Chapter 12
Iwas sitting at the kitchen island with Nana, frantically wolfing down one of Mythia's incredible pastries between coordinating refugee arrivals and checking on the wounded.
Clio was using good, old-fashioned medical practices on them.
She refused to wear herself out using her magical healing ability.
Guilt was a heavy weight in my gut because she was reserving her energy in case my babies and me needed her.
Mythia had stopped me a few minutes ago and insisted I eat something again. I was so glad she did. The pastry was cinnamon goodness. Unfortunately, I barely had time to appreciate it while refugees streamed through our front door. The house buzzed with desperate activity, making me anxious.
"Eat faster," Nana ordered, shoving another pastry toward me. "You're running on fumes, and I’m not dealing with all those people.
“Not because my babies need fuel?" I scowled at her.
Nana snorted and took a bite. “As if those babies are neglected. Eat.”
"I'm trying," I mumbled through a mouthful of what might have been the best thing I'd ever tasted. "But there's so much—"
An ear-splitting alarm cut through my words. It was a mechanical shriek that made every glass in the kitchen rattle. The sound was impossible to ignore.
"What in the Sam Hill is that racket?" Nana demanded, nearly dropping her pastry as she pressed her hands to her ears.
I looked around frantically, trying to locate the source while refugees in the living room began calling out in alarm. "I have no idea! Is something on fire? Are we under attack?"
"That is the anchor monitoring system," Tarja's voice slid into everyone's minds with urgent clarity. "Jean-Marc had an idea to set up a magical early warning network connected to the anchors. He and I just got it working. It's detecting multiple breaches across several supernatural communities."
"Oh, shit," I breathed, abandoning my half-eaten pastry as I pushed back from the island.
"Jean-Marc's big brain is paying dividends again. I have the smartest great-grandson," Nana smiled as she stood as well.
"The anchors are detecting coordinated attacks on supernatural communities across six states.
" Nina's face was glued to the tablet screen as data flooded in. Where was she getting the data from? Had they discovered a way to enchant some tech while I was eating a pastry? Being able to enchant technology at all is a recent development, and there isn’t much of it yet.
"How many locations are we talking about?" Aidon demanded as he joined us from outside.
"Seventeen and counting," Jean-Marc replied grimly as his fingers flew across his laptop keyboard. "Salem's coven district is under siege. The Portland shifter sanctuary just went dark. And something just hit the Boston Fae enclave."
The refugees in our foyer began murmuring with rising panic. I caught fragments of hushed conversations about family members still out there and safe houses that might not be safe anymore. And I watched as the alpha was pacing a hole in my marble floor.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
"My sister's pack was heading to Portland," the alpha said, shaking his head. "I haven't heard from them in hours."
"We need to start searching for safe locations," I announced. My mouth decided to make executive decisions without consulting my brain. "Anyone who needs sanctuary is going to get it. If they are close enough, they can come here."
"That’s a good idea. We have the strongest defenses in the region, thanks to Thalia's wards and the babies' magic,” Mom replied.
Aidon's arm went around my waist. "We'll need to expand the protective perimeter and establish sleeping arrangements at my house.
" He’d purchased the house next door after we first met so he could be close to me.
He never stayed there, so it sat largely unused.
I believe some of the shifters began using it recently.
"There are forty in need in town," Cordelia announced. "And more are coming. The desperate, the wounded, the ones who've lost everything to Lyra's expanding reach."
"Mythia," I called out to wherever the pixie had disappeared to. "We're going to need a lot more food."
Her tiny voice drifted from the kitchen. "Way ahead of you! Daethie's sending supplies. Chlora and Thicket are rallying the others."
What followed made a disaster relief coordinator weep with envy. Supernatural refugees streamed through our gates. My heart went out to the desperate families, wounded pack members, and displaced magical beings. They looked like they'd been through hell and barely made it out.
"Where do you want the Portland shifters?" Murtagh asked, supporting a blood-covered teenager who couldn't have been older than sixteen.
"In the guest rooms upstairs. The ones we’re using for the wounded," I replied, pointing toward the staircase. "Everyone else can head over to Aidon’s house. There’s still a lot of room there."
My bladder chose that moment to remind me it existed.
Fantastic timing, as usual. I waddled toward the bathroom and stopped dead in the doorway.
Right. The water sprites had claimed the bathtub as their personal healing pool.
As badly as I needed to pee, I couldn't help but smile at how much healthier they looked.
Their bluish skin practically glowed now that they were immersed in whatever magical concoction Mom had whipped up.
I'd have to remember to tell her that her potion was working miracles.
Pivoting with all the grace of a pregnant woman, I shuffled toward the downstairs powder room as fast as my swollen ankles would carry me.
The sight of three hedge witches growing medicinal herbs in every available pot and planter made me grin despite my urgent situation.
Our house had officially crossed the line from eccentric into completely bonkers territory.
I reached the powder room and rattled the handle. Locked. Of course. "Hey!" I pounded on the door with more force than was probably polite. "Emergency pregnant lady situation here! This is DEFCON 1 bladder alert!"
"Just a second!" came a muffled voice from inside.
Wait. I knew that voice. "Stella? Is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me. Come on in." I heard the click of the lock as she spoke.
I pushed open the door to find my best friend pulling up her pants, toilet paper still in hand. She looked up at me and burst into laughter. "Well, this isn't awkward at all," she said, stepping aside as I was already dropping my drawers. “Good thing we love each other.”
"Oh, thank God," I sighed, settling onto the toilet seat without ceremony. "I was about three seconds away from peeing in a plant pot with the hedge witches."
Stella stood there, hands unwashed, watching me with amusement. "You know, most people would be appalled at doing that in front of someone else."
"Most people aren't carrying triplets and dealing with supernatural refugees taking up every other bathroom in the house," I shot back, letting out a relieved sigh.
"Besides, we've been through way worse than sharing a bathroom.
Remember that time in college when we both had food poisoning from that sketchy taco truck? "
"Don't remind me," Stella laughed, finally moving toward the sink. "Most friendships don't survive that level of bathroom intimacy."
"Most friendships don't survive one person having their arm corrupted by dark magic either, but here we are," I pointed out, reaching for the toilet paper. "If we can handle demonic possession and magical warfare, we can handle a little oversharing."
"True," she agreed, soaping up her hands.
Laughing at her, I finished up and washed my hands.
When I was done and we exited, Vera was standing there looking around.
"This is incredible," she breathed, watching different magical traditions weave their protections together.
"I've never seen this level of cooperation between supernatural communities. "
"Shared trauma has a way of breaking down barriers," Stella observed, her corrupted arm finally healed enough for her to help coordinate the relief efforts. "Nothing like a common enemy to make strange bedfellows."
"Speaking of strange bedfellows," Thalia said quietly as she appeared at my elbow with a troubled expression. "Cordelia wants to speak with me privately. She says it's about my family history."
I glanced around the chaos of our makeshift refugee center.
Nana was directing traffic flow like a drill sergeant while Mom was somehow keeping everyone fed.
Nina and Jean-Marc were establishing communication networks to track down missing people and coordinate with other safe houses.
Locations that Lillith was helping secure.
"Go," I told Thalia. "Just stay within the ward boundaries."
She nodded and slipped away with Cordelia toward the quieter back porch. Through the window, I watched them settle into an intense conversation. Cordelia's silver eyes glowed faintly as she spoke. Whatever she was telling Thalia was making our new friend go progressively paler.
"Mom," Nina called out from her communication station at the kitchen island. "Lyra's people are probing the cleansed ley lines and trying to take them back."
"Has she succeeded yet?" I asked, making my way over to where she and Jean-Marc had spread out maps and monitoring equipment.
"Right now, she's testing our work," Jean-Marc explained, pointing to red dots that kept appearing and disappearing on his screen.
"Something touches the purified zones and then retreats. She could be having them drop little worms that are working their way into the network. We have no way of knowing. If she is, they haven’t managed anything so far. "
"That evil bitch," I muttered. "She's adapting faster than we anticipated."