Chapter 13
Thora Creekwood, as it turned out, was a gorgeous half-fae, half-human Hugh employed as an informant. A stunningly statuesque SERC spy whose crucial work helped the entire world.
From what Max had told Gwen and their zombie-battling neighbors earlier that week, many fae disliked cooperating with humans and other Supernaturals.
As did many vampires and a not-insignificant proportion of all other species.
It wasn’t an unusual sentiment. But among a small, secretive faction of powerful fae, that resentment had hardened into resolve.
Determined to wield the power they considered rightfully theirs, they wanted out from under SERC’s thumb by any means necessary.
Including—maybe even especially—violence.
Because SERC didn’t want to fracture their uneasy peace with common humans, those problematic fae circles weren’t common knowledge, even among other Supernaturals.
The Council might silently dispatch assassins to track down and eliminate any fae credibly accused of crimes against humans, but publicly, they made no mention of the insurrectionist ferment.
Especially since the head of the Council, Tanielle Beech, could apparently get touchy about any accusations against members of her species that weren’t accompanied by large amounts of unimpeachable proof.
None of her fellow councilors wanted to make enemies of the cunning, powerful fae elites either, unless there was absolutely no other choice.
Nevertheless, Hugh had been tasked with keeping a discreet eye on their ranks, and he’d secretly recruited Thora to help with the job, unbeknownst to even his colleagues.
From what Gwen gathered, his informant had begun insinuating herself into extremist fae groups about a year ago.
Her knowledge of those groups was more crucial than ever, since Hugh and Gwen needed to build an airtight case for urgent action.
The now-vanished evidence at the breach site and Gwen’s visions—however unmistakably those visions pointed to an alliance of fae insurrectionists and common human traitors as the cause of the breach—wouldn’t be enough for anyone else in SERC to risk potential fae wrath and commit the resources necessary to dismantle the conspirators’ organization before the next horrible incident.
And of course, even if someone did believe Gwen and Hugh, however that official chose to address the urgent problem could spark a worldwide conflagration of common human violence against all Supernaturals and Enhanced humans. But that was a problem for the future.
For now, they needed Thora’s help to gather necessary proof of the fae insurrectionists’ perfidy in the zombie breach, because she was apparently an exemplary spy. Shrewd, discreet, nimble, and utterly trusted.
Basically, the antithesis of Gwen. What Delphi Academy’s eleventh-grade English teacher would have called Gwen’s literary foil.
Gwen didn’t like to admit it, but she would probably have given in to temptation and disliked the Charles Darnay to her Sydney Carton—if there had been a single iota of arrogance in the other woman’s manner.
But while the half-fae wasn’t exactly warm, her cool professionalism both signaled her utter commitment to her work and extended to her interactions with Hugh.
“I heard nothing about a fae plan to free the zombies.” Thora’s lips were pressed tight in displeasure at Hugh’s account of recent events.
“Perhaps I haven’t yet been fully accepted by the leaders of the splinter group.
I’m almost certain they consider me a full fae who’s sympathetic to their cause, but… ”
“But they’re a suspicious lot,” Hugh finished for her.
Unexpectedly, the spy directed her attention across the living room to where Gwen had curled up in a slightly-too-firm armchair. “I wholeheartedly apologize for my failure to prevent the breach and its tragic consequences for you and your community, Ms. Wexloff.”
Startled, Gwen sat up straighter.
“Please, call me Gwen.” Well, how was she supposed to resent the other woman now?
“And please don’t blame yourself. You didn’t free the zombies, and you would have prevented the breach if you could have.
You’re risking your life every day to infiltrate the splinter group we suspect is responsible. No one could ask for more.”
That group had allowed zombies to slaughter untold numbers of Containment Zone residents already. And if they realized they’d welcomed a spy into their ranks? Torturing that spy for information and disposing of her afterward wouldn’t bother them much.
All gratitude to Thora, because Gwen’s bravery didn’t extend far enough to volunteer for such a precarious high-wire act. Even Hugh couldn’t take the sort of risks his informant did, given his utter inability to lie convincingly.
The other woman’s lips quirked in a faint, wry smile. “That’s generous of you, Gwen—although you might be surprised by SERC’s willingness to, in fact, ask for more. And please, call me Thora.”
Given the identity of Thora’s direct supervisor, that meant Hugh was asking her for more. Gwen directed a narrow-eyed glare his way, and he hastily changed the subject.
“While you continue monitoring your contacts, Thora, I’ll propose a one-on-one meeting with Beech tomorrow.
I need to offer her my official report on today’s incident.
” His neatly trimmed nails scritched through his beard as he considered how to tackle the SERC chair.
“Perhaps I can dig up some information on her fellow fae that she hasn’t seen fit to share before now.
I was also wondering whether I should talk to Aldis, since he… ”
The conversation continued for hours longer, full of names Gwen didn’t recognize and details her exhausted brain couldn’t retain. There was nothing she could add to the discussion, so she eventually untangled herself from her blanket and heaved herself upright. Time for bed.
“Be careful, Thora, and good luck. It was lovely meeting you.” Gwen’s back popped as she stretched. “Hugh, I’ll see you tomorrow. If you need me in the meantime, just wake me up.”
He stood too. “I can escort you to your room.”
“I’m fine.” Gwen waved him away, unwilling to further interrupt such an important meeting. “Good night, all.”
She shuffled off to bed while the other two discussed how to save the world. Luckily, she was tired enough that she had no opportunity to dwell on the contrast before falling asleep.
She did, however, have plenty of time for nightmares.
—
Around midnight, Gwen gave up on sleep, turned on the bedside lamp, and grabbed her phone with hands trembling from her latest bad dream.
Stuffing a pillow behind her back, she propped herself against the bed’s tufted black-velvet headboard. Salt still stung her eyes, and she squinted blearily at her cell’s display as she accessed the relevant streaming service.
“Last season on Curdled—” the narrator intoned just as a knock sounded on her door.
A tap of her finger paused the new season’s first episode. “Yes?”
To her credit, she’d managed a very calm, in-control reply. But then she hiccupped. Loudly. Which probably gave away far too much about her current state of mind.
“Gwen.” Hugh’s urgent voice was muffled through the thick, heavy door. “Are you ill? Did you have another vision?”
“Nope!” she called back with faux cheer. “I’m good! Thanks, Hugh!”
A long pause. “Please don’t lie to me.”
Dammit. How did he know? The stupid, betraying hiccup?
“I didn’t…” Shamed, she exhaled shakily. “Well, yes, I did lie to you just now. But I will be good, so it was basically the truth.”
“Ah.” He took that in for a moment. “May I come in?”
She set her phone on the bedside table. “Sure.”
The paneled black-walnut door swung open silently. As Hugh entered the room, she could somehow feel the heavy warmth of his regard. It rested like a weighted blanket over her fear-chilled frame, silent comfort in a dark, difficult night.
He didn’t say a word. He simply walked toward her as she blinked at him in the soft lamplit glow, too worn out and worried to even attempt predicting what he might do next.
The mattress shifted as he climbed onto the bed beside her.
An instant later, he was seated against the headboard too, his left hip pressed to her right through the covers.
Her clenched muscles softened in the intense heat radiating from his body, and she stifled a relieved sigh as her residual tremors eased to stillness.
“So.” He laced his fingers through hers, resting their joined hands atop his thigh. “Bad dreams?”
“Yeah.” No point in prevaricating, given the pile of crumpled, waterlogged tissues on the bedside table. “How did you know I was up?”
His thumb rubbed over hers. “I saw the light under your door.”
For some reason, that didn’t sound like the truth to her, but she couldn’t see why he’d lie.
“Is Thora still here?” Who knew how long their meetings usually ran? “If so, I’m sorry to have disturbed you both.”
“She left hours ago. Not long after you went to bed. Gwen…” His tone was patient. Warm. “What do you need from me right now?”
“Um…nothing?” Sadly, he couldn’t change the traumatic events of her past week, and he was already doing his best to avert the worldwide catastrophe her mind kept obsessively replaying whenever she closed her eyes. “Although I appreciate your concern.”
“Let me rephrase.” He sounded out the words slowly, cautiously, as if gauging her reaction to each one before attempting the next. “What would make you happier or more comfortable right now? Whether or not you think I can or should provide those things?”
She sniffled a little. “I guess…maybe more tissues? I ran out.”
He reached over to the other bedside table and plucked a new box from the drawer, then handed the tissues over and accepted her thanks with a nod. “What else?”
Her throat ached from all that silent crying, now that she considered the matter. “I could use some water?”
He squeezed her fingers a final time, then climbed off the bed, left the room, and returned after a minute with a chilled water bottle.
Anywhere his hand had touched, the bottle’s glass had become clear, its fog of condensation turning to scattered water droplets against the heat of his skin.
When he handed the bottle over, she echoed the outline of his hand with her own, chasing the last fleeting hints of warmth he’d left behind.
“Thank you.” She lifted the bottle to her mouth. Tipped back her chin and drank.
His shadowed gaze caught hers as she swallowed. Clung for a long, heady moment.
When she licked her lips, he exhaled. Hard.
Then he shook himself a little. “You didn’t eat much dinner. Are you hungry?”
Very. But she shook her head anyway, because she had no desire to leave the bed.
“Why don’t I get you some cheese?” he promptly asked, as if she’d nodded instead. “I could bring you a plate here, if you’d like.”
Oh, that sounded like heaven. Too bad it wasn’t happening.
“You don’t have cheese in your fridge.” She’d checked earlier. Thoroughly and disappointedly. “Thanks anyway, though.”
“I do now.” He exited the room again, only to reappear a minute later bearing a marble platter of various waxed paper–wrapped wedges, along with more of those fancy crackers he’d offered her earlier, tiny jars of jam, utensils, and cloth napkins. “Haziq assisted me in my selection.”
Hugh had arranged for her to get cheese? Somehow, in the midst of chaos and fistfights and meetings, he’d procured her favorite food?
Oh, gods. Sniffling anew, she plucked a fistful of tissues from her fresh box.
“Gwen?” Quiet footsteps approached the bed. “Are you…all right?”
“I’m good.” She blotted her cheeks and spoke with all the heartfelt affection she felt for him in that moment. “That was very kind. Thank you, Hugh, and please thank Haziq too.”
“I will.” She could feel him hovering nearby, unsure what to do. “And you’re welcome. It was my pleasure.” Another long pause. “Shall we eat and watch the show together until you feel able to sleep once more?”
She smiled at him. Patted the mattress to her right. “Yes. As long as you promise to give me a chunk of any Gruyère you might have procured. Also any Stilton. And cheddar.”
Along with all the other pasteurized or hard cheeses he might have on offer, since those were the ones she could safely eat while pregnant. Not that he knew that…yet.
“Very well.” The corners of his mouth lifted.
After carefully laying the tray on the bedside table, he climbed back onto the high mattress.
Sat close enough for thigh-to-thigh contact once more despite the impressive width of the bed.
“Let’s find out what’s happening to Mimi this season.
The series may have diverged from the books, but surely no successful show would kill off its main character? ”
“Tell that to Sean Bean,” she told him, her heart considerably lighter than before.
They both served themselves cheese and accompaniments on delicate porcelain plates and settled in to watch the show. The narrator began her recap of the previous season.
When Hugh stretched an arm across Gwen’s shoulders, she snuggled closer.
When her belly couldn’t contain even one more morsel of cheese, he set the tray aside.
And when she dozed off only halfway through the first episode, still slumped against his heat-soaked shoulder, she didn’t remember a single dream.