I raise my eyebrows. “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“What about Stellan, the riots, and the fire at the power plant?” There’s more happening here than what meets the eye, which is why I am here instead of Borealis. Unless he doesn’t want me here because he’s part of the problem?
“Since I have you here,” I say, “I need you to set up a meeting with Michael Bersa tomorrow at the plant. It’s urgent we get the power up and running.” I listen for the hum of the backup generator.
Eddo grumbles under his breath about me being an insolent little shit, and the words sting more than they should. With every cutting remark, he reminds me less of the man I admired and more of my dad. That comparison hurts worse than any insult.
“Michael Bersa hasn’t left his mansion since the fire,” Eddo says.
“Does that mean you won’t make the call?” I keep my voice level, diplomatic. “He’d likely listen to you, a local authority, over a visiting one. Especially given our history.”
Eddo offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. My impatience nearly bubbles over. Stellan Navis’s advocacy for Nebula rights has garnered respect from all corners of Aurora, including those who enforce its laws. Eddo clearly sides with Stellan, assuming I am Team Epsilon just because I’m Team Leigh. How loyal Eddo is to Stellan is to be seen.
“The plant lies in Brigid’s territory, and as you can see, she isn’t here to help,” Eddo says. “And I am far too busy for pesky calls.”
I study my former boss. “That’s all right, Ed. Never mind.” Eddo smiles as if he’s won. But if he isn’t going to play fair, neither am I. “Is Brigid at Furies?”
Eddo glares at me. “You leave my daughter out of your scheme, Wilder.”
The corners of my mouth lift in a humorless smile. “Last I checked, Brigid was the schemer.”
“Brigid has enough on her plate. And you know her history with the Bersa family. I want to keep her away from them.”
I sigh. I’m not here to corrupt his daughter or endanger her. Brigid only needs to talk to her dad. Eddo can connect me with Michael Bersa. She’s his little princess, after all. One word from her, and Eddo will roll out the red carpet for me.
“Eddo, believe it or not, I’m not your enemy. I’m here to restore power and find Stellan Navis. Your help would make it easier, but I don’t need it. Now, excuse me, but I’ve had a long day.” I give Eddo one last disappointed look before gathering my duffel and as much of Gianna’s things I can carry upstairs. “Let me know when Gianna’s room is ready.”
“And if I don’t?” Eddo threatens.
“Then she’ll stay with me.”
I march off, leaving Eddo fuming in the foyer.
I stumble up the stairs with full arms. When I reach my room, I kick the door with my boot to alert Gianna who takes her sweet time answering. Finally, she appears in a loose-fitting dress better suited for the climate, the fabric flowing around her like water.
She gazes up at me with a mournful expression that tugs at my heart, reminding me of Desiree coming home from schoolupset about the other kids. Like then, I want to fight all of Gianna’s battles.
“I can find a hotel,” she says, her voice small with uncertainty.
I barrel into the room with our things. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re staying here.” After Eddo’s reaction, I’m afraid of what might happen if I let her out of my sight. Gianna may have Nebula ancestry, but everyone still sees her as an Epsilon. Elio had more enemies than friends, and Gianna feels the brunt of that now. She needs to be careful, even if she isn’t his biological daughter.
I collapse on my bed, gazing around my old room; its familiarity tightens my chest. It looks the same as I left it. The drawings of Brigid, the Erinye sisters, and Orion—Ry for short—still decorate the walls, their charcoal lines as vivid as the day I drew them. The books I left line the top of the desk, their spines worn and well-loved. But the room isn’t dusty, the air smells fresh. Someone’s been keeping it tidy, as if they expected me to return soon. My lungs seize. I need some air.
“Are you thirsty?” I ask Gianna. “There’s this bar I’d like to go to. You’d like it. There’s trivia.”
She folds her arms. “Why would I like that?”
“Because you can show off that Sussex prep education; you might even win a prize.”
She shakes her head, a small smile forming “Has anyone ever told you that you’re mean?”
“Ah, you wound me,” I reply, rising to my feet.
Five months haven’t dulledFuries’s charm. The same fabric-covered barstools line the antique wooden counter, with brass footrails gleaming. Servers in white shirts and black shorts deftly navigate the crowded space, delivering magically chilled beer bottles to patrons. Despite the ongoing blackout, the place is brightly lit. In the distance, a backup generator rumbles while candles adorn the tables.
Even with the trivia night pandemonium, we get lucky and snag a recently vacated table in the back. Gianna wipes away the previous occupants’ water rings with spare napkins before propping her elbows on the table.
