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She knew from Alison that the strongest benefit of completing the breh-hedden was that communication was instantaneous. Because Kerrick could always feel, at will, what Alison was experiencing in a superficial physical way, he could fold to her location in a heartbeat. It was the prime reason that Alison, who had been in the process of her ascension, also became a bona fide Guardian of Ascension in her own right, and felt as secure on Second Earth as she did.
Looking up at Jean-Pierre, meeting his gaze, she wondered if she was looking at her future—that whether she liked it or not, as an obsidian flame, someone capable of channeling the powers of others, she would always need that added layer of connection with the man, the warrior, beside her?
You are thinking very hard, he sent.
She smiled. “I am.”
* * *
Jean-Pierre felt a warm wind within his chest, moving around in great swirls as he looked down at Fiona, as he held her hand clasped within his own. Who was this woman who had pierced Rith’s heart with a blade?
She had been a mother on Mortal Earth, a woman who kept an elegant home in Boston for a very successful businessman. Then she had her life obliterated by Rith’s minions who took her from Boston and brought her here, to this house, where she had lived since 1886.
Unfathomable, the sort of spirit required to live all those decades, not to lose hope completely, not to fall into a kind of despair that always led to death. The admiration he felt for her mounted wings of its own and flew up into the sky and beyond, to the stars.
He loved her so very much but what did this mean for them, for the future?
He knew only one thing: that he wanted to complete the breh-hedden with her. He had never thought he could do this, even when the terrible mythical experience slammed him hard during those first days and weeks, five months ago. The entire time that he was out of his mind, whether near her or separated from her, he had resisted the call of the breh-hedden. He wanted nothing to do with it. On some level, he still did not, as though his spirit understood very well—too well, perhaps—the sacrifices that would be required of him in the coming weeks, months, and years as the bonded breh to a woman who had the gift of obsidian flame.
But he no longer held to that part of him that wished to remain aloof and separate, with all his relationships superficial.
He glanced at Medichi, who stared at him with a knowing light in his eye. Medichi nodded to him very faintly. His lips curved just a little. Perhaps the brother could read his mind, dissect his thoughts.
Jean-Pierre had missed Medichi. “I hope this tour of duty ends very soon,” he said.
Medichi nodded. “You and me both. I see its value. I do, but”—here he planted a fist on his chest—“everything that I am calls me back to the Borderlands.”
Jean-Pierre nodded. Fiona squeezed his hand. When he looked down at her she dipped her chin two times very quickly. He knew she understood that he felt the same way. Not to be fighting, when the rest of the Warriors of the Blood were carrying too heavy a load, was unbearable.
Parisa said, “I’m ready to leave this place. But first, does anyone have a match, or maybe a reckless hand-blast they’d like to throw?”
“Yes!” Fiona cried. “I want to burn this place to the ground, let all this mahogany catch fire and collapse into those horrid basement cells.”
Parisa gasped. “You’re … glowing.”
Fiona looked down at her arm. “Yeah. That’s been happening a lot lately, especially when I get a little worked up.”
Jean-Pierre released Fiona’s hand and turned around. “As much as I would like to see this place destroyed, what if we turned it into a rehabilitation center here in Burma? Make something good come of it. There will be such need in the coming years and decades, because who knows all the evil that Greaves has orchestrated during these years.”
Fiona chuckled. “Why did you have to say something so reasonable? I was ready to let you possess me again, so that together we could make a nice bonfire.”
She hooked her arm in his and he overlaid her forearm with his hand. “But you see, I know you, Fiona. The first thing you did, a week after you were released from the hospital, was to yell at Endelle until she granted funds to create your rehab center for the blood slaves.”
Jean-Pierre felt a buzzing at his waist. He slid his warrior phone from the slit in his kilt. He slid his thumb over the front and drew it to his ear. “Allô, Jeannie.”
“I love it when you speak French,” she said. “But I’ve got one irritable ruler of Second Earth on my ass. She wants the four of you back at her admin offices. I guess it’s daylight there in Burma. We’re just closing in on ten. Do I have permission to fold the four of you to HQ?”
He relayed the information to the rest of the party and received three nodding acknowledgments in response. “Fold at will, Jeannie.”
“You got it. On three.”
He still held Fiona’s arm as the glide through nether-space moved them swiftly from one location to the next.
* * *
Endelle was on her knees, feeling the goddam ankle guard still stuck on Marguerite’s foot. She’d been trying for the past half hour to get it off, but nothing worked.
But what she really hated were the thick calluses on the woman’s leg from having worn the damn thing for so long.
“Fuck,” she muttered. She sat back on the floor in her office. She still wore her fabulous capri pants covered in orange feathers, which came from the red jungle fowl. She wore a black leather bustier on top, something that kept Thorne’s gaze turned away from her quite a bit.
Marguerite’s first words to her had been, “Whoa, mama! You’re the hottest thing I’ve seen … like … ever.”
Endelle was so f**king pleased. She liked this woman. Marguerite had wide brown eyes and long brown hair and was as short as shit among their tallish group. Yep, the woman was only about five feet five inches in her stockings, but once they got this damn ankle guard off her, Endelle thought she’d let Marguerite borrow a pair of her stilettos. That would jack up her height a solid five inches.
Something about the way Marguerite chewed on her lower lip and kept looking her bustier over in a way that said, I want to f**king wear that, led her to believe the powerful Seer was ready for a little party time.
Which of course made Endelle glance at Thorne about a dozen times and wonder what the hell her second-in-command was going to do now. He either stood nearby with his arms compressed over his chest and his hands balled into fists, or he paced the room over by the east window. Something was bugging the shit out of him. So, between his restlessness and Marguerite eyeing the black leather bustier like she meant to steal it off Endelle’s chest if she could, she just got a really uneasy feeling about what the f**k was going on.
