the situation into perspective for Hank. He climbed off the girl and kept his head down and his eyes on the floor. He didn’t apologize to me, but he did grunt in my general direction as I knelt and used my modified pen to swipe restraining sigils on her wrists and ankles.
“I didn’t mean to call your honor into question.” I tapped the cap of my pen against his boot. “I’m sorry if it came out that way.”
Hank offered me a hand, I took it, and he helped me to my feet.
It wasn’t an I’m sorry, but it was close enough to smooth Midas’s hackles.
“Let’s get her to Abbott.” I pocketed my pen. “Then we’ll see what this is about.”
Without prompting, Midas scooped her into his arms to free Hank up to return to his post.
The girl didn’t stir during the ride down to the infirmary, but her breaths came easy through her parted lips. Her delicate throat would sport bruises in the shape of Hank’s fingers, but he had been careful after he realized the coven had sent a girl to do their dirty work.
One of their lookouts must have spotted the Remys and nominated a novice, untainted by black magic, to sneak in, eavesdrop on us, and discover how much we knew about their position and their mission.
Sadly, on both counts, the answer was not much.
The cloying fragrance of cut grass and earthy florals built in the air, a perfume or detergent on the girl.
Abbott was waiting for us in the hall when the doors slid open, which meant Hank had called ahead to let him know to expect us. The healer gave the girl a cursory examination while Midas held her then decided her wounds were minor enough that a regular exam room would do.
He had a kit in hand, ready to go, when he shut us into one of the smaller rooms.
The test would tell us if the girl was a host for a Martian Roach or a skin worn by the coven. As much as I wanted to cry overkill, it wasn’t. The coven would use the face of a child, let alone a teen, in a heartbeat. They would bank on reactions like Hank’s, which would allow their agent to gain the upper hand.
That alone made it imperative we seal the archive and ferret out the remaining witchborn fae within the city wherever they might hide.
“She hasn’t been infected.” Abbott put away the kit after he cleaned it for the next use. “I’m not entirely sure she’s witchborn either.”
Studying the girl’s features, I tried to see what he did but failed. “How can you tell?”
“She has punctures on her nape.” He lifted fingers smeared with a thick verdant liquid. “Hank must have partially shifted his hands when he took her down.”
“Green?” I leaned in closer, and the smell of grass and flowers intensified. “What bleeds green?”
Other than Vulcans.
“Other than Vulcans?” Midas’s lips twitched in the promise of a smile. “You know you were thinking it.”
That he was right proved both that he knew me better than anyone and that he was researching his upcoming role as Spock in our Star Trek-themed wedding. Both made me a happy girl.
“She’s not Vulcan.” Abbott traced the curve of her rounded ear. “I would guess she’s fae.”