A horrible death by any metric, and it made me regret the meal I had just eaten.
Those poor teens. That must be what kept them hanging on. Their bodies refused to let them die.
“We need to get word out to everyone vulnerable to Faete.” I shoved my tray aside and swung my feet over the edge of the bed. “The coven is pushing us to play defense, and that’s not getting us anywhere. It’s time to go on the offense.”
“Are you sure you should be standing?” Bishop took my elbow before my full weight hit my feet. “You haven’t been discharged.”
“Midas is the injured party.” I didn’t wobble, and I was happy about that. “I need to change and then…”
I had no clothes. I had no apartment. I had…nothing.
I was right back to square one, like when I first moved to Atlanta with only the clothes on my back.
“About that.” He mashed a button on his phone and passed it over to me. “Here.”
“How are you?” Linus’s cool voice filled the line. “How is Midas?”
“We’re both alive.” I shivered at the chill in his tone. “I’m about to head to HQ.”
Everyone in the room gave me death stares, so I elected to ignore their hostilities.
“Bishop tells me your apartment is ruined.”
“Yeah.” I shivered from the breeze of my hospital gown parting. “I’ll ask management if they’ve got another efficiency I can lease until mine is repaired.”
Thankfully, Tisdale had passed along the news that no one else had been harmed in the blast. Their apartments on the other hand… That entire floor would require a facelift before all was said and done.
“You’re moving into the potentate’s suite.” He made it an order. “Bishop has the keys.”
The charred gwyllgi across from me raised an eyebrow, and I chewed on my bottom lip. “Midas is…”
“I’m aware.” Linus warmed his voice with intent. “The suite is yours. Your guests are your business.” He hesitated. “Do you need me?”
Yes, I wanted to cry, a thousand times yes. But he was my boss, and I couldn’t afford to appear weak.
I was bruised, my hair crispy, and I wanted my big brother to swoop in and hug me until I stopped falling to pieces. But Boaz wasn’t an option. Adelaide wasn’t either. The coven had moved against me. In my home. To prove they could get to me anywhere. I couldn’t invite family into the mix. It would put them in danger, and I would never forgive myself if I got them hurt.
“I can handle it.”
With Natisha’s bargain always at the forefront of my mind, I debated how much help Linus could offer. He had given her his word he wouldn’t help us secure the hearts, but the bomb was a separate matter. Or was it? The vicious nature of the attack screamed coven to me, but we had no concrete evidence of their involvement yet.
We had collected one heart out of seven. They must know, or at least suspect, the game had changed to strike back this swiftly. At me, in particular. If I had kept the heart in my apartment, it would have been toast. I doubted that was a coincidence. The coven hoarded power. They wouldn’t give up an ounce of it without a fight.
“I’ll inform the Society, and my mother, of what you’ve learned.”
Briefing his mom was ten times worse than facing Tisdale. “Thanks.”
“Reach out if you need me.”
“I will.”
He ended the call before I could change my mind and beg for his help climbing out of the hole I dug for myself the day I dragged him to the den to bargain on Midas’s behalf. The alternative, though, had been unthinkable. Midas would have given all he had to save Ford, and Natisha would have let him. Clearly, the man couldn’t be trusted to let others gauge his worth.
Those nightmares of his were vicious, and they messed with his head. He woke from them haunted in a way I saw in the mirror a few times a week. Less now that he was a wall of warm muscle I sheltered behind when I woke from dreams, sweaty and trembling from the reminder of what I had done, what I was deep down in my soul.
Tapping the phone against my thigh, I searched for the bright side. “At least now I’ll have an espresso machine.”
“About that…” Bishop dug a debit card out of his pocket. “There you go.”
“What is it?” I accepted the card and frowned at my name on the front. “This isn’t my bank.”
We all carried expense cards linked to the OPA, expenses—much like our salaries—paid by taxes on the paranormal citizens, but this logo was different from those too.
“Here’s the thing.” Bishop settled into a ready stance that set alarm bells clanging in my head. “When Linus moved out, he told me to get the penthouse ready for the next potentate.”
“I remember.” Linus offered his old suite to me that night, and I passed. “That doesn’t explain this.”
“He took what he wanted and told me he didn’t care what I did with the rest.” He paused. “Have you been up since then?”
“Without Linus there, I haven’t had a reason.”
“You remember all those paintings and sculptures?”
I’m sure my thoughts on them leaked onto my face. “Yes.”
“Turns out his interior designer purchased them from up-and-coming local artists.”
That sounded about right. The place had a classy but cold feel. It was glossy and perfect like a magazine. Linus lived there, had for years, but it was clear it wasn’t his home. Just a place where he slept.
“You’re the one responsible for that paras-only silent auction.” Midas sat upright. “Mom bought a godawful red painting from it when she recognized the work as Leo Morgan’s. He’s one of our old ones. I respect that, but it’s literally a solid-red canvas.” He glared at Bishop. “It looks like blood spatter, smells like blood too. It cost her seventy-three thousand dollars. A dozen more paintings from other artists, and twice as many figurines and sculptures, were on the auction block that night. We’re lucky she stopped with one.”
“Bishop,” I said calmly. “Tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.”
“The apartment is empty, a blank slate. You’ll need funds to dress it up, make it your own.” He stared at me, daring me to refuse. “You need the money to start over, and I hate to tell you this, but it might not be the last time we have this conversation. I’m going to teach you how to invest what you don’t use, and we’re going to set you up for life.”
“You need to transfer these funds to Linus.”
“He doesn’t want them. He didn’t want anything but his personal art. That’s all he took when he left.”
Those portraits had been a study in Grier, as I recalled, and it didn’t surprise me he wouldn’t part with them.
“I can’t accept this.” I pushed the card back at him. “It’s too much.”
“Think about your family.” He held up his hands, palms out. “Addie could use the money, and so could your dad. Think what you could do for them, for your ancestral home.”
The dissonance between what I expected him to say and what he said jarred me so much I almost said something stupid, like My family doesn’t need the money.