Chapter 8
Councilor Goodling had sucked in a harsh, shocked breath at Beech’s revelation, while Max and Hugh regarded the SERC chair with identical stony expressions.
Gwen bit her lip and hunched over her bent knees, overcome by despair. She and her friends had no way to counteract video evidence, and—oh, gods and goddesses—how were they going to avert an interspecies war now?
Hugh cast a quick glance her way and caught her eye. It’s okay, he mouthed, and she tried her best to believe him.
“Unfortunately, we didn’t discover the footage until this morning.” Beech’s voice was flat. “The employee in charge of monitoring the cameras took an extended winter holiday and didn’t designate a replacement monitor. As of this morning, he’s—”
From the cold rage in the SERC chair’s unearthly sea-green eyes and the way her long fingers curled into pale fists, Gwen half expected her to say dead by my own hands.
She wouldn’t want Tanielle Beech for an enemy. Not if she could possibly help it.
“—no longer working for SERC,” Beech finished.
Whew.
Still, Gwen had to wonder: Was the fae genuinely angry at her employee’s lapse? Or had she arranged that gap in monitoring herself in service to a terrible, terrifying conspiracy?
“Why didn’t you inform me about this supposed footage earlier, Beech?” Josiah Goodling’s question rang through the clearing, dripping with indignation. “I would have had my staff check the video for tampering, because no demon would ever—”
“The footage is fake. Has to be.” Max sounded bored. “Even if it looks real.”
Beech rounded on him. “How could you possibly know that? You’ve been hiding away in your cave of misanthropic solitude for over two decades, Boucher, and you have no fucking clue about the interspecies dynamics currently at play.”
“Before his arrival”—Max indicated Hugh—“there was no identifiable brimstone scent at this breach site. No one turned inside out. No burns. And even common humans can purchase a fae glamour, Beech. With enough money, anyone can look like anything, as you well know. My lengthy absence from SERC’s utterly delightful politics hasn’t changed that. ”
Unlike Hugh, Max clearly had no problem lying. While she might find that talent troubling in other contexts, right now Gwen loved him for it.
“Thank you,” Goodling said with emphasis. “I’m telling you, Beech, demons aren’t to blame here. We’re being framed.”
Hugh stood among the other Supernaturals, quiet and still, and observed his colleagues. Gwen doubted they even registered the intensity of his scrutiny.
“To my vast displeasure, I’m afraid I must agree with Goodling.
” Max gave a delicate shudder, as if disgusted at himself.
“The only unchanging marker of a perpetrator’s species is scent, and again, I didn’t smell demons here prior to Blacke’s heroics.
Only the creatures themselves. Common humans too, of course.
I assumed that scent came from the guards, but now I’m wondering—”
“Did common human activists glamour themselves as demons and free the zombies for a second time?” Apparently asking questions didn’t trigger Hugh’s discomfort the same way telling outright falsehoods did, because he interrupted Max with smooth confidence.
“And if so, what was their end goal? Did they hope to provoke an interspecies war?”
“It’s a damn good thing I reached the site in time to gather the lingering scent spoor.
Otherwise, we might have believed the false footage.
” Max turned on his booted heel to face Tanielle Beech.
“I imagine the guilty humans are long dead by now, overrun by the very zombies they freed. I can attempt to track them, though, if you’d like? ”
“If your services are required, I’ll let you know.” Beech directed her attention to her left, a fierce scowl carving deep lines into her narrow face. “Blacke. Do you believe Boucher’s explanation of events?”
Apparently the SERC chair had, in fact, noticed Hugh’s intense watchfulness. Noticed and wanted to hear the demon’s evaluation of whatever he’d seen.
This time, Hugh didn’t hesitate or stumble. “Yes.”
“Not that you asked, but so do I.” Goodling bestowed a fulminating glare on the SERC chair. “Humans, not demons, are to blame for this catastrophe. After Hugh and his companions have departed, you and I need to talk, Beech.”
“Fine.” Beech irritably waved that off. “Boucher, the Supernatural and Enhanced Ruling Council would like to thank you and everyone else who bravely battled the zombie horde. We’ll be contacting you shortly for a list of their names so we can take their official statements.
In the meantime, however, I’m asking you and your compatriots to vacate the area. Immediately.”
“Very well.” Max raised his voice, directing it somewhere behind Gwen.
“Lorrie my sweet, we need to go. Finish up your cherries jubilee. Kip, you’ll have to seduce Councilor Wongel via French desserts some other time.
Pack up your skillet, mon frère.” He caught Gwen’s eye.
“Little oracle, our resident troll Casanova won’t listen to me.
Please prevent him from initiating sexual congress before a platoon of intrigued soldiers. ”
By the time she managed to wrestle Kip and Councilor Wongel apart, Hugh was deep in conversation with Goodling.
She didn’t want to interrupt, but the SERC chair had very firmly ordered them to leave as soon as possible, so she inched closer.
Only to stop short when she overheard the very personal nature of the demons’ discussion.
“—shocked to see you caught up in an incident like this.” Goodling raked an agitated hand through his hair once more. “Are you okay, son?”
“I am, but the events of the last several days have understandably distressed my…” Hugh cleared his throat. “My lovely girlfriend. I’ll need to take a temporary leave of absence from my SERC duties to care for her. Hopefully no more than a week, but I can’t swear to that.”
The final length of that absence would no doubt depend on how his investigation into the human-fae conspiracy proceeded. In the meantime, she could definitely exude debilitating anxiety and exhaustion.
Goodling’s silver brows rose. “An entire week during such a fraught moment? Doesn’t she have other resources she could employ for her comfort in your absence?”
In other words: She should suck it up while Hugh focused on more important things than her mental health.
“As Gwen’s partner, it’s both my privilege and my heartfelt desire to be her primary support in times of need.
” The words were formal yet shockingly romantic, their tone bland yet immovable.
“I’ll virtually attend any urgent update meetings.
Otherwise, however, I’ll be unavailable.
I’ll submit the appropriate paperwork shortly. ”
The elder demon took a moment to process that flower-festooned stone wall of a response before speaking again. “I’m also surprised—and pleased, of course—to see you with someone again. It’s been a long time.”
Gwen’s ears perked, since she hadn’t heard any gossip about Hugh’s love life over the last two decades. He seemed like someone who’d keep his private life just that. Private.
“I am, however, startled to discover the object of your affections,” Goodling continued, after several awkward moments of silence. “A failed oracle? Truly? Hugh, please think of your family and your own future. We both know you could do much b—”
Gwen barely had time to cringe in red-cheeked mortification before Hugh cut him off.
“My companions and I were told to leave,” he told his mentor. “We need to go.”
“But—” the elder demon protested.
“Good day, Josiah. I’ll be in touch.” Hugh dismissed Goodling with a perfunctory nod, then walked immediately toward Gwen and took her arm, his grip gentle but supportive. “There you are. Have you prevented Kip’s indecency charge–in–progress?”
A breezy reply required some struggle, but Gwen eventually managed.
“With difficulty,” she said. “I had to wave an herb-crusted rack of lamb over my head to distract him, but he and Lorrie are waiting for us near her SUV.”
As Hugh led her toward the road, she lowered her voice to a faint whisper. “I wish I were a more believable fake girlfriend for someone like you. That conversation must have been so embarrassing. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not embarrassed, Gwen, and you owe me no apologies.” His response was quiet but firm. “Indeed, I should be apologizing to you for not ending the conversation before your feelings were injured.”
Gwen blinked, startled out of her lingering humiliation.
“You realized I was close enough to overhear your conversation?” She could have sworn she’d stayed out of his direct line of sight. “And how did you know he hurt my feelings?”
“In answer to your first question: Yes.” His lips quirking in a wry smile, he lightly stroked the knuckles of his free hand over the apple of her flaming cheek. “In answer to your second question: Your face is very expressive.”
Oh, gods. If her face was that expressive, he definitely knew she was planning to touch herself to the memory of him in a skintight crop top.
Despite the utter humiliation of that prospect, despite knowing that he was merely pantomiming affection for observers again, she couldn’t help herself.
She leaned into his hand, because it was strong and steady.
Because even the smallest whisper of affection from such a reserved, restrained man felt like a shout of devotion, and she wanted to bask in its glory and forget its falseness for one fleeting moment.
When his hand finally fell away, her foolish heart sank too. Flustered, unsure what to do or say, she made a show of looking around the breach site for any items they might have left behind. Unexpectedly, she found herself making direct eye contact with Blair Herka.
Halfway across the clearing, the general was watching the two of them leave. At least until Josiah Goodling approached her to say something.
After one last sidelong glance at Hugh and Gwen, she turned to the demon.
“Instead of teleporting, I’ll join you in the helicopter, General.” Goodling’s words drifted to Gwen on a brisk snap of wind. “We can determine our next steps along the way.”
She didn’t envy either of them. SERC officials and the common human government would now have to tackle a mountain of difficult tasks: Making certain no stray zombies had survived.
Dealing with the dead creatures’ remains.
Alerting all Zone residents that the danger had passed.
Repairing the Zone’s communications networks.
And worst of all, gathering and identifying the creatures’ human and Supernatural victims—then locating and contacting any next of kin.
Gwen’s next inhalation shook, and her vision blurred.
So many living beings killed in service to some selfish, evil power grab. The thought of all the neighbors she might never see again…
“Gwen?” Hugh’s clasp of her arm tightened slightly. “Are you okay?”
Not really. She was grieving and processing trauma of various sorts. She was exhausted. And although it was the least important issue at hand, she absolutely hated knowing that Hugh’s mentor disapproved of her. Even if Hugh wasn’t truly her boyfriend and never would be.
“It’s just been a long week.” Not a complete rendering of her present emotional state, but true enough. “Anyway, Max wants us all to meet at his home to discuss our next steps.”
Lorrie’s SUV had appeared through the trees, only a few strides away. On the brittle, brown grass beside the vehicle, Lorrie and Kip appeared to be wrestling over a gently steaming tagine of mysterious provenance.
“We should drive to—” Hugh began.
With a triumphant shout, Lorrie grabbed hold of her cousin’s cold-stiffened nipples and twisted viciously. Kip cried out and doubled over, arms now crossed protectively over his bare chest.
“Karma’s a bitch, and so are you, bro.” Lorrie stood over him, arms akimbo. “That’s my merguez sausage stew. Hands off if you want your nips to stay on.”
Still groaning piteously, Kip raised both middle fingers.
Hugh shook his head. “As I was about to say, we should drive to Max’s residence immediately. As soon as Kip recovers from his, uh…”
The demon paused, searching for the right words.
“Purple nurples,” Gwen supplied.
“His purple nurples,” Hugh finished, and—still shaking his head—ushered Gwen into the front passenger seat of Lorrie’s car.