“They’ll blink when I don’t leave.” I let my smile tip toward him. “That gives us a little time, though.”
“They’re going to have kittens when they realize their supply chain has been cut and their exit has been blocked. They’re stuck here, with no way out and no way to bring in more coven.” A smile, the first real one I had seen Bishop wear since the wintry road, twitched in his cheek. “You did sever the archive, right?”
“Um.” I stuck out a hand and wavered it side to side. “Yes and no.”
“Be more specific.”
“We collapsed three out of the four earthbound faegates and the main one leading into Faerie, from the Faerie side. The final earthbound gate, in Buckhead, remains active.” Alpha and omega, how fitting. “The only way to pull its plug is to reenter the archive.”
Mild amusement got the better of him when he asked, “And this portal you created?”
Clearly, he was tickled I could cross realms. I just hoped he understood I never wanted to ever again.
“The Active Oval portal will collapse on its own.” I waved off his concern. “We don’t have to sweat that one.”
We only had to guard it until nature took its course and erased all signs of its ever being there.
“Collapse?” Bishop huffed out a laugh. “Portals don’t just collapse.”
“Trust me.” I jerked my chin toward Ambrose. “This one will.”
Interest piqued, he settled in to hear our full accounting, pausing us here and there to ask questions.
“How do we sever the tether from the archive to Buckhead?” Bishop frowned. “Any ideas?”
Only the one, and it was a major time suck. “All I can figure is we go back to the warehouse and—”
Nails scratched at the door leading into HQ from the parking deck, and we all froze like cornered mice in utter shock at hearing the next best thing to a knock on our frakking front door.
Never, in the history of the OPA’s magically revolving HQ, had this happened before tonight.
Following us into the parking deck was one thing, but this insult set my upper lip quivering gwyllgi-style.
Cranking my head toward the screens, I demanded, “Who’s out there?”
“Gwyllgi,” Reece answered. “I count eight, but there could be more hidden behind the cars.”
“The Faerie pack?” A groan clawed up my throat. “We told them we didn’t want their dumb pack.”
A low growl built in Midas’s chest, and he stepped forward, crimson magic dripping from his fingertips.
“Ambrose?” I waited for my shadow to form. “Check it out for us?”
With a neat bow, he walked through the door and disappeared from sight.
“They must have followed us through the portal.” Midas flexed his jaw. “I didn’t expect them to be so bold.”
That portal was bound to bite us on the butt. I shouldn’t have been surprised when its jaws snapped shut so fast. But…if they came through it…why hadn’t we been notified when they breached the circle?
“You took over a gwyllgi pack in Faerie?” Bishop shot to his feet. “Are you out of your mind?”
“It was an accident.” I got between them. “Midas didn’t kill the alpha, even though he deserved it. How were we supposed to know kicking his butt was enough to transfer the mantle of power?”
“Fae aren’t used to fighting to the literal death for anything.” Bishop began to pace. “They can, and do, live forever, and they like it that way. Plus, it adds spice later when the usurper is usurped. Otherwise, most fae lives don’t change. Fae don’t do much, certainly nothing dangerous, on account of wanting to live an eternity.”
“The stories are full of scheming, backstabbing, and murder,” I protested. “Are all fairy tales lies?”
“You know how the Society puts the interest of the High Society above the Low Society? And the Low Society’s interests above anyone non-necromancer? That’s how Faerie works. Our high fae are set in their ways, and they like the status quo. Our lesser fae are more expendable. Our halflings and changelings are cannon fodder for wars, territorial disputes, and entertainment purposes. And it gets worse from there.”
“No wonder the stories are so Grimm.”
Midas chuckled softly before squeezing off the sound. “Still not funny.”
“Still laughed.” I poked him in the ribs. “You really shouldn’t encourage me.”
“The pack didn’t come through the portal,” Reece interrupted. “We’ve got eyes on it. There’s been no movement so far. You didn’t feel your circle break because it hasn’t broken. They took a different path.”
With Natisha in the coven’s pocket, we couldn’t be sure she—and therefore the pack—didn’t have access to other portals they had created outside the archive. Otherwise, the pack had to barter with someone to get here. The Earthen Conclave certainly hadn’t stamped their passports at this hour.
“Okay, kid.” Bishop hauled us back on track. “What do we do about our guests?”
Without sharing a chunk of Midas’s history with Bishop, I couldn’t frame why these particular gwyllgi had earned my distrust. That hardly mattered with them a threat at the door.
“Can you distract them?” I rubbed my forehead. “Draw them off so we can get out? We need to head to the Faraday anyway.”
We could lead them onto a collision course with our people in the field and be rid of them that way.
“It won’t fool them for long now that they’ve got your scent,” Midas warned. “They don’t forget.”
“We need a way out that doesn’t expose this location.”
“They found it.” Bishop shook his head. “We’ve got to burn it.”
“Burn your HQ?” Midas jerked. “That’s the only way?”
Aside from enlightening him as to how HQ migrated, when even I didn’t grasp the mechanics, I couldn’t explain why this wasn’t a world-ending consequence. It was the cost of doing business. HQ was fine. We wouldn’t lose anything here. Only the access point would change, and there were infinite parking garages for Bishop to choose from.
Though, I had to admit, I was starting to wonder if HQ existed in its own pocket realm. How else did Bishop tether it to a new location every night? The amount of power required to do that staggered me. And he did it on the fly?
Whoever he was, whatever he was, I was glad he was on our side.
“It’s fine.” I flapped a hand at Midas. “Don’t worry about it.”
“All right,” he said slowly. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Give me five minutes.” Bishop crossed the room. “And trade shirts with me.”
Midas obliged without question, and I did not snicker at the swap. Even if it left Bishop wearing a tee that would fool the gwyllgi, for a bit, with Midas’s scent and Midas in one that read Mind Your Own Biscuits, and Life will be Gravy.
Through the shadows, Bishop stepped, leaving us alone in HQ. Except for Reece, who resumed ignoring us.
Midas and I never had time to do the little things, like go out to nice dinners or hold hands on long walks. Movies and other couples’ activities ended in flames or brawls. Quiet moments like this one were about as close to date nights as we got these days, and there wasn’t a whole lot you could do in five minutes at HQ.