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“We’ll figure it out.” She released the tension in her shoulders. “We’ve got time.”
For once, we had all the time in the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Four weeks later.
Head tipped back,I watched the ceiling pinwheel above me as I spun circles in my task chair in the Office of the Director at the Black Hat Bureau’s official temporary headquarters in Boston, AKA The Spinnaker.
Yes, I bought the hotel. Well, not me personally. Black Hat ponied up the cash.
With the Kellies secure in their ballroom, the database functional, and an okayish relationship with local law enforcement via Captain Peters, Boston was as good a place as any for the Bureau to recover while a new compound was built on top of the bones of the old one. There was nice symbology in that, even if it came with ghosts from our pasts. It helped that the Bureau already owned the property.
Initial estimates for construction wereastronomical. I had to save money somehow. Using land Dad had inherited upon his father’s death, and then deeded to me, made the most sense. Especially after I got an advance viewing of the blueprints Clay had been sketching since his appointment as Director of Funthat included a heated indoor pool, tennis court, basketball court, bowling alley, and home theater.
Eventually, I would have to break the news that I couldn’t afford every single thing. That he would have to let a few items slide. More than a few. Most of them had to go. His list was ridiculous.
There was also a rather impressive hole carved into the cliff, right down to the ocean floor, that I had decided would make an ideal tomb for what remained of the Hunk.
The Kellies wouldn’t be returning to their former quarters, in case they had other hidey-holes we didn’t know about, so I might as well put their hard work to good use. Until we discovered how to destroy the Hunk, if it was even possible, we had to settle for containment.
The plan was to pour a layer of concrete thirty feet deep, toss it in, and then watch it sink while I cackled to do my little moth girl proud. Only once that set would I fill in the other seventy feet until the chamber was full and the book was encased in a solid block that wasn’t going anywhere without me knowing about it.
After that, I could ward the whole chamber to hide the molten Hunk’s power signature. I planned to hire the water witches who helped us contain Pontchy the sea monster in Lake Pontchartrain to ensure the ocean didn’t erode the magic. The cost of their services would trim a little more from Clay’s wish list, but the Hunk—the Blob?—was the priority.
For now, I was too grateful to see a bounce in his step again to pick a fight over which ideas got the ax.
“Dollface.” Clay stuck his head into the room. “You’re going to make yourself sick if you keep going.”
“I’m bored.” I put my feet down, stopping with him in my sights. “What’s taking Asa so long?”
He clamped a hand on the doorframe, and rainbows glinted off the diamond band around his ring finger.
“Put that thing away.” I shielded my eyes. “Did Moran have to get you such a huge engagement ring?”
“She’s under the impression I’m extra.” He twisted his wrist to make the stone glitter. “I have no clue where she got that idea. I’m a simple boy with simple needs.”
That private talk between Moran and Clay? Yup. This was the result.
There had been some confusion on her end about traditional gender roles in mixed-species relationships between golems and daemons, but Clay didn’t mind one bit. He wanted to be sure she was sure, so their wedding date was set a solid two years away, on his chosen birthday.
That was the excuse he gave when I asked why they had chosen to wait, anyway, but Clay put theextrainextravaganza, as Moran clearly knew when she went ring shopping. I figured he needed every second of that time to plan his wedding bash.
Asa and I hadn’t set a date yet, but I half expected Clay to hand me an invitation one day out of the blue for my own ceremony. It was a very man of honor/wedding planner thing to do. Factor in Derry as Asa’s best man, in charge of the bachelor party, and I was girding my loins a lot lately. That didn’t touch on the self-appointed best friend of honor, Marita, who had zero interest in planning a wedding but wanted the final word on the menu as well as a seat at all the tastings and her name added to the gift registry.
Tapping a finger against my chin, I wondered, “Do simple boys have walk-in wig closets?”
“Let’s leave my wigs, and any closets they may or may not have, out of this.”
“Hey.” The angle was hurting my neck, so I sat all the way up to see better. “Have you seen Arden?”
Arden, who made it a month before she got permission from Fergal to come visit, had spent the day as a student. Shehad sat in on Fergal’s inaugural lecture on folklore that was the precursor to the curriculum he was developing for juvenile recruits. She hadn’t stopped chattering about it since.
The novelty of a human in class meant questions aplenty from the other students. She had been as thick as thieves with Eliza Toussaint, and her girlfriend, Tibby Garnier, by the time the bell rang. She was in touch with Riley West, Captain Peter’s niece, as well. I was glad she was growing her circle of friends but sad she would forever straddle the line of fully belonging in either crowd. Para or human.
“She and Colby were hashing out the playlist the last time I saw them.”
Tonight was the first of the Director of Fun’s organized events for agents to blow off steam.
