Page 51 of Morning's Light

Zelda remained unmoved. “We shall see. I’ll keep you abreast of the situation as it develops and let you know of any changes. Right now, you will not turn her away. You will bring her into your confidence and gain her trust. There are things at work here I cannot speak to you about, and it would behoove you to get any and all information out of her without me stepping in.”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Of course! I’m not as dumb as you think I am,” Israel commented.

Before either one finished their meal, she pushed away from the table. A few twenties were extracted from the small purse at her side and thrown down next to her plate. “That should take care of things on my end.”

Israel stared up at her in surprise. “You’re leaving?”

“I have business.”

“You can’t leave in the middle of our date. Zelda, be reasonable.”

“I’m always reasonable.”

Zelda Vuur, the head of the Fire Elementals for the Great Lakes Claddium, drew on her coat, though she did not need the warmth. With a spare glance over her shoulder and a tiny salute, the petite red-haired woman exited the restaurant and headed back to the office.

**

When Aisanna awoke that afternoon, she was in a strange bed, with blankets tucked tight enough to render her a human burrito. She jolted up, ready to bolt, adrenaline coursing through her.

Her heart beat furiously against her chest as she took in the surroundings. Warm taupe walls, berry-colored sheets, and a huge wooden sleigh frame bed in light maple. The cozy details had her brows knitting together.

Unfamiliar, but good quality. Everything in its place and a place for everything. Art on the walls was minimal but tasteful. Each piece matched the others with rustic, masculine charm.

Gone were her borrowed clothing from Israel, replaced instead with soft flannel pajamas in a blue checkerboard pattern. The material brushed against her agonized skin and she felt something inside of her release at the sensation.

There was something relaxing about the room, the clothing, the sheets. Several candles littered the space and lent it warmth. There was only one place she could be.

Still, Aisanna startled when a man came through the door with a tray in his hands.

“Good, you’re awake.” Elon shot her a comforting smile. “I was starting to worry about you. You must have needed the sleep.” He used his foot to push aside a small metal decoration keeping the door open and approached the bed with only the slightest teetering of plates. “I made you some soup. I hope you like it. Kind of a catch-all in a crock pot thing. There’s a lot of vegetables, so it’s good for you.”

“Elon?” Aisanna pushed her hair out of her eyes and stared at the man. She wrung her hands. “Why am I in your bed?”

If the question bothered him, he pushed it aside. “Happy to tell you. You had an episode. I’m not going to go into it but you were screaming on the street.” He set the tray down on a nearby bedside table, then the mattress sagged a little under his weight as he sat next to her. “I brought you home with me because I didn’t know where else to go.”

She stared at the steam rising from the appealing concoction in a neat bowl. Along with the soup, Elon had added a plate of store-bought cookies and a glass of something liquid looking suspiciously like apple juice. She sniffed the air and nearly swooned.

“You made soup? For me?”

“No, I just brought it in here to torture you.” Elon grasped the bowl in both hands before holding it out to her.

Aisanna took the soup and brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply until she felt certain parts of her thawing. “You must be Superman. No one is this nice without a price.”

“No price, Aisanna. Just soup.”

They sat for a moment in companionable silence. Aisanna peered at her bowl, desperately wondering if any more murderous thoughts would invade her head. Would Darkness force her to throw the entire thing in his face and watch while the hot liquid scalded those handsome features? Or would she clobber him to death with the bowl?

When none of these things came to fruition, she looked up, spoon wobbling in her grasp.

“Something is happening to me, Elon,” she said softly. “And it’s safer if you weren’t around. I’m not myself lately and I’m not sure I can risk you being close to me. This,” she gestured around, “is too much.”

Elon shook his head, his stomach pitching to his knees. “That’s never going to happen. It’s only soup.”

“I’m your boss. You should listen to me.” She swirled the soup around with her spoon, making designs in the broth. “I’m also older and wiser. Haven’t you been taught to respect your elders?”

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