Page 55 of Fatality on the Field

For once, Iggy is completely speechless. His hair is full of glittering window shrapnel, so he looks like he’s been stuffed into a snow globe and shaken. Zuszanna’s lab coat is intact, but her shoes are gone, and her face is set in the flat, unamused affect of someone who has seen way, way too much bullshit to be surprised by today’s flavor. I’m betting I look like a perfect mash-up of them while Kas is straightening his clothes and smirking in his perfect, half-shifted dragon way.

They’re such goddamn show-offs, but I can’t fault his speed.

Behind us, the alarms keep braying and Des uncoils to poke her head out from under my collar. She taste-tests the air, and then gives a snort of approval. I think it means that nobody is dead, so all’s well. I appreciate her focus, truthfully, because right now, I’m a wee bit in shock and trying to clear my damn head. I haven’t even looked to see if anyone but Zu or Iggy are okay. They came first and now I have to shake it off to be a leader again.

“Holy fucking shit,” Iggy manages, his voice cracking in the echo chamber of the post-blast. He stares down the hall, then at us, and then at his own hands. “Did anyone see that coming?”

“Not really or we would have moved sooner, Ignatius,” Zuszanna replies wryly as she brushes glass off her arms. “Only you would ask such a ridiculous question, while our ears are still ringing.”

Kaspar lets out a long, steadying breath, his wings now so neatly furled they look sculpted to his jacket. “It was faster than I expected,” he mutters grumpily. “Ley lines are hard to tap even for the most powerful of supernaturals. You all need to know that. Those two did it without taking down the entire goddamn building, and that is hard even for crowned royalty to do. It is very impressive, even to me.”

“Damn,” I say with a low whistle. “Those guys are like superheroes in really good disguises, then, huh?”

“They’re terrifyingly powerful and it explains why Thorne sent them.” Kaspar sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, knocking glass all over. “I will have to report this to Li, though that’s not dangerous for them. He’s not who the Fae doc has to worry about. His bloodline’s royals are much less… evolved than my prince. However, I’d be remiss if I didn’t say your reaction time was also impressive, Morgana.”

I don’t want to feel good about that praise, but I do. I really, really do.

My response dies in my throat as I hear the skitter of a nurse sidestepping the carnage. She’s halfway down the corridor and clearly weighing how she’s going to help the people currently dusted in a light frosting of glass and blood. I lunge for her, intercepting her by the sleeve and pinning her in place with a look that’s all business.

“Listen,” I say firmly, not bothering with the soft touch. “I know you want to triage, but that was a healing magic discharge, not a clean-up spell. Your window’s gone, the anti-magic seal is trashed, and there’s a bunch of debris and fluids in the corridor. Nobody’s dead, but full hazmat and cleanup protocols should be in effect. Until we know differently, the quarantine’s still hot, and nobody without a suit goes in.”

The nurse’s pupils dilate to dinner plates as she realizes what she almost did. “I—uh—yes, ma’am. Should I⁠—”

“Get a crash cart, triage anyone in the lobby for lacerations or whatever, but keep everyone away from the end of the hall. Until our docs emerge with news, we cannot risk anyone else getting infected.”

Nodding, the woman sprints off, this time heading for the nurse’s station and their storage, I assume. I look back to see Kaspar helping Iggy to his feet, while Zuszanna inspects her forearms and legs for glass. I step closer, checking them myself, and then point down the hall.

“We can’t go down there until one of them⁠—”

My words stop as two dirtied, but alive and luminescent men step out of the blast zone waving their hands in front of their faces. They cough, but they are unharmed and still winged, although not completely half-shifted anymore. The vet smiles at me through his splattered face, his teeth white amongst the mess.

“Well, we didn’t bring the roof down, which is a plus.”

I blink at Wolfie, jaw dropped. I was joking before. “Did you not know if that was a possibility?”

He shrugs, looking over at Presley with a mischievous expression. “He didn’t think we would and I tend to be a little more cautious, so I worried. But also, I worried more that we’d fry our asses to next Tuesday and my sugarplum would come runnin’ for blood. Her an’ my Daddy, of course, and he’s got a temper. But Prez said the fam would understand, if we accidentally zapped ourselves to another dimension if it was to save kids.”

Kaspar snorts. “Your family must be very understanding despite their tempers. There’s more than you, the woman and this… what you said, I assume?”

Once Prez wipes his glasses off, he puts them on and chuckles. “Our unemerged magpie, the hellhound with other bloods, Wolfie, me, the demi, the gorilla shifter, and two not yet mated ones with mysterious origins. Oh, and lots of companion animals. It’s very crowded in our humble abode.”

That makes my eyes widen and I almost have an episode. That woman, whoever she is, has seven fucking mates to deal with and a house full of whatever animals? Nominate her for a goddamn sainthood or some shit, because I would lose my goddamn mind. I shake off that horror, and finally say, “I guarantee you assholes don’t buy her enough gifts. Buy her more. Hell, buy the woman a mall if she wants it. Trust me.”

They both laugh and Iggy snickers along. He definitely gets that I’m imagining that scenario and thanking every deity I know of that I only have to deal with five. I frown once it strikes me, because I had the same reaction to someone else recently. It’s weird to have a lot of mates like that and this is the second person I’ve run into with fucking seven.

Seems like a weirdly specific number to repeat in my presence, right?

“Do you guys know anyone in hell?” I ask absently. “Also, is it safe to come closer so we don’t have to shout?”

Wolfie looks at Prez, who nods, and gestures for us to go ahead. “Not that I know of. I can ask the others, though. Why do you ask, ma’am?”

The four of us pick our way down the corridor before I respond. The floors are a war zone, every few feet marked by the stubbed remains of equipment and debris. Des slinks out to my right, her little forked tongue flicking at every new hazard. Once we’re within range, I say, “Because I met a gal recently who also has seven dudes who are hybrid shifters and it feels very coincidental —which I don’t believe in.”

The docs nod at my statement, and Iggy grumbles, “Now that you mention it, yeah it does. Damn it, we have enough going on.”

I shrug. “I can’t just ignore it.”

Scratching his chin, Prez looks at me seriously. “It’s the fourth prime number, there are often seven deities in ancient religions, seven wonders of the world, seven notes in a scale, seven rules of body illnesses, and it was Mickey Mantle’s number.”