“I admit I’m not sorry to be done with either of them,” Eddie said in his soft-spoken way. “Gaia save me, I’m looking forward to going home, and goddess willing, Fate will keep its nose out of our business.”
Tate and Chayton both grunted in agreement, and Tate rested a big hand on Deva’s shoulder. “I’d accept your help if you could give it, Deva, but I’m with Eddie. I’d rather take our chances in the Sanctuary than rely on Fate to find us mates. After what Theo shared, I don’t trust that crazy bastard not to have an ulterior motive.”
“Guys, you don’t have to convince me. I’ll be the last to defend Fate or Chaos. But all this melancholy is impossible to ignore. Rohan’s been depressed for weeks. I want to help, so will you at least make me a promise? When the hounds return, and this crap between Fate and Chaos is done, if you’re still single, let me try. Let me use my not inconsiderable influence to find you guys a woman you can all be happy with.”
Her prismatic eyes flitted from one man to the next, her aura flaring with determination. I couldn’t help but chuckle at how much she’d evolved in the year since we first met, in the midst of our tour with Aella.
“I don’t think we can argue with that offer,” I said. “I imagine you’ll be able to check up on us one way or the other, won’t you?”
She grinned. “And don’t think I won’t, the second the hounds are home again.”
The worry in her tone wasn’t lost on me. “Is your hunch right? Do you think Chaos is after a member of the Bloodline?”
“It isn’t a straightforward problem, to be honest,” she said. “The hounds respond best to clear directives, so the vague question of whether Chaos has it out for any of the Bloodline is difficult for them to pin down. But they’ve caught a…scent…” She paused to find the words. “They’re on someone’s trail now. A member of the Bloodline who they’ve linked to Chaos and followed out of Las Vegas. Until I’m sure that person is safe, and any others close to them, I’m not going to relax my focus.”
“Then, by all means, let us worry about our own lives. We’ll survive if we have to go it alone for a time,” Stuart said. “Perhaps a little solitude will help give us all some perspective. Allow us to appreciate the bonds of brotherhood even more.”
As much as I appreciated Stuart’s sentiment, I couldn’t help but feel our bonds stretching thin already, and the thought of losing them broke my heart.
3
April
The thing I loved most about fire was how it had a life of its own. Just like other living creatures, it sprang from a seed—a spark—and required nurturing and sustenance to grow. The same way a plant might have provided food to the hungry, fire returned that nurturing in the form of warmth and protection from the cold and dark that surrounded us.
I was one with the fire tonight as I faced the furnace, dipping the end of the blowpipe into the crucible and twisting it. Gathering the molten glass was only the first of many steps that would culminate in another exquisite sculpture that merged two living elements that were at odds with each other: earth and fire together.
At least, that was the hope.
It had taken two more days to shake the sense of imbalance after Dad’s departure. I endured countless frustrating hours of work only to have the pieces crack at the last second. I hadn’t left the studio since returning from my visit with Dad, had spent my nights sleeping on the ratty old thrift store sofa in the makeshift lounge we had in one corner when I ran out of steam and my morale was too low to keep going each night. I’d gotten so irritable my poor assistants were starting to complain.
“Come on, April,” Josh said in encouragement. “You’ve got this.”
I’d managed to fend off the worst of the self-doubt. My skills weren’t the issue; it was the material, the very atmosphere around me that failed me. I’d gone back to paper sketches and blacksmithing for a little while, which seemed more forgiving than glass. Hammering out the iron and twisting the copper for the trunk and branches of the sculpture was also cathartic and let me work out some of my frustration. The alternative was throwing the malformed chunks of glass at the wall just to hear them smash. There was a time and place for that kind of destruction, but I needed to keep my mind solidly focused on the concept of creation. My sculpture was about life, after all. Not death. Order rather than chaos.
Which perhaps made my affinity for fire somewhat ironic. Fire and earth often destroyed each other, but in my hands, with my skill, they worked in synergy. First with the creation of the vessel. It began as an elaborate steel filigree setting, not unlike an enormous piece of jewelry. One of the bases rested on the floor beside me, an empty metal cage waiting to be filled.
When the taffy-like fluid clinging to the end of my blowpipe was the right size, I would press it into its cage, blowing on the mouthpiece of my pipe just enough for the glass to bulge out from between the metal, like a balloon wrapped in a net. Once the mouth of the vessel was opened up, I would secure the completed piece in the annealer to slowly cool down enough to handle.
The second step was to add more life to the empty vessel. Rich soil and tiny plants would fill it, and with enough sun and water, would bloom in time to be admired by the patrons of the gallery at the show in a few weeks.
I was in the zone, every ounce of energy focused intently on each step of the process. It was finally working, but it wasn’t until we’d locked the piece securely in the annealer that I realized I’d been holding my breath.
I exhaled a weary groan, leaning into Renee as she flung her arms around me. “I knew you could do it! You’re amazing!”
“Now I just need to repeat the process nineteen more times.”
I still had three weeks until the show, but the globes all needed to be done within the next few days to allow time for planting the mini-lifescapes that were meant to grow inside each one. I’d either need to stop sleeping entirely or hire more help, but I didn’t know anyone skilled enough to trust with my design.
“I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee,” Josh said in a resigned voice, anticipating my needs as always.
“Good call. I’m going up front to double-check the dimensions of the space. If I adjust the scale, maybe we can save time fabricating the branches.”
I grabbed my tape measure and headed into the gallery, though I already knew there was no way I could compromise my design for the sake of the schedule. It was meticulously planned, the dimensions of every piece intended to reflect the golden ratio, so I couldn’t alter a single piece without radically altering the whole sculpture. That would never do. But I needed some busy work just to get my head back in the zone, and visualizing the final product where it would rest within the clean lines and natural light of the gallery always helped.
Pushing through the back door between the warehouse studio and the gallery was like emerging from a cave into the light of day. The whole building was situated in a refurbished industrial district close to downtown, but the public-facing gallery had been renovated with hewn logs surrounding the metal columns and frosted glass skylights spanning the entire roofline. The interior walls were painted white, and the hardwood floors gleamed. The afternoon had turned sunny for once, and the gallery had a handful of customers browsing among the art.