“You want to tell all the civilians waiting to see the great Blind King that they need to hold on while he works on his fucking relationship? Sure, I’ll draft that email and we’ll send it to all registered civilians, true? I’m sure they’ll understand.”
Tohr frowned. “But why did Beth suggest he go out to Shuli’s?”
“She’s always had a soft spot for families fucked by tragedies. And this is a big one.”
V was right. The Queen knew exactly what losing somebody to the Lessening Society was like. So did Tohr. On that note, he rubbed a lancing pain in the center of his chest, one that had never dimmed, even after all these years. Even after Autumn had come into his life.
“Where’s the Brotherhood?” he asked.
“Out in your living room, trying to convince yourshellanthat they don’t need green tea and a scone. Strike that, Rhage is probably eating all the scones—as well as everything else in your refrigerator.”
Tohr frowned. “I thought she was at Xhex’s.”
“Xhex came with her.”
“And everybody sent you in here,” he said with exhaustion. “With the good news.”
“I volunteered.” V shrugged. “Be real. Who else is going to talk to him, Tohr. You’re the levelheaded one, the voice of reason. And we’re not going to make it as a species without Wrath, especially not now. Whatever shit is going on in his head, you’ve got to help him sort it out.”
As Vishous stared across the room with those diamond eyes of his, he clearly looked as bad as Tohr felt and wasn’t that a bitch for them both.
“This fucking night.” Tohr swung his legs off the bed and had to give it a second to see if his stomach held tight. “And FYI, I don’t think he’s going to listen to anybody. Not if it has to do with hisshellan.”
Chapter Fourteen
As Shuli sat on the white sofa in his white parlor, he held his cell phone like it was a sacred, fragile object, something that could break if not handled properly, something that, if he were to look away from its glowing screen, might disappear out of his hold.
Never to return or be replaced.
Over in the archway, he was aware that the King and Queen were staring at him in the same way he was focused on the phone. The royal couple were standing side by side, without the dog who usually accompanied Wrath. When they’d turned up again, with a pair of Brothers in tow as security, he’d been better prepared: Not sober, no, given the bowl he’d lit up as soon as L.W.’s mumsey and daddy had taken off the first time. But at least he’d put on satin pajamas as well as his favorite slippers, the ones with his monogram done in golden thread on black velvet.
So he wasn’t barefoot in a damp bathrobe for this visit.
L.W., on the other hand, had nope’d the fuck right out. The second the male’s parents had materialized at the front entrance and the security camera had announced their arrival, he’d taken off and gone God only knew where.
So, the fighter didn’t know what had happened outside of Bathe.
Yet.
“I was supposed to still be with them all at the club,” Shuli heard himself say. “They wouldn’t have gone out there…if I’d been with them.”
That wasn’t bullshit. The group would have stayed for as long as he wanted them to because that was the way things worked and he always wanted to stay way, way past midnight. And then when it was time to go, they would have come back here. Not fucked around in that alley doing fuck all with the fuck nuts with them.
Until something deadly came out of the shadows. Something that smelled like baby powder sprinkled on a corpse. Something that wanted to kill.
Or worse, torture.
“Neither of them are getting back to me.” State the obvious, why didn’t he. “I, ah…they always answer.”
“We need all the names,” the King said. “The families must be contacted in person before dawn comes.”
Shuli looked up—way up—to meet Wrath, son of Wrath, sire of Wrath in the black wraparounds. Then with a totally disassociated numbness, he recited the formal names of the four who had died, picturing each the way he had seen them last. As he spoke, he typed out the strings of letters that had once identified living people. When he was finished, he hit send to the Brotherhood’s group chat.
“And the two who are missing,” the King prompted as the phone let out a little chord of transmission.
A wave of sickening dread punched at his gut. Those who had been murdered and gone unto the Fade were important. The pair who might still be alive in the hands of the enemy were the priority.
“Rolhand, son of Rolhand the Elder. And Emile, son of Dresden.” As the Queen let out a soft gasp, he cleared his throat. “I want to go talk to their parents. I want to…I need to talk to everybody’s family. With you or the Brothers or whoever goes, of course. I want to talk...to everybody.”
