Autumn Whispers

Chapter 4

As Carter’s words fully registered, so did the shock of what he was actually saying. Camille stammered, but all she managed to spit out were a few little half-formed words. Surprised that for once I was the vocal one, I shook my head to clear my thoughts.

“Are you sure? Mother said she was an orphan.”

“Just because you’re an orphan, doesn’t mean there isn’t a record of your parentage. And just because someone tells you that you’re an orphan, doesn’t mean you really are.” Carter gave us a long look, and the realization of what he was saying began to hit home.

Camille found her voice. “You mean . . . Mother wasn’t an orphan?”

“No, she wasn’t. You do have her last name—D’Artigo. Her adoptive parents decided to leave her that much of her heritage, which is surprising given the time period when they took her in. But Maria’s parents didn’t die like her foster parents told her. And they weren’t best friends with Maria’s parents.”

Carter was holding a blue file, a thick one, and he set it down on the table, touching it lightly with the tips of his fingers. “How much do you want to know?”

I glanced at Camille. She gave me a short nod. “Everything, please.”

The only thing we knew about our mother’s lineage is that she was supposedly orphaned as a child and her parents’ best friends had taken her in and raised her as their own. Our grandmother was supposed to have been a beauty, and our grandfather, a man of modest means but good character. Now, all that hung in the air, ready to fly out the window as the truth shed light on shadow.

With a deep breath, Carter motioned for us to drink our tea. He leaned back, the brace on his leg causing him to wince. Menolly had alluded to knowing how he got the injury, but she hadn’t told us his secret and neither Camille nor I felt it our place to ask.

After a moment, he said, “Your grandmother’s name was Theresa D’Artigo. She was fifteen when she gave birth to your mother. She wasn’t married, and she wasn’t engaged. In 1921, that was a big deal. Maria’s father—your maternal grandfather—was named William Jones. He was a high school senior. His parents made sure their son never knew about Maria.”

William Jones. The name hung on the tip of my tongue. After all these years, we were finding out about our mother’s side of the family, but this all-too-human name sounded odd. I began to feel my emotions distancing themselves from the situation.

“Theresa was pressured into giving up the baby. In exchange for everybody keeping their mouths shut, William Jones’s parents quietly paid off her family. There wasn’t much she could do, I suppose. In human society, having an illegitimate child at that time was a tough row to hoe. Theresa’s family kept her home, never telling anybody she was pregnant so she wouldn’t be disgraced. Instead, they spread the story that she’d gone to visit relatives for a few months. Theresa had no choice in the matter—she was housebound and forced to obey. When she gave birth to Maria, her parents had lined up a couple wanting to adopt, and she gave in quietly. Theresa wanted her daughter to have a better life than she did. Back then, without the Net or even any prevalence of telephones, it was easy to keep secrets, and dirty laundry stayed buried.”

“And that couple . . . they were the Wilsons? Maria’s foster parents?” Camille looked shaken. I wanted to know what was running through her head but right now, my own thoughts were racing too quickly to sort out anybody else’s.

Carter nodded. “Yes. Theresa did manage a few moments alone with them. She asked the Wilsons to please tell Maria that they had been friends with Maria’s parents, and that the couple had died in an accident. Theresa didn’t want her daughter ever thinking that she had voluntarily given her away, and she didn’t want Maria to look for her.”

“And they did what Theresa asked them to.” That had been the story we’d always heard. Our mother talked about how she’d been orphaned by a car accident, and her parents’ best friends took her in. She truly had believed every word.

I tried to imagine life back then and what it must have been like. Although a lot of people thought of Otherworld as technologically inferior and backward, it was—and had been for years—more advanced than Earthside on some social levels. And magic made up for some of the technology we lacked.

“They did. They were good-hearted people. They gave your mother Theresa’s last name, but they also impressed on her that the only D’Artigos still alive who were blood-related to her lived in Spain. I suppose they felt the orphan story would both give Maria some comfort, and prevent her from looking for the truth. That’s one reason why your mother went to study in Spain when she was in college. She assumed some of her mother’s kin were still alive over there.”

The realization of how hard life must have been for Theresa hit me in the gut. It was still difficult, Earthside, for single mothers. Though times were changing, a stigma remained to having a child out of wedlock. That stigma didn’t exist in Otherworld because sex outside marriage wasn’t an issue. Hell, for the most part, sex itself wasn’t an issue.

“What happened to Theresa after she gave up our mother?”

“She finished high school. Four years after she gave birth to Maria, Theresa met a man named George Franco and they married. Eventually, they had five children. She never told George or her other children about Maria. Theresa and George died in 1965, when their plane crashed on a trip to New Jersey.”

So our grandmother was truly dead. She would have been, anyway, given the time frame and human life span, but it brought home to me the difference our half-Fae heritage made.

“Can you tell us about Theresa’s other children?” Camille bit her lip, looking ready to cry.

Carter reached over and tapped her hand gently. “Don’t be sorrowful. The Wilsons adored your mother, they doted on her. As for Theresa and George, they had two sons and three daughters. Trey was born in 1928 and died young without leaving a family. Wilton was born in 1929 and he died during the Korean War. He never married either, though there is speculation he fathered a child on a South Korean woman . . . but that’s never been tracked down.”

I jotted down notes, even though I knew Carter would give us all the information. It gave me something to do with my hands and prevented me from feeling awkward.

“As for the three daughters . . . Sharon is still alive—she lives in Canada and has never married. She became a schoolteacher and is eighty-two now. Eve is in Ecuador and she had two children, and five grandchildren. She never returned to the United States after her parents died. She’s seventy-eight. And Tansy was born in 1938. She had two children, and lived in Shoreline. She died in 2005 of cancer. Her husband died in 2008 of a heart attack.”

“So our aunt Tansy . . . she lived here. We could have met her . . .” I frowned, staring at the words on the page.

“You said we have cousins in the area. Are they Tansy’s children?” Camille straightened her shoulders and took another cookie.

He nodded. “Hester Lou and Daniel George Fredericks . . . Hester Lou was born in 1961. Daniel George was born in 1965. They are older than you, relatively speaking, though you outnumber them in actual years lived. But they’re both still quite healthy and happy. And they both live in this area.”

Camille stared at me, a question in her eyes. I could only answer it one way. I turned back to Carter.

“Do they know about us?”

He shook his head, then handed me a sheet of paper. “Walk softly, girls. This is bound to be a shock for them. They know about their aunts and uncles, but they don’t know about Maria. And they do not know about you. I cannot tell you what to expect in the way of a greeting from them. There are too many variables.”

Nodding, I took the piece of paper. “For good or ill, I think . . . it’s time for a family reunion.” I glanced at the sheet. Hester lived in Kirkland, and Daniel lived in Bellevue. We were sitting within half an hour’s drive of two cousins we hadn’t even known existed twenty minutes ago.

Camille shook her head. “This is one hell of a turn of events. I think I’m mildly in shock. But before we run off, hunting down family, we need to ask you a few questions about another matter.”

I tried to focus on what she was saying, but it was hard to turn off my thoughts. Would they resemble our mother in any way? Had Mother taken after her father in looks, or Theresa? Would they welcome us in, or freak out and push us away? I tried to clear my thoughts and turned my attention back to the matter at hand.

“We need to know whatever you have on the Farantino building. There’s daemonic activity going on there. Also . . . what was his name, again, Kitten? The man you were sent to . . . oblite? Is that the word?” Camille gave me one of her buck-up-and-get-with-it smiles.

I coughed, clearing my throat. “What we do to the souls we are ordered to cleanse is referred to as oblition. How we do it . . . is to obliterate them. Doesn’t sound very nice but that’s pretty much the long and short of it.”

She shrugged. “We’ve all done a lot of not-so-nice things. It is what it is.”

“True, that. And his name was Gerald Hanson. He was a lawyer at the Farantino Building, Carter.” Quickly, we outlined what had happened during the evening, starting with my orders to take out Hanson, and ending up with Grandmother Coyote’s visit.

Carter crossed to his desk, where he typed something into his computer. After a moment, he motioned us over. “I have a long history on the Farantino Building. I didn’t realize that actual gargoyles were in stasis there, but I will annotate that little fact. Let me see what we have here . . . yes, the building was built over a hundred years ago by Michael Farantino.”

“Hmm . . . hence the name of the building.” Camille leaned over his shoulder and he glanced at her with a look that I hoped she hadn’t noticed. Carter was part daemon, his mother a succubus, and there was a refined sensuality to him that bordered on scary.

“Yes, hence the name of the building,” was all he said. “I’ll note that Gerald Hanson was his great-grandson, and that Gerald died today.” As he quickly typed in the information, I slid the dossier on our relatives into my messenger bag, and refocused my attention.

“Let me see . . . we have a lot of ghostly activity taking place in that area of the city—”

“Please don’t tell us that the building is in the Greenbelt Park District!” A good share of our time during the last six months or more had been spent fighting ghosts and demons in that nasty little division of Seattle. The last thing I wanted was to troupe back there and deal with another haunting.

But Carter shook his head. “No, not at all. It’s up in the U-District, actually. Near Forty-fifth Street, off of Eleventh Avenue Northeast. Old brick building.”

The U-District? We had a center of daemonic activity hanging out in the University District? Oh wonderful, and how many college students had decided to go check out the weird-assed energy around the building? Just what we needed: amateur ghost hunters getting themselves in trouble. We’d already had that happen before and we didn’t need it happening again. My thoughts must have shown on my face, because Camille snorted.

She stood, arching her back in a stretch. “Delightful. And how many humans have gone missing over the years around the area? Especially the college kids out to prove the spooks exist?”

Carter’s answer surprised us. “Only a handful, and most of them were accounted for by all-too-human miscreants. Whatever the daemons are up to, I don’t think it’s the college kids who are in danger. There is a record of daemonic activity here, but so far, nothing is showing up on the radar as to what they’re after.”

“Well, that seems odd. No missing virgins? No gutted sacrifices lying around?” Daemons were cannier than demons, over all, but still . . . they were pretty ruthless and bloodthirsty.

“Nope.” Carter grinned at me. “You want I should give you a long gory list of victims?”

Snorting, I shook my head. “You know I don’t want that. You just surprised me. So if they aren’t out to subvert or sacrifice the FBHs, then what do you think they doing?”

“That seems to be our job to find out.” Camille accepted the printouts of the information Carter handed her. “Who owns the building now? We know that it doesn’t belong to Hanson anymore.”

Carter tapped a few more keys and up popped the info. “That would be Lowestar Radcliffe. There’s not much here about him. He appears to hold a degree from Yale in business management, but background info is sketchy. Information says he was born somewhere in India. I have no idea if that’s true. Picture of him looks odd but for the life of me, I can’t tell you if he’s mixed heritage or just an ordinary FBH.”

We took the packet of papers and thanked him. As we headed for the door, he stopped us. “Girls, be cautious in approaching your cousins.”

“Yeah, they may not welcome having mixed-breed relatives.” I stared at the papers in my hand. We’d been called Windwalkers all our lives—a derogatory term in Otherworld, used for someone with no roots, often used for half-breeds.

“That’s not the only reason.” Carter limped over to us. He winced and I had the feeling his leg was hurting him more than usual tonight. “There are other reasons to be cautious. They may embrace you, but they may also want to use you. Or they may be no-good low-life types. You never can know, until you meet them. I didn’t have time to vet the information.”

Camille cocked her head. “So, how did you come by this in the first place?”

Carter blushed then—I’d never seen the demigod lose his cool and it kind of tickled me. It was his turn to stare at his feet. “I . . . it was a gift. Someone paid me to look into your background as a gift to you.”

“Who?” The only person I could think of that might do so was Chase. “Was it Chase?”

But Carter shook his head. “The party in question asked to remain anonymous. And unless you feel like testing my powers, let it be. There was no ulterior motive. I would never do anything to deliberately hurt you, know that.”

I stared at him, but his unflinching gaze was deep and dark and hid so many layers of power that I knew better than to push it.

“Very well. But, as grateful as we are for the information, if whoever paid you to dig it out becomes a problem in any way, then I’m holding you accountable.”

Carter nodded, a bare dip of the head, and we left. Unsettled, I headed up the stairs first, Camille slowly following behind me. We didn’t speak until we were back in her car, buckled in and ready to go. Then—and only then—we looked at one another.

“What do you think?” I was afraid to admit my hesitance, afraid I’d sound like the old Delilah—all timid and nervous.

But Camille surprised me. “I’m not sure about this. I’ve wanted this for years. Wanted to meet Mother’s family. But it’s always been a pipe dream. The fantasy of what would it be like if we were to find them—with all the long-lost love and family embracing that you see in one of those Lifetime victim-of-the-week movies. But life doesn’t always work like that. Yes, Father and I are mending our fences, but there’s a long way to go before I can fully trust him again. If ever. And how will he feel about this? About us meeting Mother’s relatives?”

I bit my lower lip, chewing on it until I punctured a hole with one of my nonretractable fangs. Another by-product of being a half-breed werecat. “Does he have to know?”

“Of course he has to know. We can’t just not tell him. Can we?” She looked over at me, the question hanging between us.

“What if we don’t tell him until we meet them? Then we’ll know if we should even bother. If they don’t want anything to do with us, we can keep quiet about it. If they want a relationship, then we deal with that when it comes.” It made sense to me. But there was another question we needed to answer first. “My concern is . . . do we want to do this? Do we want to even go there?”

Camille braked sharply as she was pulling out of the spot. She eased the car back next to the curb, disappointing a driver who had been waiting for the spot. He honked, but drove past.

“You think maybe we shouldn’t? I thought you’d be beating down the door.” She put the car in Park and turned to me.

I shrugged, not knowing quite how to phrase my thoughts. “I thought I would be too, but now that we’re facing this as an actual possibility, the prospects of this ending well . . . let’s just say I’m not feeling the rosy scenarios I envisioned all these years. I just don’t want us to have any regrets.”

She pressed her lips together for a moment, staring at the steering wheel. Then, quietly, she put her hand on mine. “Part of me wants to say fuck it. We don’t need them. But we know that Mother never knew she had half brothers and sisters. She never knew we had cousins. She didn’t even know her mother was alive. Don’t we owe it to her memory to find out what we can? To forge a link with her past, if it’s meant to be?”

It made sense when she put it that way. “I suppose. We still have to tell Menolly. She’ll no doubt have an opinion on all of this.”

Camille shuddered. “I’m not sure if I want to hear her opinion, but you’re right. Okay, so what next?”

“What say we drive by the Farantino Building, take a look at it, then go wait for Menolly to come home. We can’t very well call . . . what are their names?”

“Hester and Daniel.”

“We can’t very well call them this late, can we?” I glanced at the clock. It was going on eleven o’clock already, and even though our bedtime was usually well after midnight, that didn’t mean everybody else stayed up as late.

With a silent nod, Camille pulled back out of the parking space, and we were off.

The streets were empty as we eased into another parking space, this time across from the Farantino Building. Brick, it was six stories high from the looks of it. For some reason, I’d expected a skyscraper, tall with chrome and glass, but that wouldn’t make sense if it had been built over a hundred years ago.

The building held a brooding old-world charm, almost gothic in nature. The brick was weathered and in some places had eroded away. A ledge between the fifth and sixth stories sported a circle of gargoyles guarding the building. I gazed at the line of stone statues, wondering if any others besides Astralis and Mithra had been actual Cryptos. Were any of them up there now, watching our car, silently perched there in constant observation?

The thought made me vaguely angry. What we’d been taught about gargoyles didn’t jibe with the reality. I wondered why our father had never seemed concerned. He had to have known about the treatment of the granticular gargoyles, considering he was privy to government intelligence. And he’d always been so antislavery. Turning a blind eye to the enforced servitude of Astralis and his kind was yet another contradiction in our father’s nature.

Camille unfastened her seat belt and slid out the driver’s side. I followed, leaning on the top of the car. We stared at the building, waiting for a sign. For something . . . anything . . . to happen.

Although the Farantino Building was six stories high, who knew how many levels it had underground. The intricate carving around the ledge reminded me of knotwork braided into the stone, beautiful, looking far older than it really was.

Camille shaded her eyes from the rain as she looked up. “The building has a definite energy signature of strength and foundation. Whatever goes on in there, there are some major power players at work.” She folded her arms across her chest and glanced back at me. “It makes me nervous, to be honest. I’m not sure what we’re dealing with but it makes me think of old money and cognac and . . . like Roman, only far more ruthless.”

Roman was ruthless enough. If whatever—or whoever—lurked behind these walls was more dangerous than he, I wasn’t sure I wanted to get involved. But thanks to Grandmother Coyote, we didn’t have a choice. I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“There’s not much we can do now. We might as well drop back to the bar and tell Menolly to get her butt home. We have a lot to tell her. And we need to go through the information Carter gave us about this monolith here.”

As I shivered and climbed back in the car, I glanced up at the building one last time. The Farantino Building loomed over the neighborhood. It felt a whole lot bigger than its six stories. As a hint of Camille’s clairvoyance broke through to me, I realized that the building itself was watching us. The damned thing was sentient, and it knew we were here.

Menolly caught sight of me as I peeked into the bar. It was still packed but the crowds had thinned somewhat. She strode toward me, her stiletto boots tapping hard on the floor over the sound of conversation and laughter. She was light and petite, but each step she took had a tremendous amount of force behind it.

I pulled her off to one side. “We need you to come home. It’s not an emergency but we have . . . there’s no way to explain it here. Carter had some news for us. The three of us have to discuss it—it’s big.”

“Another demon general hit the city?” She narrowed her eyes. “After Gulakah, we know Shadow Wing is going to be sending somebody bigger and badder in, and you can’t get much bigger than a god.”

“Yeah, it’s just a matter of time. But no, this has nothing to do with Shadow Wing. It’s purely personal.” I really didn’t want to go into it here. For one thing, if Menolly reacted badly, it could hurt her business. And I had no clue how she’d feel about the news. There really wasn’t any reason for her to get pissed, but then again, vampires didn’t really need a reason to get angry. And sister or not, Menolly was a vampire.

She cocked her head. “Is everybody okay at home?”

“As far as I know. Camille is waiting out in the car. Let Derrick close up and you come home now, or we’re going to be standing here all night. You are going to want to hear this but it’s not something I’m comfortable talking about in public.” With that, I turned to go before she could ask any more questions.

Curiosity playing across her face, Menolly nodded. “I’ll follow. See you at home. And be careful—it’s slick out there, and the fog is rising.”

As I headed back to the car, I saw her disappear into her office. By the time I was buckling my seat belt, Menolly had darted out of the bar, jacket slung over her shoulder, and was running for her Jag. We pulled out, with her following.

The district where we lived was about fifteen minutes away from downtown Seattle. On a good night, when traffic was light, we could make it in ten minutes, but with the roads slick from the downpour, Camille took it slow and easy. As we wound out of the city proper, we entered the Belles-Faire neighborhood.

Belles-Faire was a heavily wooded suburb that almost could be considered rural, but it was still part of Seattle. Just like Shoreline, Lake Forest, Bothell, and the dozens of other suburb cities on both sides of Lake Washington, the neighborhoods ran into one another in one massive urban and suburban sprawl.

As we rounded one bend in the road, Camille suddenly swerved as a blur raced across the road. The car skidded sideways—even though we hadn’t been going a high speed, the road was slick enough to cause hydroplaning. Camille drove into the skid, and finally managed to ease the car onto the shoulder. She was breathing heavily, clutching the steering wheel. Behind us, Menolly had pulled off the road and was running over to us.

Shaking, I got out of the car as Menolly yanked open Camille’s door and helped her out.

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?” She brushed Camille’s hair back from her face.

Camille shivered, then looked around. “Something leaped out from the bushes by the side of the road. Did you see it?”

I squinted, looking into the night. There had been something—the blur—but I had no clue what it was. As I tried to puzzle out where it had gone, Menolly let out a shout.

“Kitten! Behind you!”

I whirled. There, behind me, peering out from behind a large cedar, was a pair of eyes. Brilliant green, they glimmered like a cat’s eyes, reflecting the light from street lamps. But whatever it was, it was no cat. No Were, either. I could sense the presence of other Weres. And it wasn’t the creature that had darted across the road, unless it had managed to recross without us seeing it.

“Is that Demonkin?” I asked softly, reaching for my dagger.

Camille slowly moved around the car to my left, and Menolly to my right.

After a moment, Camille let out a slow breath. “No, but I have no clue what it is. Feels Fae, but it’s not any Fae I know about.”

“Elder Fae?” The Elder Fae were highly unpredictable, beyond any sense of human behavior. They played by their own rules, and most didn’t interact with FBHs or even those of us considered “regular” Fae. This was probably a very good thing, given some of the predilections the Elder Fae had for the consumption of human flesh.

“Possibly.” Camille moved forward, slowly, holding her hands out. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes, the magic beginning to swirl around her. As a flicker of sparkling light surrounded her hands, she reached out and a luminous glow began to emanate from her fingertips.

At the same moment, Menolly let out a grunt and went sprawling to the ground as a dark figure jumped her, holding tight to her back. The creature was bipedal, with the same luminous green eyes that were still staring at us out of the woods. About Menolly’s height and weight, the creature seemed stronger than even her vampire nature. Menolly struggled against it, but the woman—it looked female—managed to hold her down.

I launched myself at it, grabbing it by the shoulders as it clawed deep into her arms to hold itself steady. At the same moment, a brilliant flash told me that Camille had let loose with whatever spell she had been prepping. The glimmering light flared in the woods. She had aimed it at the other creature, apparently.

I struggled with the one on Menolly’s back. The skin felt leathery, but it wasn’t like armor—more than that, it felt like a lizard’s skin. I could swear it was demonic, except Camille hadn’t sensed Demonkin energy and she was adept at that.

The creature turned its head and I saw that the features had a feminine bent. I was right—whatever this creature was, it was a she. But as her mouth opened, and she snarled at me with needlepoint teeth, I yanked my hand away from her as her lithe, supple neck bent at an angle that should have broken her spine but didn’t. Before I realized what she was doing, she’d launched herself at my right hand and chomped down into the flesh, her teeth piercing the skin like it was butter.

The pain was excruciating and I let out a shriek. I yanked my other hand away and backhanded her with it as she let go of Menolly and reached for my throat. Menolly stumbled away and turned, grabbing the creature by the arm and yanking her away from me. She tossed her across the road. A chunk of my hand went with the creature, caught in her gnashing teeth. She landed hard, skidding along the pavement. Menolly pushed me toward the car. Camille was already backing away as the creature in the woods came barreling out, looking fit to kill.

Bleeding, I slammed the door and managed to fasten my seat belt. Camille slid into the driver’s side and started the car, as Menolly headed back to the Jag. We couldn’t fight these things till we knew what they were—but we knew they were strong and dangerous.

“How’s your hand?” Camille asked, speeding up.

I winced at the pain. My hand was bleeding profusely. I tried to wrap it up with the tail of my shirt, but I bled through and was dripping onto the seat. The chunk of flesh that was gone wasn’t large—the size of a quarter, but it was deep and I felt warm, almost as if I had a fever starting.

“I don’t know. It hurts and it feels . . . itchy.” As I thought about it, itchy was the word—burning, itchy, and tingling as if it were getting . . . “Oh hell, I think I think it had venom in it—or maybe some sort of bacteria.”

Camille stepped on the gas. “We’ll have Iris look at it. We don’t want you getting blood poisoning. And we need to find out what the fuck those things are and why they’re here.”

We pulled into the driveway, Menolly right behind us. As we tiredly made our way up the steps, we could hear a commotion going on inside. Camille pushed open the door, letting me enter first.

The noise hit us—everybody seemed up and bustling around in a clatter. Roz was rushing around, carrying blankets, and behind him Trillian was carrying extra pillows.

“What the hell is going on?” I glanced around, looking for Hanna or Iris. Neither was in sight.

“Iris—she’s gone into labor. She’s in Hanna’s room with Hanna and Nerissa. Mallen’s on the way. Sharah’s far too pregnant to come.”

While Iris had gotten pregnant a few weeks before Sharah, she was overdue, and Sharah was nearing her own due date. I couldn’t remember if she had one or two weeks to go, but while she was still working in the lab, she wasn’t taking night shifts or field work anymore.

Camille turned to me. “Wait here. Mallen can tend to your hand when he gets here. I’m going to check on Iris.” She hurried off. Menolly pushed me into a chair. Shade came rushing over, staring at my hand.

“Love, what happened to you?” He knelt by my side, gathering me into his arms. He was one of the most gorgeous men I could imagine, with skin the color of golden latte, and his hair was long, caught in a ponytail—honey colored with streaks of amber. He had a craggy scar along one cheek, and he was my height and sturdily built. He smelled like cinnamon and spice, and I felt safe when he was around.

“We got sideswiped by some sort of Fae on the way home—at least we think they are Fae. I don’t know if they were waiting for us, or if we just happened along when they decided to pull their little stunt, but whatever the case, they are dangerous.” I held up my hand. I was beginning to feel sweaty, and my stomach ached. “I think they have some sort of venom or bacteria, because I don’t feel so hot.”

Shade brushed my bangs away from my face and kissed my forehead. “Let me get you some water. Mallen is on the way. Relax and cover up, love.”

Just then, Camille popped back through the doorway. “Where the hell is Mallen? Iris is crowning the first baby.”

A thought hit me. “Where the hell is Bruce?”

Smoky frowned. “Iris said he’d be here in a few. He was out at the house. I’ll go check on him.” He headed toward the kitchen just as Shade reappeared with my water. The doorbell rang and Menolly answered it, leading Mallen in. Behind him was Chase, looking pale and shaken.

“Chase, what’s going on?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry to intrude at this time but I’m afraid I have some bad news. Menolly—I’m sorry to tell you this, but the Wayfarer . . .”

She stiffened. “Tell me. What’s going on?”

“The Wayfarer is on fire. The fire department is there, trying to stop the flames, but they aren’t hopeful. Chrysandra . . . she got caught in the smoke. She’s in serious condition at the FH-CSI.”

“Oh Great Mother, the threats were real.” Camille paled as Mallen pushed past her, grabbing her arm.

“I need you to help me.” He shook her lightly. “Now.”

As he dragged her after him, Menolly grabbed her jacket, still silent.

I stood, intending to go with her, but the room began to spin and the next thing I knew, I face-planted. As I hit the floor, my head buzzed like a hive full of angry bees had taken up residence there.