Obsidian Flame (34 page)

And no, Thorne hadn’t told her these things. Carla had.
Carla.

Thorne apparently couldn’t be bothered. No request, no by-your-leave, no
I’m fucking sorry for having abandoned you for the past several weeks and for blocking our mind-link communication and for walking out on my duties as the leader of the Warriors of the Blood.
No fucking nothing.

She leaned back in her chair trying to calm the hell down but failing.

Luken had just left. He’d reported to her about the night’s incidents, about the battle at the Convent in Prescott Two the night before. The fight was still on between Zach and Santiago. If Thorne had been here, he would have knocked their heads together by now. But no, Thorne just couldn’t be bothered. He was chasing Marguerite around, that gifted Seer with obsidian flame power, who also couldn’t be fucking bothered.

She reached for a coffee that Luken had brought her and she knocked it over. Goddammit.

The mess went everywhere and she hadn’t even been able to call on her vampire speed and keep the thing from spilling.

Well, she had other ways to take care of this.

She mentally shoved the door to her office open and called out, “Alison, get your ass in here and bring one of those tea towels with you. Now.”

Alison appeared in the hallway from her office and folded a tea towel into her hand. Her brow was slightly puckered as she moved up the hall.

Endelle sat tapping her marble desk and watched the blonde beauty walk toward her.

When Alison reached the doorway, she asked, “What do you need the tea towel for?”

Endelle tipped her head in the direction of her desk. Some of the coffee had reached the edge and was dripping over the side.

Alison lifted a brow. She didn’t miss a beat, though. She walked up to the desk and started patting the lake until the tea towel was stained and sopping. Her mannerisms were dramatic, almost theatrical, because of course Endelle could have just
thought
the entire mess away.

The towel disappeared and Alison brought another dry one into her hands. She worked with increasingly exaggerated movements until Endelle was about ready to explode.

“Would you stop that?”

Alison sent the final towel away, probably to her laundry room in that mansion she and Kerrick now lived in together. She moved to stand directly opposite Endelle. “Would you please tell me what’s wrong instead of ordering me to do ridiculous things? What the hell happened? Did you finally talk to Thorne?”

At that, instead of rage firing a missile through the top of Endelle’s head as usual, her throat closed up so tight she could barely breathe. She shook her head. “No. Carla called, though.” Her voice sounded like she’d squished it to the size of a pea.

Alison dropped to her knees in front of the desk, which meant she met Endelle’s gaze straight on. That was the thing about Alison. She met you where you were and right now Endelle couldn’t even stand up. She just sat in her goddamn chair trying like hell even to swallow.

“So you haven’t spoken to Thorne, not once, since he left.”

She shook her head. “He blocked the mind-link.”

“I know. So what did Carla want?”

“To tell me that
His Majesty
wants me to fold to some strange hidden Mortal Earth rogue colony and that afterward he’s coming back here but for who the fuck knows for how long. Leto’s there. His sister Grace, as well.” But Alison would know all this—Luken would have told all the warriors this morning.

“Leto is in serious danger then.”

“Luken said he’s near death unless Grace feeds him.”

“You’re kidding.”

“He’s a goddamn fucking death vampire, or didn’t you know that? When Greaves turned him, he really turned him. No half measures with that bastard.” She put her hands over her face. She didn’t know what was happening to her. She was so not herself.

“Endelle, look at me. Talk to me. Why does Thorne want you to come to the colony?”

She let her hands fly apart. “How the hell should I know?”

“Why do you think?”

She shrugged. “To talk to Leto, I guess.”

“Okay, that’s good. No doubt Leto has a lot of things he needs to say to you and to Thorne, and Thorne wants you there. He hasn’t cut you out of his life. He’s just headed down a different path because of the
breh-hedden.
He’ll come back to you eventually. Give him time. And space.”

“Space? You want me to give him
space
? How about I walk away from the war? How about
I need some space,
so I go on a jaunt, find some NBA superstar to match my height and my proclivities, and I follow him around for a few weeks. I’ll call it the
breh-hedden
so it won’t matter because it’s my fucking destiny. It won’t matter that I have duties every night to go into the darkening and follow that bastard Greaves around to keep him from sending more death vampires to the Borderlands. Hell no. Yeah, Alison, that’s what I’m going to do. I need space so I’m going to take some space.”

Alison rose to her feet. There was too damn much compassion on her face as she said, “You’re feeling lost because he’s gone.”

“Oh … fuck you!”

But Alison wasn’t impressed. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Well, for starters, I’m headed to Mortal Earth.”

“Okay. And in the meantime, I’m going to plan a welcome-home party tonight for Thorne.”

“Oh, well, let’s at least do that. Let’s reward Thorne for his fucking bad behavior.”

“You know, I have to say, Endelle, you almost sound like you’re whining. And as my boss once told me, there’s no whining in ascension.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

When facing the dragon,

Try not to lose your temper.

—
Collected Proverbs,
Beatrice of Fourth

CHAPTER 15

At a quarter to ten, Thorne opened the door to Leto and Grace. His sister was calm, but he could feel the tension in the air. Leto, still very pale, had a determined jut to his chin, which probably meant he’d come to some decision Grace didn’t like.

Leto’s planning to take off as soon as he talks to Endelle and to the Warriors of the Blood.

Thorne met her gaze and nodded. He tried to imagine what he would do in Leto’s shoes. Yeah, he’d probably take off. The guilt alone must be killing him.

From the direction of the kitchen, he heard Marguerite. “Where the hell are the coffee filters?”

Leto laughed, a good sound. Thorne glanced at him and smiled. “That’s my woman.” In a louder voice, he called out, “Honey, we’ve got company.”

Marguerite ran in from the right, the direction of the kitchen. She had on cherry-red socks and slid on the smooth wood floor on purpose. What an entrance. She also wore black leather head-to-toe and his whole body suddenly lit up.

“Hey, Grace, Leto,” she said, smiling. “Sorry about the greeting.” She glanced at Grace. “I’m trying to get a pot of coffee together. Come help.” She waved her forward.

Without waiting for a response from any of them, she took off on a run to slide her way back into the kitchen.

Diallo’s house was expansive to say the least. Grace followed after, the loosely woven Convent gown dragging slightly behind her.

Thorne ushered Leto into the living room. Leto moved on slow feet. He crossed to the windows to once more take in the view. Even though the forest held Diallo’s house in shadow, the valley below was flooded with morning light, revealing a whole string of small farms.

Leto drew up next to him and crossed his arms over his chest. “This is a nice place. Very peaceful. And you say Endelle has no idea these colonies exist?”

“Not to my knowledge, and she would have said something. She’s not much into withholding information of any kind.”

At that, Leto actually chuckled. “No. She’s not.”

Thorne glanced at him. “You must know that Grace communicated to me what’s up, that you plan to leave. Permanently.”

“Of course.”

Thorne looked back over the idyllic landscape. In the distance, he watched a couple of preteen boys practicing their flight skills, flying up to the roofline of the house then gliding to a grassy slope along the side of the house. He’d done that when he’d first mounted his wings. It helped to use stationary objects as a point of grounding while learning to manipulate all those back muscles and to get a feel for how the wind currents affect the wings one second to the next.

“You do know that I’ve been AWOL for the past few weeks. I basically deserted my post.”

“I have to admit I found it impossible to believe, but now I understand. This is about Marguerite, isn’t it?”

“Yep.” He frowned and turned toward Leto a little. “What do you make of it—the
breh-hedden,
I mean.”

Leto shook his head. “Completely fucked up. If I ever find out someone is behind this kind of fated matchmaking, I’ll kill him … or her.”

“But you’re not going to be around.” Maybe he shouldn’t have said it like that.

The haunted look came back. “You’re right. I’m not.”

At that moment he felt a movement of air and turned to see the shimmering. He whipped to face whoever it was and with the conditioned response of centuries folded his sword into his hand. Leto did the same.

In tandem, both men sent their swords back to weapon lockers.

Diallo put up his hands and smiled. “Sorry. I should have called first, given a warning.” He glanced behind him. “Oh, good, I smell coffee. The elder in charge of the Lake City colony only serves tea. We’ve been up most of the night, arguing, and I want some java.”

Diallo’s arrival made Thorne suddenly and acutely aware that Endelle would be coming soon. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face her, especially since he wasn’t exactly feeling remorseful about leaving. If anything, he was just pissed off.

Another shimmering, and she was just there, facing away from him. He was grateful for the moment, because she wore a halter covered in small seashells. Her skirt was a strange collection of strips of something, seaweed maybe, the rubbery kind. Jesus, he couldn’t quite tell.

But it was the smell of the ocean that struck him, and not in a good way. The seaweed was a little ripe. She turned around and his gaze flew up. She wore a starfish like the front-piece of a crown, which was sort of pretty against her mass of black curly hair.

“Poseidon,” Diallo said. But he took a step or two back.

Thorne took another sniff and couldn’t stop from moving away from her a foot or so. Leto as well.

She rolled her eyes, touched the seaweed, and the next moment it was gone, replaced by a short electric blue mini skirt, in leather of course. “It needs to dry.” Her gaze settled on Thorne. “So where the fuck have you been?”

“Making sure my
breh
was safe.”

Her mouth worked. She was mad and somehow her anger served to increase his own irritation.

“You could have said something to me, given me a warning.”

“And what would you have told me?” The words came out really fast, with a little steam attached.

“You’re going to get pissy with me? You do know that I could have you arrested, jailed, and thrown at COPASS’s fucked-up maw for this little stunt? You know that, right?”

But Thorne didn’t answer because the top of his head was about to come off.

Fortunately, movement from the kitchen distracted him. Grace emerged bearing a tray with some kind of pastries, napkins, a sugar bowl and creamer. Marguerite followed carrying a heavier load of six large coffee cups, probably filled to the brim. He glanced down and smiled. She still wore her red socks.

Endelle turned around. The shells on her halter, each one apparently hanging free, clattered. Not a bad sound, it was just weird but what else was new? She was the Supreme High Administrator of Second Earth and she dressed like every day was Halloween. His irritation ratcheted up another hard notch.

“Well, well, well, Marguerite, happy with yourself?” Endelle planted her hands on her hips.

Thorne felt his temper begin to spike. He was ready to go on the attack, but Marguerite’s left brow rose. She paused for a moment and looked the scorpion queen up and down. As she put her feet once more in motion, she moved past her and said, “Love your skirt, that halter is to die for, and I am so diggin’ the starfish. Who’s your designer?”

Endelle’s mouth opened; then she looked down at the seashells. She flicked a couple of them, which set up a rippling effect. “I make up most of this stuff myself.”

Marguerite caught Thorne’s eye and winked.

Thorne shook his head, and his temper eased up. His woman had some unexpected chops.

In the center of the room was a massive coffee table, and both trays found a home there. Diallo moved in first and lifted a cup, but handed it to Marguerite. “Thank you for this kindness. I’m very grateful.”