“Do we have an update on the people who disappeared from the null prison?” I asked.
“Nothing new. I have a team working on it. And while we’re talking alphabet soup,” he added as an aside, “I’m researching why PsyLED Southeast hasn’t replied to our overtures.”
The hallway door opened and Quint stepped into the room. She was armed with a single nine-millimeter semiautomatic under one arm. Under her clothes and in her boots there were undoubtedly more weapons. Quint was always armed to the teeth. She closed the door behind her and took up a position where she could shoot anyone in the room. When she looked at me, her eyes were cold and lifeless and yet communicated her displeasure. I had foisted Liz onto her, forcing Quint to leave me in danger, and Liz had driven back to save to Eli. Without her. Badass assassin lady-in-waiting bodyguard had been outdone by a curvy, sexy witch. I’d likely hear about all that later.
“For now,” Bruiser said to me, ignoring my bodyguard, “the grown-up witches are securing a ward around HQ, one that leaves one entrance unwarded so people can get in and out. They are also trying to address ward security for the Yellowrock Clan Home and get the ward at your private residence back up.”
I nodded, swallowing a huge mouthful of food. The Queen’s Personal Residence in New Orleans had a permanent ward around it, laid into the grounds, but it needed to be powered often and hadn’t been while the Everharts were in Asheville. “That’s secondary to getting the ward up here,” I said.
Bruiser tilted his head, not agreeing, not disagreeing. I might be the DQ, but when my orders countermanded my own security, they were generally ignored.
“Because all the Everharts are dealing with the null prison wards, the open witch circles, and other witch security measures, Angie has asked for you, My Queen, and for pizza for supper. Deon is sending two large pies to the temporary playroom.” He chuckled when I looked at my empty plate and bowl. “You ate it all. Even the mashed potatoes.”
“It was full of cheese and bacon,” I explained.
“And so you’ll turn your nose up at Deon’s homemade pizza?”
I bobbed my head side to side as if thinking things through. Casually, I said, “I could eat.”
Which is how Quint ended up standing guard in the hallway while the Consort and the queen spent the rest of the afternoon babysitting, curled on a wide, plushy couch, as Beast purred with happiness.
Together, Bruiser and I, tangled up with Molly’s kids, relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever. We read books to the kids and played a game that involved monkeys and a barrel. Then several rounds of Go Fish. EJ was great at the monkey game and he loved Go Fish. He had no idea how to play it, but he loved it.
Angie Baby spent a lot of time braiding and rebraiding and finger-combing my hair, EJ was often wrapped around Bruiser’s neck like a spider monkey, and Cassy slept on a pallet at our feet. When her diapers had needed changing—that stink was familiar from Moll’s other kids.Yuck—Quint did a competent job, though she looked at Cassy the way she might a peculiar little doll instead of a baby human—with vague curiosity. Pizza appeared off and on all afternoon, delivered by Deon to the coffee table nearby. I ate most of it.
The kids regaled us with tales of KitKit (Molly’s not-familiar cat) and George, the kids’ basset hound. My godchildren had no idea that Bruiser’s real name was George, and didn’t understand why I fought laughter every time George’s farts were described as “Dis-gus-ting!” or“Gaggy.” And why I was brought to tears at descriptions of his “potty training” failures. My Consort didn’t seem to mind the stories or my not-so-muffled laughter, watching me fondly as Angie Baby chattered. She never mentioned the incident under the porte cochere, and never seemed to be in any pain, but she was also content to sit and listen to books, not something the little magical troublemaker usually wanted to do for extended periods.
When not making fart noises with his mouth or strangling Bruiser, EJ played with a small wood and plastic train set and miniature village on the floor. He was intent on the moving pieces and the sounds they should make, especially the train whistle.
When not screaming or sleeping, Cassy was fed and burped by Quint or older blood-servants. Cassy also tried repeatedly to stand or crawl away, which I thought was way too soon for a baby—she was still technically a baby, right?—to be mobile, but what did I know?
Near dusk, Carmen appeared, which let us know that the Everharts were at a stopping point with the current workings, thehedge of thornsaround the null house and around HQ. She chased us out with the words, “Your presence is requested in the security room.” When I tried to find out what she had discovered about the circle at the airport, she chided me with the words, “War Woman Big Ears,” meaning Angie was listening avidly.
“Ant Jane’s a war woman, but she ain’t got big ears,” EJ said, pulling his ears out to the sides. “I gots bigger ears than her does.”
Bruiser tousled the little kid’s red hair.
Angie glared at Carmen. “Aunt Carmen,” she said, pronouncing it properly, “was talking aboutme. I saved everybody but because I got burned, they won’t let me help, even though I amtotally healed.” She held out her arms to show me. “See?”
“Ooookay,” I said. “Family business, not mine.” Which was the coward’s way out, but I didn’t care if it kept me out of Angie Baby’s bad graces.
Bruiser and I left the room, allowing Carmen the pleasure of dealing with her stubborn niece. But we nevermade it to the Everhart debriefing in the security room. Instead there was a muted alarm on both of our cell phones, on Quint’s headset, and softly spoken over the security speakers throughout the building.
The alarm said, “Intruder at the front gate.”
CHAPTER 13
I Wanted to Clap. Slowly. With Sarcasm.
Dressed in the casual clothes I had worn while eating pizza, I stood in the tiny secondary security room, a nook in the foyer, near the bullet-resistant, explosive-resistant (but not rocket- or missile-proof) front airlock entrance, staring at security cam screens positioned to show the front drive, stairs up, and entrance. A vamp was standing in the street, about twenty feet away from the closed gate, his hands up and out, as if in peace, or showing himself as if part of a circus magic show.Nothing up my sleeves...However, his face was in full shadow, his dark hair free and covering him to the middle of his back and chest.
I couldn’t see his face, but I knew this was the Heir.
Carefully, he walked to the heavy steel and titanium gate, which was, currently, the only thing keeping most people out. A foot and a half away, he leaned forward and braced himself on the gate, arms still outspread.
“The ward?” I asked Wrassler.
“The foundation of the Everharthedge of thornsis in place but hasn’t gone up yet. They need to wait until the moon is above the horizon—which will happen in an hour or so—to raise a ward large enough to cover HQ.”
