Page 55 of The Flame Game

“You know, that’s a really good question. My husband, who keeps encouraging me to be more vocal and not worry about when I do stupid shit, couldn’t possibly have something to do with it. My husband, who rewards such behavior using his sinful body, couldn’t possibly hold any responsibility at all.”

“I have done a pretty good job if I do say so myself. You should reward me for a change.”

“You are so full of it, Mr. Samuel Quinn.”

After booking a hotel for us in Maine, one that could accommodate our eclectic collection of pets in exchange for offering the other guests a chance to meet and greet with them, Quinn took over our investigation. He began his share of the work after connecting the SUV to his phone so he could call using the vehicle. “Call Thomas of the Orlando hive,” he ordered.

The phone began to ring, and the sound came out of the vehicle’s sound system.

“Thomas,” a man with a nasally voice answered.

“It’s Samuel. My bride is listening in. We have some questions for you.”

“Good morning. Congratulations on your promotion, Chief Quinn.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

“How can I serve?” Thomas asked.

“We’re technically on vacation, but we’re trying to look into the rabies outbreak and the latest incident of gorgon dust production. You tend to be well-connected, so I wanted you to find out if you could approach the hives about a missing woman.”

“A woman?”

“A woman. We have reason to believe that former Chief Morrison, who served in the Hamptons as part of the NYPD, may be involved with the rabies outbreak at a minimum. As I’m of the opinion the dust production and rabies outbreaks are connected, I need to find out more about who he has been working with and why. He has a son—”

“Michella Hautlin’s boy. Human hatched. She was infected with gorgon dust at the start of her pregnancy, and she fled with her egg to Chicago, where she was taken in by a vampire hive. She’s still in Chicago with her vampires. She’s a propagator, so she can’t mingle with humans. Vampires are immune to infection, as are the older incubus and succubus that work with them, so she’s cloistered with them. From my understanding of the situation, an incubus recovered her egg and helped her care for him until he hatched, but he hatched human rather than gorgon. She has several children now with incubi and succubi in Chicago, although she doesn’t have a gorgon male. We have been building a case to assist in your efforts, especially when word spread this Morrison, the father of the boy, might target your bride. Morrison has several daughters through other women, most of whom disappeared under similar circumstances. I suspect they are statues somewhere, but this is only speculation.”

“Jesus,” my husband whispered. “Does the boy have a gorgon mother?”

“We don’t believe so. We are of the opinion she was infected with gorgon dust after the boy’s conception, and the potency of the dust was such it partially converted her boy into a gorgon, in that he was hatched. He is not contagious, and if he can embrace his other nature, we haven’t heard of it happening. I suppose he may be a hybrid.”

“Alexander,” I said, determined to humanize him despite my awareness he could be his father’s ally. “He was at our wedding. Well, at the demonstration. I thought I recognized him.”

“He looks similar to his father, an unfortunate enough thing for him. You likely spotted the resemblance. The boy often shows up where there are gorgons in public. It is our nature—possibly his. He would be drawn to a family unit because gorgons are not solitary creatures, and Morrison is not precisely a nurturing individual.” Thomas grunted. “Alexander has not created any trouble for any hives, and he has made himself useful from time to time. He is known to rescue whelps from trafficking rings and returned them to their parents.”

My eyes widened as the memory of playing with the gorgon whelps flared back to life, and one of the boys had looked strikingly similar to Alexander Hautlin. “He’s the boy from the time my parents tried to dump me with a bunch of gorgon whelps. Traffickers tried to grab them. He was the one who took the lead on petrifying them. But he was a gorgon, not a human.”

“Perhaps the dust has made him a shapeshifter, and he wisely hides his form, much like you do, Samuel.”

“That doesn’t match the NYPD’s record on him going to boarding school,” Quinn stated, and his expression darkened. “But the NYPD’s databases have been wrong in the past.”

I huffed. “Or he wasn’t in school when that happened. Remember, Morrison’s close friends with my parents. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had been in on the attempt to get rid of me from the start.”

“And then he would have known about your immunities and would have wanted you for his projects. Assuming he’s involved with the dust production and rabies,” my husband speculated. “How does that sound to you, Thomas?”

“It sounds like your bride is wearing a rather large target on her back.”

“No kidding. Remember Winfield?”

“Yes. I heard he came to a rather abrupt end.”

“He pointed a gun loaded with ambrosia at me.”

“Well, that was rather stupid of him.”

“My bride, while in her fur coat, took offense to that. She squished him like a grape. Her words, not mine.”

“I popped him like a grape. But he was also squished. He deserved it. It was his fault. If he hadn’t threatened you, he would have survived for at least five more minutes. And that gorgon. Well, maybe not. He looked at you wrong.”