Page 88 of Hunt the Dusk
PADMA
“We’re canvasing the southside of Brimswood today,” Atlas saysdown the phone. “I’ll keep you updated.”
“Thanks.”
“Any news on Orina?”
“Nothing new. She’s still healing.”
“Kaster’s been…worried.”
“Tell him she’s safe and she’ll be in touch as soon as she can.”
Atlas is silent for several minutes. “He sent a Raven to Branwood asking if he could visit and hasn’t heard back.”
I’m not surprised. “Ezekiel is extremely protective right now.”
“You mean possessive.”
“Yeah, that too. Ordell and Hemlock have been keeping us informed of her progress. None of our Ravens were replied to either.”
“I’ll let Kaster know. Speak soon.”
“Yeah.” I hang up and reach for the next file on my pile. Being on desk duty while everyone else is out canvasing for missing persons is no fun. But we have a rota, and it’s my turn. My gaze drifts to the package on Orina’s desk.
It arrived two days ago. The cleaning supplies for the damn teapot she’s obsessed with. What if I clean it for her and have it on her desk for when she returns? A welcome back gift? Maybe cleaning it might reveal some clue as to which case it relates to and solve that problem too, although I’m beginning to wonder if it’s related to any case here at all. We’re down to our last box of files waiting for input, and none of them mention a teapot as evidence.
The teapot is hidden at the back of Orina’s desk. Super grimy. But the cleaning solution is the best on the market. I don latex gloves, grab a cloth, and set to work making small circular motions across the ceramic. The dirt comes off reluctantly, but I’m careful not to apply too much pressure. There are hairline cracks on the ceramic beneath the grime. I’m not sure how longI work, minutes, maybe an hour, but the world melts away, and the task takes over until there’s nothing left to clean but a small patch just under the spout.
I add more product and swipe at the area. Once, twice,crack!
I’m thrown backward, chair and all. I hit the ground with the back of my skull, and the world dims, then blooms with purple mist.
“What the heck?” I scramble up and away from the smoke that’s eaten my desk and the teapot and back toward the exit.
Something moves inside the smoke, and my heart leaps into my throat. I make a grab for my blade in the rack by the door and swing to face the smoke just as a figure leaps out of it and pins me to the wall.
Strong hands gripping my wrists, eyes like amethyst flame bore into mine. They narrow then flare, raking over me hungrily.
“It’s you,” he says.
My body reacts to his voice by softening, grip slackening on my sword. He releases my wrist to cup my jaw and leans in, his mouth mere inches from mine.
I bring the hilt of my sword down on his temple and knock him the fuck out.
ORDELL
It’s been a week since Orina was injured. A week of her sleeping and healing, and one week of no Ezekiel because he’s spent every moment locked in his quarters watching over her.
So when Ingrid informs us that Ezekiel has requested our company for dinner tonight, we oblige, curious to know whathe wants to talk about. But after thirty minutes of small talk, as Ezekiel lays out his plans for the security of the School of Creation and his potential ban on turning humans, I can tell Hem is getting more and more agitated.
Neither of us care about the politics of this territory because by the end of the year, none of it will matter.
Finally, Hem snaps and asks the burning question. “Why are we doing this?”
Ezekiel arches a dark brow. “This? Talking?”
“Yes. Talking and this dinner.”
