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He caught my gaze, and for a moment, those wary shields dropped and I could see the naked concern on his face. “Yes, of course. I have hoped, ever since that visit, to find a time when we could sit and truly talk. He knows my heritage, my lineage, and perhaps can explain some of the things that have happened to me since I was first given the Nectar of Life.”
“I sense a but…”
“But… my concern, my heart… is somewhere within that makeshift hiding place they’re calling a palace, with the mother of my child. The woman I love.”
I face-palmed. Of course, he was worried about Sharah. “I’m so stupid. Forgive me.”
He shook his head. “Nothing to forgive. Too much going on. But, I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to Sharah. And yet—and yet—she’s now the Queen. They separated us, and I don’t know if she’ll ever be able to see Astrid or me again. They took her from me, Menolly. They stole her away, and while I understand why I had to let her go, that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
There was nothing I could say. So instead, I reached up on my tiptoes and did something I almost never did. I kissed him on the cheek, and stroked his hair.
“You keep hope, Chase. You keep that hope alive. My sisters—they kept the hope that I’d come out of my rage and fury the entire year I was being rehabilitated after Dredge got to me. They never gave up hope. I know this in my heart. You keep up hope for Sharah.”
He blushed. “But… even if the war ends. She’s Queen now. I can’t move to Otherworld, can I? You told me once, I’d pale and fade there. And now that she’s Queen, she can’t very well abdicate the throne.”
“Shush. Worry about that when it comes. For now, just know she loves you and misses you. And focus on giving Astrid all the love and joy she needs from both her mother and father. Okay?”
I wasn’t going to take the lame route, I wasn’t going to mouth platitudes like everything will be fine and it will all work out . . . but I could give him something to hold on to. And that something was his daughter. “Astrid needs you to be strong. She needs you to love her and give her hope that she’ll be with her mother again. Right?”
Chase regarded me solemnly. “You’re right. I have to focus on what I can do right now. Otherwise this will break me. It will interfere with me being the father Astrid needs, and it will interfere with my job.”
“Good then. Keep that thought. You know Iris will do all she can to help you—and we all will. Now, let me go get Camille and Delilah and we’ll see what we can find in the Utopia.” As I turned away, Chase lightly put his hand on my arm.
“Menolly?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful. Just… don’t get hurt in there. If there are ghosts…”
“If there are ghosts, we’ll go in there and kick their fucking asses to hell and back.” I winked at him, then strode over to where Camille and Delilah were watching the bustle as the firemen began to stow their gear.
Shade was standing nearby, keeping an eye on the general scene, and Bran was leaning against a lamppost, keeping an eye on Camille. Wonderful. He was going all stalker boy. When Smoky got back, we’d have to have the dragon take the Fae boy out back for a good ass-whipping.
“You guys ready? We’re going in.” I filled them in on what Chase and the fire marshal had told us. “Be careful. Camille, how are your shoes?” I glanced down at her feet. My sister had a predilection for stilettos and she’d often worn them fighting, but after a few days ago, in the race to escape from the fall of Elqaneve, she’d sworn off them for when we knew we were headed into a dangerous situation. Tonight, she’d put on her kitten-heel granny boots, and I saw that she was also dressed in her catsuit.
She noticed my appraisal. “Less chance of catching on fire without filmy skirts hanging near the floor.” With a grin, she curtseyed, the jingling of her silver belt a light tinkle against the incessant rain that was pouring down around us.
I snorted. “Let’s rock then.”
“Before you go in, put these on.” Yugi instructed several of the men to hand us hardhats equipped with built-in lights. They would not only protect our heads, but help us see. Roz had bought some of the same type of lights for us sometime back, but they were somewhere at home.
“Thanks, we left our gear at home.”
“Just don’t take any chances,” the Swedish empath said. He’d been working with Chase since the inception of the FH-CSI, and as second in command, he took his job seriously. Yugi had helped us out more than once.
As we headed into the building, I automatically scanned the ceiling, looking for loose timbers, tiles, anything that might dent somebody’s head. The hats would help put a stop to that, but we couldn’t be too careful.
I went first, given that I was the least likely to be hurt. Shade followed after me, then Camille, Delilah, and lastly, Bran.
As I stepped through the broken-in door, the acrid stench of smoke and soot hung heavy in the air, and behind me, Camille and Delilah started coughing. The roof was still standing, yes, and the walls, but the inside of the club had been gutted to the point of being unrecognizable. The beautiful, vibrant décor was now clogged with soot and smoke and water, forming muddy streams along the floor, streaking the walls, and saturating what little furniture remaining that hadn’t been destroyed. Most of the upholstered furnishings were gone, and the tables were charred and crisped. The booths were a disaster, and the bar had exploded as the liquor—there for sale to the FBHs and Supes who came along with the vamps—had gone up, one miniature fireball after another.
I stopped, flashing back to the Wayfarer. While I was grateful that the Utopia hadn’t suffered quite the same fate—especially with the loss of life—a little part of me wondered why it had to be my bar that had burned to the ground.
Camille let out a soft murmur. “It’s… there’s something in here with us. I can feel it and I’m not even trying.”
“She’s right,” Bran said, startling me. His voice was smooth, yet guttural, and it echoed through the shell of a room.
“What do you sense?” I hoped we could be forearmed. I was tired of being taken by surprise. But before they could say a word, a movement caught my eye and I turned. Out from the walls, and I do mean out from the walls—stepping directly through the solid drywall as if it were mere illusion—came five figures. They were bipedal, female by the look of their breasts, and they were composed of living flame. Burning brightly, with tongues of flames crackling off them, they looked like some CGI animated creatures, orange and yellow and all shades comprising fire.
