22. Chapter Twenty-Two - Wilder
The power station control room lies in ruins after the fire.
Smoke and charred electronics permeate the air while blackened control panels stand like grotesque sculptures, their components fused together.
Cracked monitors and occasional sparks from severed wires complete the chilling scene.
I look up at the soot-stained ceiling, which is marred by gaping holes that expose the skeletal framework beneath.
The silence is unnerving, broken only by the occasional creak of settling metal and the distant drip from the failed sprinkler system.
Brigid places a hand on my shoulder.
“It’s haunting, isn’t it?”
I nod but turn to face Dimitri, the plant manager, a Cosmic Witch engineer.
He holds a clipboard while glaring at me beneath his hard hat.
Dimitri isn’t the person I wanted to meet; I asked Brigid to ask Eddo to arrange a meeting with Michael Bersa, the plant owner.
However, Eddo insisted Dimitri be present, considering he represents the Nebula plant workers whose strike led to the blaze.
During breakfast this morning, Brigid and Eddo announced that Brigid would accompany me to the station to oversee the conversation about plant repairs.
Brigid claims to know Dimitri and his crew because they are regulars at Furies and ardent supporters of Stellan’s cause.
But I think Eddo just wants Brigid to babysit me.
He probably thinks I’m here to strike a deal with Michael Bersa, given my supposed obsession with Epsilons.
But that’s not why I’m here.
Dimitri and his Nebula friends—inspired by Stellan’s rhetoric—want higher pay and respect from their Epsilon employers.
I understand this; they deserve better wages.
But their strike tactics, meant to challenge the establishment, have created an ongoing blackout that hurts their own families most.
Both Epsilon and Nebula businesses are losing money daily, but while wealthy Epsilon citizens have backup generators, it’s the Nebula who suffer most from this outage.
Power restoration shouldn’t be political, yet here we are.
“Is Michael on his way?” I ask Dimitri.
The stout engineer shrugs.
“The Bersas answer to no one but themselves.”
“Michael likes to make an entrance. Or have you forgotten?” Brigid’s gaze lingers, and I return to assessing the charred mess.
I had the dubious honor of encountering the Bersa family on my first day in Aurora last year when Eddo assigned Brigid and me to investigate a robbery of priceless heirlooms at their manor.
The case twisted when Brigid became the prime suspect due to her relationship with their son, Bryant.
While Brigid’s taste in men was questionable, she was no thief.
As Blades, we adhere to a code of honor.
I proved her innocence by exposing how Bryant had framed her to cover up his gambling debts, believing no one would question his word over a Nebula’s.
His arrogance was his undoing.
Michael’s likely late today because he recognized mine and Brigid’s name and is trying to put us in our places.
If that’s the case, I’d rather deal with this situation by the time he arrives.
All Michael needs to do is sign the check.
I lock eyes with Dimitri.
“If you started repairs today, how quickly could you finish them?”
He chews on the eraser of his pencil.
“I could have them done by next week if I had the funds and my crew.”
“That’s promising.”
Dimitri frowns.
“But Bersa needs to agree to our stipulations before we return to work. He may shovel money into this place, but we are the backbone of this business. He must pay us what we are worth and then some, or this place will never run properly again.”
I slip my hands into the pocket of my fatigues and study Dimitri carefully.
He’d let people suffer without power to prove a point.
I’ve seen where he comes from, but extorting Michael isn’t the answer.
“How long have you worked here, Dimitri?”
“Fifteen years,” he replies, raising his chin in pride.
I nod.
That’s dedication.
“I’d say you know this place like the back of your hand.”
“That’s right.”
“I assume you aren’t receiving a paycheck if you aren’t working. And how do you expect to feed your family if you aren’t getting paid?” I glance pointedly at the ring on his finger.
Dimitri clenches his hand around his clipboard.
“My wife has a job.”
“That’s excellent. So her job provides enough for your family?” I raise an eyebrow.
Dimitri’s eyes narrow.
“Are you saying I don’t contribute?”
“On the contrary, I am trying to reason with you. Demand better pay from Bersa, but also understand that until this plant is up and running, the money you and your wife rely on to live won’t be coming in. And Bersa? It might not matter to him if you refuse to return to work. Once the outage goes on long enough, he will find other Cosmic Witches more desperate than you, willing to come in, and get this place working for half the price.”
Dimitri scowls, his face reddening.
“That won’t happen.”
I tilt my head.
“You sound so sure. Yet, I thought only Sea Witches had powers of premonition?”
“Stellan will be mayor long before Bersa can reliably replace me. He will force Bersa to meet our criteria or leave this city, which means this place could be mine.”
I take a deep breath.
Dimitri’s belief in Stellan goes deeper than I expected.
Does he really think Stellan will wave a magic wand and all the issues the Nebula face will disappear?
Things will worsen before that day, and Aurora may not be unscathed.
If the Epsilon choose to fight back, Dimitri and his wife may not survive what’s coming.
He has delusions of grandeur.
I need him to stop relying on Stellan for all the answers and take matters into his own hands.
That means working with, rather than against, Michael Bersa.
No matter how self-inflated Bersa is.
It also means I need to talk to Stellan sooner rather than later.
If I can reason with him, I can reason with his supporters.
But he is more elusive than smoke.
“Are you close with Stellan Navis, Dimitri?” I ask.
“I don’t know him well, but I admire him. He will make a great leader.”
“Yet you are sure that if Stellan becomes mayor, he will give you this business, no strings attached?”
“Wilder, stop antagonizing him,” Brigid mutters.
I bristle.
If she is okay with prolonging this blackout, then she isn’t the girl I remember.
She fought for the people in this city, yet by not pushing Dimitri to compromise, she’s letting them suffer.
“I’m not,” I shoot back.
“We are having a friendly conversation before Michael arrives, trying to figure out how to work together to get this place running again.”
Brigid narrows her eyes, and I glare back at her.
She can go.
I don’t need two people undermining me when I only want to restore balance between the factions.
We are the same, yet she lets Dimitri treat me like an outsider.
Dimitri shakes his head.
“We aren’t friends. Nor do we want the same things, so nothing you can say will get me to listen to you.”
The hair on the back of my neck rises.
“Why is that?”
He smiles, revealing coffee-stained teeth.
“You call yourself a Nebula, yet you turned your back on our kind. The queen’s ancestors persecuted us, but that doesn’t matter so long as she warms your bed.” Dimitri gestures to Brigid, whose eyes widen with indignation.
“You could be with a perfectly good Nebula woman, like Brigid here, someone who understands you, yet you’d rather continue to let the Epsilon control you.”
My anger boils over.
Now I understand.
Dimitri’s hatred for me stems from my relationship with Leigh, which means he blindly believes Stellan’s writings.
People suffer from this power outage, just as we suffered because of the War Letters.
We have a chance to fix both issues, but not when people like Dimitri think vengeance is the answer.
“My personal life has nothing to do with the power,” I snap.
“I know what I am and where I came from. Being with Leigh doesn’t change that.”
Brigid winces.
Dimitri scoffs.
“Oh? Could have fooled me, given you are here at the queen’s behest. If she and the Council want power back in Borealis, have your queen endorse Stellan’s campaign. It will make people like her more.”
I step forward, my hands flexing at my sides.
“Stellan doesn’t know the first thing about ruling a nation. There will be pandemonium in the streets.”
“That’s to be determined,” Dimitri responds breezily.
“Stellan has friends in high places.”
“Who?”
“I am sure he’d tell you if he didn’t think you were a traitor.”
Brigid tenses.
So do I.
This term has followed me since Dad’s arrest, and I thought we were past it.
Polished shoes slap the scorched concrete.
We all turn to Michael Bersa, who grins in his fancy suit with his combed hair.
“Ah, Wilder, I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” he says, as if we didn’t part on bad terms.
Perfect.
Fucking perfect.
I’d made zero headway with Dimitri, and now Michael swoops in mid-failure.
Between Dimitri’s stubbornness and Michael’s inevitable criticism, I’m about to get caught in a crossfire of Alpha personalities.
This day just keeps getting better.
Michael steps past Brigid as if she were a ghost.
She glares at him.
“Mr. Bersa, I’m glad you could finally join us,” I say, polite but firm.
Michael’s gaze darts between Dimitri and me, taking in our stiff postures.
A smile spreads across his face—Dimitri’s upper lip curls in response.
I sigh.
I’m never going to find a middle ground.
“Please, call me Michael,” he says, still in that eerily friendly voice.
“You are here to get my business up and running, which means we are friends, not strangers.”
Brigid and Dimitri exchange a loaded glance, and my stomach turns.
They think this proves something.
“Mr. Bersa,” I say evenly, emphasizing Michael’s surname, “I’m here for one reason only—to restore power to Corona’s citizens. Nothing more.” I meet Dimitri’s glare.
“And nothing less.”
“Exactly.” Michael’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he steps closer.
“The Council sends you here to help me get my lazy crew back to work so I don’t continue to lose money each day the power remains off.” He places a proprietary hand on my shoulder, and I fight the urge to shrug it off.
“The queen wants the power restored. So do I. As her representative, we are on the same side.”
The calculated way Michael emphasizes “queen” and “representative” might as well be a match to gasoline.
Dimitri’s face contorts.
He glances at Brigid, and they share another knowing look, this one screaming “traitor” so loud I can almost hear it.
I grit my teeth.
Michael is reworking the narrative.
“Look, Mr. Bersa.” I keep my voice measured, diplomatic.
“The queen understands that a stable power grid and fair wages go hand in hand. Your profit margins matter”—I nod at Michael, whose frown deepens—“but so does ensuring the workers who maintain those profits are compensated fairly.” I turn to Dimitri.
“The queen wants power restored as soon as possible, which means we need both sides working together. Sign off on the equipment orders and wage adjustments, and everyone gets what they need—including Corona’s citizens, who are counting on all of us.”
Michael brushes away some ash that has fallen on his shirt.
“Let me give you some advice, Wilder. Since you are new to having power, if you want to keep it, you must learn that people will walk all over you if you give them so much as an inch. Power stems from control.” He glares at Dimitri.
“If you and your crew want to keep your jobs, you will show up to work tomorrow, get this place cleaned up, and you’ll be lucky if I don’t use your wages to pay for the damage you and your strike caused me.”
“The fire was deemed an accident,” Brigid inserts, arms crossed.
“Let me make something clear,” I say, my voice cutting.
“The order to restore power comes directly from the queen and Council. If you don’t want to explain why you’re obstructing their directive, you’ll stop pointing fingers and authorize Dimitri to order the parts his team needs.”
I let that sink in for a moment.
Michael’s smile falters.
“The queen doesn’t care about your power plays, Mr. Bersa,” I continue.
“She cares about getting Corona’s lights back on. So I suggest we focus on that, unless you’d prefer to discuss your . . . management style with the Council directly?”
Pride shines in Brigid’s eyes, and I fight a smile.
“Get used to feeling out of control, Michael,” she sneers.
“The War Letters exposed who the real criminals are. You and your Epsilon friends are outnumbered now. The Nebula will take control, and you’ll have to surrender it to us and Stellan.”
“The day that happens, I will be six feet under,” Michael replies in a cold and unyielding voice.
As I suspected, the Epsilon won’t sit back and let the Nebula take over.
But the Nebula are ready to fight dirty, if they must.
Michael and the rest of the Epsilon would rather die than give up power, and the Nebula will die trying to obtain it.
“That can easily be arranged,” Brigid mumbles.
“Brigid, stop,” I warn.
Her smile slips.
I glare at Brigid.
She’s allied with Stellan, and I don’t need her to make this worse.
Her involvement will only muddle an already complicated situation.
“Listen to him, girl.” Michael leers.
“He won’t always be here to save your pretty little neck.”
I step between Brigid and Michael.
Brigid’s more than capable of putting Michael in his place, but I can’t risk Eddo’s fury if she loses her cool and lands a blow to Michael’s smug face, as much as I wish I could let her.
I need to keep this powder keg from igniting.
“Mr. Bersa,” I say.
“Can we just?—”
“You’re fired, Dimitri. Let this be a message to your entire crew—show up tomorrow, or you’ll all be replaced. And, Wilder? You can tell Queen Leigh that when the power stays off, it’s because your amateur attempt at playing peacemaker made everything worse.” Michael rolls back his shoulders.
“You arrogant—” Dimitri’s face flushes with rage.
He storms toward the control room door, slamming it hard enough to rattle the soot-covered windows.
Heat builds in my palms—power itching to be unleashed—and the ache is almost unbearable.
“Where exactly do you plan to find a new plant manager on such short notice?” I demand through gritted teeth.
Michael’s upper lip curls.
“If Dimitri wants to apologize, his job is still here. If not . . .” He shrugs.
“Maybe the Crown and Council can send me a qualified replacement.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“No, what happened here today is your fault. I thought you were here to make things better?”
“I am,” I say.
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” With that, Michael gives Brigid one more dirty look and leaves.
I groan.
How can I prove anything when both sides are working against me?
Have I betrayed the Nebula by being with Leigh?
Is our love blinding me to the harsh realities my people face?
Cooperation is the only path to a better future.
It must be.
“Hey,” Brigid says softly, touching my arm.
“What happened to Dimitri isn’t your fault.”
“He fired him, Brigid.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“I was supposed to fix this, but I made it worse.”
“I know. But it’ll all work out.”
I shake my head.
Dimitri would rather die than apologize to Michael.
“You could use some cheering up,” Brigid says.
She nudges me with her shoulder and smiles.
“I’m meeting Ry and the Erinye sisters for drinks at Furies. Do you want to join us? My treat. It’ll be fun! Like old times. Don’t let Michael Bersa ruin our reunion.”
“I can’t.” I sigh.
“I still haven’t found Stellan.”
Brigid’s grin widens.
It’s genuine, reminding me of when we first met, before feelings got involved, and things between us were still simple.
My chest tightens.
Sex ruins everything.
“Come out with us, and I promise Stellan will still be there tomorrow.”
“Brigid . . .”
“One drink, and I will introduce you. He’s a friend; he’ll listen if I tell him about you. But Gianna stays home.”