Ilona Andrews - Wildfire

“Some.”

“So you have an open wound and you’re covered in blood from the arcane realm.”

“Yes.”

“Were you planning on letting me know about it?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Right now.” She would kill me for sure.

“How is it that nobody else has any blood on them?”

“Uh . . .”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a giant bottle of water and another of alcohol sanitizer. “Let’s see it.”

I hiked up my dress. Three bright scratches tore across my left thigh. “Just scratches. Also shoulders.” I was pretty sure the claws had punctured me.

Daniela sighed and got out a syringe sealed in plastic and a vial.

“What is that?”

“Antivenin. The creatures secrete venom on their claws. Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“It should.” She tore the plastic off the syringe and stabbed it into the vial through the seal on top. “It will hurt in about ten minutes if the venom is neutralized.”

It hurt like someone stabbed me with a hot poker. My thigh was on fire. My shoulders burned. It took her about fifteen minutes to thoroughly sanitize my wounds and seal them with a skin adhesive. None of it was deep, but it hurt like hell.

Then she started cleaning my hands and legs. By the time I was released, I felt like I was scrubbed with one of those green scouring pads used to get dried-on crust out of pans. My skin was clean. My dress was another story. There was no way to expose the shoulders without taking it off completely. We had to cut it. That hurt almost as much as the antivenin.

“Done,” Daniela said.

“Thank you.”

She squinted at me again.

I got up and moved to where Rynda and the children sat on the love seat. The kids were curled up around her. Kyle had finally fallen asleep. She’d covered him with a blanket. Jessica was almost there too, her face sleepy, her eyes closing, tucked into the corner of the couch.

I sat across from them on a footstool, trying not to wince. Rynda glanced at me. She looked like she’d been through hell and back.

“Walk me through it,” I told her.

“Right now?”

“Yes, please.”

“We were getting ready for bed. I went to use the bathroom and while I was in there, Jessica came and told me that Kyle ran away. We started looking for him. That was when Edward arrived.”

Her voice broke. She sniffled.

“He wanted to apologize. He felt bad, because he thought Brian was just off on one of his hiding sprees. He helped me look for Kyle. We found him in Brian’s office. He refused to go to bed, because he wanted to wait until his daddy got home. I heard gunfire downstairs, so I locked the door. Then one of those things went through the window. Edward grabbed a chair and hit it. It ripped into him and then he collapsed on the floor. Then Vincent came.”

Truth. “Who is Vincent?” I already knew, but it didn’t hurt to have her take on it.

“Vincent Harcourt of House Harcourt. We went to school together. He was a bully and he grew up into a despicable bastard.”

“That’s a bad word,” Jessica said, her voice sleepy.

Rynda kissed her hair. “He is a very bad man.”

“What did he want?”

“A file. He wanted one of my mother’s files. I told him I don’t have any of her files. The estate is still in probate. I don’t even have access to her house. He didn’t believe me. He said he knew for sure I had the file.”

“Do you have any idea what he might be talking about?”

She shook her head. “No. He had one of those things snap its teeth an inch from my children’s necks. I would’ve given him everything.”

“Did your mother interact with Harcourt?”

“I don’t know, okay!” Rynda’s voice rose. “I don’t know what my mother was involved in. Everyone assumes I do, but I don’t know anything! She didn’t share. She didn’t ask for my advice. Will you just leave me alone? Just for a few minutes, for the love of God!”

Truth.

“She saved your life,” Daniela said over my shoulder. “She’s trying to find your husband. Maybe you could stop being uncooperative for a few minutes and make an effort?”

Rynda opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

I could’ve hugged Daniela. She’d break me in half, but it would be worth it.

“I thought we were going to die,” Rynda said in a small voice. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“What happened at the end?”

“I emanated. He felt everything he made me feel. All my fear. All of my desperation. I don’t do it often. It’s a very violent thing to impose your emotions on others. I just couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

“Thank you.”

I stood up.

The guard at the door stood straighter. Rogan walked into the room.

Rynda ran past me and threw her arms around his neck.

Oh for goodness’ sake. Really?

“It was awful,” Rynda said.

“You need to pack,” Rogan said, gently hugging her back. “I’m taking you and the kids out of this house.”

“Okay,” she said.

He didn’t say anything else. She stood for another long moment hugging him, then her hands dropped, and she took a step away.

Rogan turned to me. He took in my sneakers, my ruined bloodstained dress, the bandages on my legs, and then I was in his arms.

Rogan packed me into his Range Rover. I told him I was fine driving my own car, but he pretended to not hear me. Cornelius somehow managed to pack the cat creature into a Ford Explorer by laying down as many seats as he could. He informed us that the cat was a he and that we would call him Zeus.

Rynda finally recovered enough to call the Sherwood chief of security. Before we left, several people in Sherwood House uniforms showed up to secure the house, led by the chief himself. Cornelius decided that would be an appropriate time to mention we had called BioCore and he had hung up on us. Rynda slapped the security chief. Rogan’s people confiscated Sherwood computers, loaded Rynda and the kids into an armored car, and our small convoy of five vehicles headed back to base. Two of Rogan’s ATVs led the way, Rynda and Cornelius were sandwiched safely in the middle, and Rogan and I brought up the rear.

It was just me and Rogan in the car. I liked to watch him drive. He did it with calm assurance, focused on the road. I liked the lines of his muscular arms, the way he tapped the wheel with his left thumb at long stoplights, and the way he kept glancing at me as if reassuring himself that I was okay in the passenger seat. I didn’t like the darkness in his eyes. I’d seen it before. It was a bad sign.

“Is it because of me?”

He didn’t answer.

“Are you brooding because of me?”

“Brooding implies marinating in your own self-loathing,” he said. “I don’t brood.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’m planning to kill Harcourt.”

Rogan didn’t tolerate threats, and Vincent Harcourt was a threat. I didn’t want to think about how close I’d come to dying tonight.

“He was really strong. I clamped him with my magic and lost him after only two questions. Ten, fifteen seconds max.”

“Summoning is a will-based talent.”

So was truthseeking. That explained why Vincent was so difficult to hold.

“Victoria Tremaine would’ve melted his brain,” I said. “I barely managed to hold him for a few seconds.” And I was spent. I had very little magic left. The familiar fatigue of overextending was settling in.

“You did more than anyone could ask. You bought more than enough time for Cornelius to deploy his iron pan and for Rynda to escape.”

“Cornelius was trying to make friends with Zeus. Rynda was in shock.”

He didn’t say anything, but the darkness in his eyes turned deeper.