Page 34 of The Flame Game

“Fosters?”

My husband slapped his forehead. “Damn it!”

“Damn it? What did you do, Quinn?”

“I agreed to foster three gorgon whelps, a boy and two girls, over the summer. To be friends with Beauty and Sylvester. Fostering whelps is super easy; they want to prove to their father and mothers they’re old enough to be fostered, and so they do their best to behave, because if they don’t, they may not get fostered again. It’s a rite of passage for them.”

“And we get to host them?”

“While visiting my grandfather’s hive will be good for Beauty and Sylvester, having fosters around will better integrate them with other gorgons. You’ll be fairly heavily pregnant by then, so they’ll want to help you. They’re taught to always help the brides. I meant to talk to you about it, but I completely forgot with everything else going on.”

“Merry Christmas to me!” I wanted to rub my hands together to warm them, but I settled with bouncing in place. “It’s fucking cold, Quinn. Do the thingie to get into the garage.”

Chuckling, he retrieved his keys and pressed the button on one of the fobs, which opened the garage door, revealing his beloved red convertible. He pressed a second button on a different fob, which made something inside the house beep. “I’ll go do a walkthrough of their house and make sure everything is okay. Why don’t you get the car started so it can get warmed up?”

I stomped the snow off my new boots in the garage, set my box on the hood, and unlocked the car before placing my guns and ammunition in the trunk. Quinn entered the house through the garage door and disappeared inside. By the time the convertible blew hot air, he returned, closing the door behind him.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Everything’s fine. I checked the faucets just to be sure, too. I’ll text Arthur to let him know we stopped by.” Quinn got behind the wheel and smiled at his car, giving the steering wheel a fond pat. “It is getting to be about time to retire this, isn’t it?”

“How long have you had it?”

“I got it right after I got promoted. I figured I’d use the bonus they shoved at me to get something just for me. The engine is going to blow out sooner than later, and honestly? I’m impressed it has lasted this long. We’ll go shop for something sporty we can both drive when we have a babysitter to take the kids.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. The maintenance bill on this one is horrific, and I was planning on shooting it between the headlights when the engine blew anyway. Tell you what. When I’ve been really bad, we’ll take the car out somewhere, and it can have an accident involving two cindercorns.”

“Or we could keep it for one of the kids.”

“When the kids earn a car, we’ll get one for them they want, not an antique that’ll cost them a fortune to keep up.”

I eyed the convertible’s dash. “Does this car count as an antique?”

“Not particularly. I doubt it’ll be worth much of anything ten years down the road.”

“Why is it cold?” I complained, hunkering in my seat. “Mistakes were made, and we made them.”

“Silly cindercorn. You’re not going to freeze to death, I promise. I’ll warm you up at the house.” His phone rang before we had a chance to leave the garage, and sighing, he checked the display before answering, “Chief Quinn speaking.”

A moment later, his eyes widened, his mouth dropped open, and he spluttered.

I stole the phone out of his hand and said, “The other Chief Quinn speaking. What did you just tell my husband?”

“Hello, Chief Quinn. I’m Chief Barfield.”

“Oh! Peter? It’s Peter, right? You’re in charge of Queens.”

“I am. There was an attempted arson at your house.”

“A what at where?”

He repeated himself. I tapped my finger against my husband’s phone. “What’s the damage?”

“Surprisingly, there’s very little damage. Some of your rose bushes have seen better days, the brick and the door and window framing will need some repair, but the structure was otherwise undamaged. There’s one cracked window. One of your neighbors noticed the attempt and called it in and made a scene, which scared the arsonists off. They knew you weren’t home, but it seems the arsonists were unaware you were not back.”

“Give us five minutes. We’re basically right down the street. We just got in.”