Thorne glanced at him. “You must know that Grace communicated to me what’s up, that you plan to leave. Permanently.”
“Of course.”
Thorne looked back over the idyllic landscape. In the distance, he watched a couple of preteen boys practicing their flight skills, flying up to the roofline of the house then gliding to a grassy slope along the side of the house. He’d done that when he’d first mounted his wings. It helped to use stationary objects as a point of grounding while learning to manipulate all those back muscles and to get a feel for how the wind currents affect the wings one second to the next.
“You do know that I’ve been AWOL for the past few weeks. I basically deserted my post.”
“I have to admit I found it impossible to believe, but now I understand. This is about Marguerite, isn’t it?”
“Yep.” He frowned and turned toward Leto a little. “What do you make of it—the breh-hedden, I mean.”
Leto shook his head. “Completely f**ked up. If I ever find out someone is behind this kind of fated matchmaking, I’ll kill him … or her.”
“But you’re not going to be around.” Maybe he shouldn’t have said it like that.
The haunted look came back. “You’re right. I’m not.”
At that moment he felt a movement of air and turned to see the shimmering. He whipped to face whoever it was and with the conditioned response of centuries folded his sword into his hand. Leto did the same.
In tandem, both men sent their swords back to weapon lockers.
Diallo put up his hands and smiled. “Sorry. I should have called first, given a warning.” He glanced behind him. “Oh, good, I smell coffee. The elder in charge of the Lake City colony only serves tea. We’ve been up most of the night, arguing, and I want some java.”
Diallo’s arrival made Thorne suddenly and acutely aware that Endelle would be coming soon. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face her, especially since he wasn’t exactly feeling remorseful about leaving. If anything, he was just pissed off.
Another shimmering, and she was just there, facing away from him. He was grateful for the moment, because she wore a halter covered in small seashells. Her skirt was a strange collection of strips of something, seaweed maybe, the rubbery kind. Jesus, he couldn’t quite tell.
But it was the smell of the ocean that struck him, and not in a good way. The seaweed was a little ripe. She turned around and his gaze flew up. She wore a starfish like the front-piece of a crown, which was sort of pretty against her mass of black curly hair.
“Poseidon,” Diallo said. But he took a step or two back.
Thorne took another sniff and couldn’t stop from moving away from her a foot or so. Leto as well.
She rolled her eyes, touched the seaweed, and the next moment it was gone, replaced by a short electric blue mini skirt, in leather of course. “It needs to dry.” Her gaze settled on Thorne. “So where the f**k have you been?”
“Making sure my breh was safe.”
Her mouth worked. She was mad and somehow her anger served to increase his own irritation.
“You could have said something to me, given me a warning.”
“And what would you have told me?” The words came out really fast, with a little steam attached.
“You’re going to get pissy with me? You do know that I could have you arrested, jailed, and thrown at COPASS’s f**ked-up maw for this little stunt? You know that, right?”
But Thorne didn’t answer because the top of his head was about to come off.
Fortunately, movement from the kitchen distracted him. Grace emerged bearing a tray with some kind of pastries, napkins, a sugar bowl and creamer. Marguerite followed carrying a heavier load of six large coffee cups, probably filled to the brim. He glanced down and smiled. She still wore her red socks.
Endelle turned around. The shells on her halter, each one apparently hanging free, clattered. Not a bad sound, it was just weird but what else was new? She was the Supreme High Administrator of Second Earth and she dressed like every day was Halloween. His irritation ratcheted up another hard notch.
“Well, well, well, Marguerite, happy with yourself?” Endelle planted her hands on her hips.
Thorne felt his temper begin to spike. He was ready to go on the attack, but Marguerite’s left brow rose. She paused for a moment and looked the scorpion queen up and down. As she put her feet once more in motion, she moved past her and said, “Love your skirt, that halter is to die for, and I am so diggin’ the starfish. Who’s your designer?”
Endelle’s mouth opened; then she looked down at the seashells. She flicked a couple of them, which set up a rippling effect. “I make up most of this stuff myself.”
Marguerite caught Thorne’s eye and winked.
Thorne shook his head, and his temper eased up. His woman had some unexpected chops.
In the center of the room was a massive coffee table, and both trays found a home there. Diallo moved in first and lifted a cup, but handed it to Marguerite. “Thank you for this kindness. I’m very grateful.”
He then offered a mug to Endelle. She took it, but rolled her eyes and sat down in a tan leather chair opposite the table. She leaned back and stared at nothing in particular as she sipped.
Thorne took a cup but moved to a matching tan chair at the long end of the coffee table. He sat down on the edge of the seat, holding the mug in both hands. The nerves that had been irritated were now jumping. In addition, he had that sensation again, of something big moving around in his chest. It wasn’t anger this time but a feeling that something new was on the horizon.
Grace sat beside Diallo on the couch and Leto perched himself on the wide arm nearest her. He’d grabbed a mug as well and now sipped, but he immediately set it down on the table in front of him and put an arm over his stomach. He leaned forward and grimaced.
Great.
Was the coffee bad? It smelled like heaven. Thorne sipped and realized the coffee wasn’t to blame, just Leto’s current condition.
Which led him right back to the point of this difficult conclave. Though he was ready to get the ball rolling, it was Diallo who met Endelle’s gaze and said, “I thought about coming to you, a thousand times over the centuries. But one of our rules if you live here is absolute secrecy. When someone decides to leave, I wipe their memories.”
“What if they just disappear?” Endelle asked. “Jump ship. What do you do then?”
“I hunt for them and I do as much damage control as necessary.” Some of his braids were caught up at the back of his head. He had strong, powerful features, high cheekbones, an almost aquiline nose, large deep green eyes.