the glowing embers that had caught her clothes. She
inched back, babying her wound, trying to draw as
little attention to herself as possible as the other fire
genies watched their leader, obviously waiting for direction.
“The girl is yours?” Naamah sounded genuinely
perplexed. Her gaze flicked to Roxy, who froze,
squelching the surge of frustration at having been
caught slinking off. Couldn’t they have kept bickering
until she had a solid head start? “Where is she,
Otherkin? Where did you stash her?”
“Who?”
“The girl.” Xaphan’s concubine was clearly holding
on to her temper by a thin thread.
“What girl?” Roxy asked, in unison with Dagan.
“What did that worthless piece of trash tell you?”
Naamah demanded as she stepped forward.
Dagan shifted to block her path.
“Which worthless piece of trash would that be?”
Roxy spread her hands, palms up. “I seem to know quite
a few.”
“Frank Marin.”
What was it with everyone wanting info about
Marin? Her eyes shifted to Dagan, but he was watching
the other fire genies. They were huddled in a group,
leaning forward. She had the thought that they were
held back only by a thin, imaginary thread and that
when it snapped they’d come at her like a pack of wild
dogs.
“He didn’t tell me much of anything—”
“And even if he did, you have nothing to share.”
