32. Smoke #2
Jean-Claude had turned at the sounds of their voices, and he dropped his pot and swept into the room to wrap Tennyson in a bear hug. “You had us worried,” he said, squeezing hard enough to hurt. “When Lindsey told us that you came in overnight, we could hardly believe it.”
“Sorry,” Tennyson said, returning the hug. “I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble.”
“It does seem to follow you, though, doesn’t it?” Jean-Claude asked, laughing.
“You have no idea,” Lindsey said. “One time when we were kids, he—”
“Shut up,” Tennyson said, patting Jean-Claude on the back and pulling out of his grip. Ilya stood by the door, watching their display with a raised eyebrow, but Louna and Philippe weren’t there. Lindsey noticed his search and waved toward the back door.
“Louna is getting more snow with Philippe. We’re going to wash the sheets and towels before we leave.”
“If you think you can manage,” Ilya added mildly.
Tennyson sent him an assessing look, and Ilya returned it. “Heard I was almost rid of you,” the Russian went on. “Not surprised to learn that you can’t even die right.”
Tennyson shrugged. “You do have more experience losing fights. You’ll have to show me how it’s done.”
The hint of a grin pulled at Ilya’s mouth, and he turned away. “One day, Stone.”
Before he could answer, the back door opened to admit Louna and Philippe, each holding a pot full of snow.
Philippe let out an rush of French too quick to translate, and handed his pot to his brother before hurrying across the room to wrap Tennyson in another crushing hug.
He didn’t say anything, and for some reason, that made the breath stick in Tennyson’s throat.
“Thank you for getting them out,” Tennyson said, squeezing Philippe’s shoulders.
Philippe stepped back, blinking fiercely. “Next time, let’s keep it a little less exciting, no? Jean-Claude and I are older now—we can’t keep up with you young people.”
“You’re not that much older,” Tennyson said.
“I’ve always been elderly at heart,” Philippe said, sighing. “I can’t wait to be eighty, sitting in the park and feeding the birds.”
“I’ll buy you the birdseed,” Tennyson said, clapping his hand on Philippe’s arm and moving to help Louna set the pot over the fire. She tilted her face toward him, smiling, and Ilya groaned.
“Before you two start again, can we discuss a plan?” he asked, glowering. “I assume we’re not going to stay here all day.”
“The rain’s stopped,” Philippe reported. “I took a walk down a ways, and it doesn’t seem like the road was damaged. We can leave once everything is cleaned up.”
Louna nodded, letting Tennyson take over at the fire. “We should go back to the Nest to change and eat. We can decide where to go from there.”
“Changing would be nice,” Lindsey muttered, plucking at his prison pants.
Tennyson waved toward the bag on the hook by the door. “You have a change of clothes right there.”
Lindsey frowned. “What change of clothes?”
“You went back for it?” Louna cried, taking Tennyson’s arm.
Yes. She had made it. He’d ruined the work she’d done on his outfit, and he’d lost her mask and the cravat, and the ruby brooch she’d pinned to it. He wanted be able to return something to her.
The last part of his dream came back to him, and he gingerly drew the hairpin from his pocket and held it out to her.
“I tried to wash it in the rain,” he said. “But you probably won’t want to put it in your hair for a while.”
Louna closed her hand over it and kissed him, making Ilya grumble again.
Lindsey sat up. “You saved the costume? And it’s dry?”
“And very comfortable,” Louna said. “And attractive. You will be the beau of the ball.”
“Without a ball,” Lindsey grumbled. “Which sucks. I love a party.” He stood to retrieve the bag and peered inside.
The bag itself was waterproofed, so the clothes should be dry—lucky for Lindsey.
Tennyson’s damp collar chafed at his neck, and he tugged at it as Lindsey pulled his mask out of the bag.
“This is a little on the nose, isn’t it? ” he asked, holding it up.
It was sculpted in a similar fashion to Tennyson’s, with canine angles and pointed ears, though the nose was slightly more narrow. Louna smiled. “Subtlety is no fun, mon renard,” she said.
Mon renard. My fox. Tennyson smothered a grin, feeling an unfamiliar warmth spreading through him.
Fox, wolf, and swan. Who would have thought they’d make such a team?
They took the morning slowly, washing the sheets and towels and hanging them to dry, cleaning the pots and cups, sweeping the ash from the fireplaces and restocking the wood boxes.
They couldn’t replace what they’d used from the first aid kits, so they set those on the kitchen counter so the staff would know to refill them when they returned in the spring.
Then, dressed in their masquerade clothes once more, they divided themselves into the vehicles for the drive back to the city.
The Verdier brothers took the van, and Ilya, Louna, and Lindsey followed Tennyson to return Cristian’s car to the castle before they turned onto the road for Bucharest.
For once, the drive was uneventful. They arrived at the Nest around midday, and Ilya set to making lunch while the rest of them scattered to clean up.
They rotated between showering and devouring Ilya’s peanut butter sandwiches as fast as he could make them, until he gave up and told them to make their own.