Chapter 7 #2
Withering under the officials’ scrutiny, she gave them a weak smile and a tiny, pathetic little wave from her spot on the quilt.
“Yes. Gwen is my girlfriend.” This time, Hugh didn’t falter over the designation. It was a firm statement, and it drew the other councilors’ attention back to him. “I had a friend teleport me into the Zone this morning to check on her, since there was no other usable means of communication.”
“I don’t…” Beech’s pale brows drew together. “How did you even meet someone like…” After a pregnant—ha!—pause, she rephrased. “How did you even meet her?”
After Gwen’s involuntary glance down at her lumpy sweater, torn leggings, and oversized cargo shorts, she had to acknowledge the justice of Beech’s question. A wealthy, powerful demon like Hugh would normally never encounter a human of such utter insignificance. Not up close, anyway.
“As I’m sure you can already tell, Gwen is an oracle.” Hugh’s frown had deepened, and his stance widened. “We’ve known each other for over twenty years, ever since I participated in her verification panel at Delphi Academy.”
“Gwen…” The SERC chair peered at her more closely, clearly searching her memory. When she finally put the pieces together, she abruptly straightened and gaped at Hugh in open shock. “Gwendolen Wexloff?”
“Yes,” Hugh confirmed nonchalantly, as if her name weren’t infamous in SERC circles.
“And you’ve been in touch all that time?” Josiah Goodling regarded his protégé with avuncular concern. “I had no idea.”
“No. We didn’t stay in contact afterward.” Hugh’s temporary burst of confidence visibly faded, and he shifted his weight. “But we, uh, reencountered each other a few weeks ago at…” His gaze lowered to the tips of his heeled boots. “At, um, karaoke?”
Oh, no. That was…that was very bad.
Understandably, Goodling’s concern had turned to outright befuddlement. “At…karaoke? You?”
“How fascinating.” Tanielle Beech’s eyes had narrowed on her younger colleague. “Which bar were you visiting?”
There was no possible way Councilor Hugh Blacke, Esquire, would trek into the Containment Zone for karaoke night at Hole in the Wall, the Zone’s macabrely named dive bar.
“That place in Georgetown,” Gwen hastily interjected, before Hugh either gave up and confessed everything or spun another, even more implausible tale.
“You, uh…you know the one. With all the…” What would a bougie karaoke bar in Georgetown even look like?
“With all the velvet. And the carved wood. And the cocktails with, um…”
What was the fanciest possible drink component? Absinthe?
No. She wanted to increase the believability of their cover story, not ape a cabaret dancer on the verge of insanity in belle epoque Paris.
“Elderflower?” Should she have said gold leaf instead? Too late now. Besides, she clearly wasn’t the sort of oracle who could afford to sprinkle inert precious metals over her alcohol. “Yes. Elderflower.”
It was the best she could do.
“Elderflower,” the SERC chair repeated slowly, looking even more dubious.
“I was there for a friend’s bachelorette party and recognized Hugh up on stage.
” Gwen warmed to her tale, imagining a spotlit Hugh at the microphone, rumpled and a little sloppy from one too many elderflower drinks, holding court with his electric performance.
“He sang ‘Kiss,’ of course. That’s why he’s dressed like Prince.
He knows I can’t resist those tight pants. ”
That part, at least, was true, although she mentally played the bugle for his lost crop top.
“Hmmm.” Councilor Beech folded long, slim arms over her chest. “Is that correct, Blacke?”
“Uh…” Hugh swallowed. “I—”
“Pray don’t encourage the demon, Beech.” Max Boucher, arrogant vamp that he was, rolled his eyes as he swept theatrically into the clearing. “If I hear the story of these two fated lovers’ reunion even once more, sheer boredom may force me to tear out his throat.”
Gwen slumped over her bowl of popcorn, weak with relief. “Hey, Max.”
“Maxime Boucher!” Beech regarded the long-lost vampire with evident astonishment. “I thought I’d never see you again this side of the veil!”
“Frankly, I’d hoped never to see you again,” Josiah Goodling muttered, his genial expression souring.
Gwen imagined any good, rule-abiding demon would find Max a trial. If forced to spend more than five minutes with the vampire, Hugh would probably frown hard enough to do himself permanent injury.
“Boucher.” Hugh inclined his head in acknowledgment. “A pleasure, as always.”
A nice touch, that as always. To Gwen’s best knowledge, Hugh and Max hadn’t seen each other in decades, if they’d ever actually met before.
“If only I could say the same.” Max eyed Hugh’s studded black jacket, rendering judgment with a displeased sniff.
“If you must dress like Prince, Blacke, at least attempt to do so with panache. Even in leather, you’re somehow exuding all the raw sexual magnetism of a mid-level HR manager giving a lackluster performance review. ”
Well, that wasn’t fair. Gwen had very personally, very intimately experienced the raw sexual magnetism of Hugh’s outfit. She wrinkled her nose at Max, who winked back at her.
Unfair or not, the insult had effectively distracted Beech and Goodling. The SERC chair was chuckling at the insult to Hugh, while the elder demon tutted disapprovingly at Max. Neither had resumed picking apart the far-fetched tale of Gwen’s romance with their fellow councilor.
“When I wear black leather…” Max indicated his own stylish hooded jacket. “Females weep in thwarted lust. Males swoon. Nonbinary onlookers rend their clothing in helpless need.”
Just to be sure, Gwen ran a knuckle over her cheek to confirm its dryness. Hugh scowled at her, then turned back to Max as the vampire took control of the gathering.
“I know everything that happened here.” Max swept a dramatic arm, indicating the breach site. “After I explain, you’re welcome to ask any questions you may still have.”
He proceeded to share a highly edited, extremely gripping account of the previous few days, in which a band of plucky, brave Zone residents—their exact identities unspecified—gathered to battle and defeat the newly freed zombies before the Zone’s entry gate began functioning once more and loosed apocalyptic destruction on the hapless outside world.
True enough, as far as it went.
Beech and Goodling hung on every word, rapt, while Hugh glanced discreetly between his own leather jacket and Max’s leather hoodie, his brow beetled.
Max wrapped up the triumphant tale, smug satisfaction oozing from every perfect pore.
“Once we had the remaining zombies trapped, we killed them all. I can’t swear that there aren’t any strays still left alive, but if so, we haven’t spotted any.
” He hitched a thumb toward the site of the previous night’s battle.
“I can show you the creatures’ remains if your troops haven’t already discovered the trench. ”
For all her evident appreciation of Max’s performance, Beech remained skeptical. “If what you’re telling us is true, where are your compatriots in battle?”
“Most had homes and families to return to, but you’re looking at three of them.” Max indicated the trolls and Gwen. “We managed to get their worst injuries addressed, although Gwen still bears a few cuts and bruises. Little oracle, why don’t you show them?”
Ah. He’d noticed her half-healed wounds and decided to take advantage of them.
Obediently, she unwound herself from all her blankets and rolled up her sleeves and leggings to display the scabbed areas on her elbows and knees. Beech and Goodling approached the quilt to inspect her unimpressive battle wounds, coming far too close for her comfort.
She didn’t trust them. Both councilors radiated immense power, and she didn’t know whether they were inclined to use that power for good. Sure, Goodling had been nice to his protégé, but he and Beech had both chosen to treat her like an unimportant nonentity, so…
Yeah. She didn’t want either of them near her.
“Gwen is cold.” Hugh’s firm tone drew everyone’s attention. “If you need further evidence of her injuries, we can take photos of them once she’s in a warmer location.”
Beech could have overruled her younger colleague, but she didn’t. Both councilors immediately backed off.
Gwen shot Hugh a grateful smile and covered up again.
“By the time I arrived this morning, the battle had already been won.” Hugh took several large steps away from her quilt, and the others followed automatically. “But everyone I’ve encountered and everything I’ve seen has confirmed Boucher’s story.”
Goodling tipped his head, his handsome face creased in thought. “Do you have any theories as to what—or who—caused the breach?”
“Yes, we do have a theory.” Luckily, Max swooped in to answer before Hugh could muster another unpersuasive lie. “As best we can tell, the zombies must have somehow evolved in secret and used the compound’s abandoned tools to break out on their own.”
There should be no way to prove otherwise. Or so Gwen fervently hoped.
Sadly, that hope died with Tanielle Beech’s next words.
“And yet,” she said, drawing out each word, “we have footage from the compound that implicates an outside group.”
“Oh?” Hugh tipped his head, as if abstractly interested. As if what she said next couldn’t doom their apocalypse-aversion efforts. “Who?”
“Demons,” Beech declared. “Demons freed the zombies.”