Great. Tem had dashed headlong into a burning building and Nori was losing her shit. Which meant for the moment I was on my own. I let my shocked gaze sweep over the scene, trying to absorb it all. To wrap my head around what had happened.
Aside from a small team of firefighters manning the hoses aimed at the roof and amaranthine tree, everyone was keeping their distance from the Eternal Bloom. No vehicles were closer than three hundred feet, and for the most part, no people either. Just Tem, who’d disappeared into the gloom of the destroyed structure already. The men who’d tried to stop him from getting close to the building hadn’t followed once he’d breached that three-hundred-foot perimeter.
I caught movement in the rubble. Tem? Rescuers searching for survivors? I peered harder, trying to force my bad eyes to sift through the shadows of the building.
A figure stepped out from behind a ruined wall and stopped, looking up as if he felt me looking. He wore no safety gear, only a dark T-shirt and worn jeans against the frigid January air. I was too far away to make out his eyes, but I knew they were hazel—I’d seen them hundreds of times before, sometimes quite intimately.
Death.
Grim Reaper, angel of death, soul collector—whatever you wanted to call him, I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him in a place where so many had died. But his presence caught me off guard. I’d barely seen him in the two months since we’d both conceded that a relationship wasn’t going to work. I still stood by that decision, but damn, I missed my friend.
He lifted a hand, a small wave. Then he turned, vanishing from sight. I didn’t bother calling out or chasing after him—I’d only find him if he wanted me to, and if he wanted to talk, he’d find me.
Faces flashed in my mind again. I didn’t know many of the fae who frequented the Bloom by name, but there were a lot of faces I saw nearly every trip I took through it to the winter court. How many of those familiar faces had been inside when . . . whatever happened . . . happened?
My gaze moved to the still-burning amaranthine tree. How the hell was the tree even visible from outside the building? How badly damaged was the pocket of Faerie? Was the door to winter still there? Would it still work with this much damage to the tree?
And had the door been the target?
“Nori, do you think—” I started, turning toward her.
Her glamour had completely fallen, her large, multifaceted eyes riveted on the destruction in front of us. As if her name had been a catalyst, she launched herself into the air. Before I could so much as call out to her, she zipped forward, her wings taking her higher as she shot toward the remains of the Eternal Bloom. Shouts erupted as Nori soared over the crumbled remains of walls and dodged around the spray from fire hoses, headed straight for the burning trunk of the amaranthine tree.
And now I’d lost both my agents.
I frowned, looking around again. I needed to locate the command tent and find out what had been learned about the explosion. My brain kept circling back to the note on the flowers delivered directly before the earthquake that coincided with the explosion. It had wished me an exciting first week. If the flowers were from Ryese, had he bombed the Bloom? Just to fuck with me? Not that there was any love lost between him and Falin, or hell, he might hate the entire winter court, as the former queen had thrust him out of it. So maybe the roses were to get in my head, but this was an attack on the court. And if it was an attack, was Nekros’s door the only one targeted?
I dug out my phone and dialed the main number for the FIB office. The noise around me was deafening—sirens, emergency responders calling out to each other, the jetting water, and the roar of the flames as they consumed the door to Faerie.
I started talking as soon as an agent answered. “This is Special Agent Alex Craft. I need someone to contact the other FIB offices and find out if there were any other explosions at the other doors to winter.”
“Yes, sir, er, ma’am,” the agent said, the anxiety evident in his voice increasing.
I started to disengage, but then added, “If the other doors are intact, increase security around them.” Another thought occurred to me. Standing in front of the destruction of the Bloom, I’d been working on the assumption that the damage had taken place on this side of the door. But what if this was spillover from the other side? “And someone get me a status update on what is happening inside the winter court and the well-being of the king. Update me immediately as soon as contact is established.”
“Of course,” he said, his voice more of a panicked squeak. I doubted I sounded any better. It was all I could do not to rush into the burning building myself, but I wasn’t a troll with near-impenetrable skin and the ability to heal quickly, nor did I have wings to flit down through the roof. Even standing across the street, the heat licked at the exposed skin of my face from the still-burning tree.
Falin was okay. He had to be.
“The king needs to be apprised of the fact that the Nekros door might be damaged,” I said, unwilling to accept the possibility that Falin might not be able to receive that message. “Now, start making those calls.”
“Y-yes, sir,” the fae said again, shock dulling his voice.
I disconnected and shoved my phone back in my purse, then I turned from the building. I needed answers, and I wasn’t going to get any standing here gawking.
Officers, agents, paramedics, firefighters, first responders, men and women in suits, people in uniforms emblazoned with large letters proclaiming ABS, ABMU, NCPD, MCIB—the entire alphabet soup of public safety were gathering in clusters in the street a distance from the Bloom. Everyone seemed busy, and yet none were entering the building. Had they cleared it of survivors already? Even if I hadn’t seen Death among the rubble, I knew there were still casualties inside. I could feel them, the grave essence lifting from them a constant pressure against my mental shields. I could have opened myself and known exactly how many dead were inside, but I couldn’t help the dead. I needed to focus on the living. And to do that, I needed more information.
I spotted a hastily erected canopy on the far side of the perimeter and headed toward it. That had to be the command tent, which was where I was most likely to find answers. Also, as agent in charge, it was probably where I was supposed to be.
A few people glanced my way as I marched over to the command tent, but no one stopped me, all too involved with their own tasks. I’d just reached the edge of the tent when a loud booming crack sounded from the remains of the Bloom. I whirled around as a plume of dust and flame erupted from somewhere inside the unstable building, and the ground shook with the impact of part of the ceiling collapsing. My heart, already erratic in my chest with the panic I was barely controlling, seemed to stutter, and I held my breath, watching for movement inside the ruined building.
For a long moment, the only sounds on the street were the sirens, the fire hoses, and the crackling fire that refused to extinguish. No one on the street seemed to move, all of us waiting, watching to see if more of the structure would collapse. The dust plume settled quickly under the spray from the hoses. No one emerged from the building. Slowly people began to turn away and return to the tasks they’d been focused on before this newest collapse. No one attempted to go into the building. I kept watching, but seconds stretched. No sign of movement from inside. No sign of Tem or Nori . . .
Had they been caught in the collapse? Had they made it to the door and stepped through to the winter court? My feet itched to race forward, to go search through the rubble, but I fought against that instinct. They had rushed into the building. I needed to keep my head.
After another moment, I turned back to the command tent I’d nearly reached and crossed the distance to step into the shadow cast from the sunshade. Five people stood inside, locked in what sounded like an animated conversation, but they fell silent as I stepped into the tent opening, all eyes turning toward me.
“Can we help you
?” asked a woman with blond hair slicked back into a high bun.
I held up my badge, flipping it open to show my ID once again. “Alex Craft, FIB. What can you tell me about the explosion?”
The woman lifted a sharply angled eyebrow so that it arched over the narrow, red-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. She gave me an appraising once-over, taking in my no-name blazer and big boots, which were a world apart from her expensive-looking pencil-skirt suit and three-inch heels. Okay, yeah, she looked more professional, but if we both had to run into that building, I’d not only reach it first in my more sensible footwear, but my leather pants would provide a lot more protection and my heels wouldn’t get caught in piles of rubble, so she could take her judgment and shove it. Her gaze moved to the man beside her, exchanging a look that I ignored.
This man was at least more sensibly dressed than the woman, wearing what I guessed was a dark uniform under a heavy flak jacket with the initials ABS on the right breast area. Arson Bomb Squad unit. The man beside him must have been the fire chief, based on the heavy fire coat he wore. The only other woman in the group wore a dark uniform. Because of the position of the group, I couldn’t see if she had any identifying letters on her uniform, but I could feel the assortments of charms on her person, so I guessed she was either Anti-Black Magic Unit or Magical Crimes Investigation Bureau. The last man wore a plain suit, but him I knew—the police commissioner of Nekros City.
After a tense moment, the judgy blonde stepped forward. “Hello, Ms. Craft. I’m Hilda Larine with the Office of the Ambassador of Fae and Human Relations.” She held out her hand. “Will Agent Andrews be joining us?”
I reached out to accept her hand, and her gaze darted momentarily to my gloves. She loosely grasped just my fingers, and then retrieved her hand quickly, as if I might have some communicable disease she hoped to avoid.
Yeah, I didn’t like her. This was the local representative for the ambassador of fae and human relations? That did not bode well. Still, I gritted out my smile.
“Agent Craft, actually. And no. Falin Andrews will not be joining us. He has . . . accepted a higher position.” That was putting it mildly. “I have replaced him as special agent in charge.”
Her red painted lips made a small O, and she once again gave me a disparaging appraisal. I ignored her, turning to look over the rest of the group.
“Do we know the source of the explosion yet? Where the bomb was located when it detonated?”
The man in the Arson Bomb Squad vest took the lead, stepping forward and holding out his hand. “Captain Oliver, ma’am.” His handshake was firm and professional. He looked young to have risen all the way to the rank of captain, maybe midthirties, and had dark hair cut short and deep brown eyes that were both intense but approachable. “No. We don’t know the source yet. And we aren’t ruling out anything. This explosion could have been caused by a gas leak, an incendiary device, or magic. Reports suggest an earthquake hit the Quarter at about the same time, so it is possible that contributed. We won’t know until we get inside and I can’t send my guys in there while the fire is still burning. Once it’s out, and the structural engineer has approved our entry, we’ll begin processing.”
I nodded, not really surprised by the news. Oliver flashed a smile, and while it was a nice smile, even friendly, it was a smile that expected something, so I wasn’t surprised when he followed up with a question.
“Is there anything you can tell us about the explosion?”
I glanced out the open side of the tent to the devastated building. This didn’t feel accidental. The damage was too catastrophic, but also contained to the Bloom with only a little spillover to the surrounding structures. So the real question was, if this was an attack, had it been planned by enemies on this side of the door or in Faerie?
“I just got to the scene, Captain,” I said, committing to nothing. His smile dimmed only slightly as he gave me an accepting nod. First impression? He was someone I was going to be able to work with a whole lot easier than Hilda Larine. I turned toward the fire chief. “Were you able to evacuate all the survivors?”
The chief twisted his lips and didn’t quite meet my eyes. “Civilians were rushing in and out of the building when first responders arrived. We secured the building, made sure no more civilians could rush in. Once the fire is out, my men will start shoring up the building and do a thorough search.”
I frowned. “So you didn’t clear the building? Search for trapped survivors?”
The older man’s face reddened, and his hand made an aggressive sweep to encompass the Bloom. “There is a bloody three-story tree that appeared out of nowhere, a fire that won’t go out, and when I briefly entered to do a cursory sweep, I found out the space beyond the first doorway is impossible and couldn’t exist in the building. We got several people out of the bar area. But that magical, impossible space? I’m not sending my men in to die from magic they can’t fight. Once we have a better understanding of the situation, they’ll begin searching for survivors.” He lifted a meaty finger and pointed it at me. “And until the building gets a complete walk-through for structural integrity, a sweep for secondary explosives, and a magic evaluation, no one is authorized to enter. I’m the incident commander on the scene as long as a fire is present, not you, so if those were your people who barreled in there right before you barged into this tent, you need to call them out of there.”
Well, I definitely hadn’t made a friend. I opened my mouth, unsure how to salvage this situation or what to say about my agents rushing into the building. Admitting I had no control of the situation didn’t seem like a good idea. I was saved from having to figure out what to say by the chirping of my phone. I dug it out of my purse, noting the agency number on the display before holding up my hand to the people in front of me. “I have to take this.”
I turned my back and took a step or two away, though I knew the small space afforded me no more privacy. “This is Alex,” I said, and then mentally berated myself for using my first name and not my last.
The agent on the other end didn’t seem to notice. “This is Agent Bleek. I’ve reached every winter territory except the one on Antarctica—they don’t have phone reception, but an agent from the territory in South America will be traveling there through Faerie and getting back to us. No one reported any other explosions. I’m waiting to hear back from the agents relaying your information to the king.”
“Good. Let me know as soon as you hear something. And, Agent Bleek, try to find out if any of the other doors on this continent were attacked.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Finally he said, “But there are no other doors to winter on this continent.”
I pressed a hand to my temple, staring out at the ruined remains of the Bloom. “I’m aware.” I’d stared at that weird map long enough the previous day. “But let’s eliminate possibilities. It sounds like no other doors to winter were targeted. But were any of the other courts? Was this an attack against the fae in Nekros? Or is it something bigger?”
The agent on the other side of the line was quiet a moment too long, like he didn’t want to again disagree with the new boss but didn’t know what to say. Something moved in the building, catching my eye, and I looked up, squinting in the late morning sun and blazing fire. A figure emerged from the ruined facade of the building, flying slowly over the crumbled rubble as if weighed down. Nori. It had to be her.
“Just make the calls, Agent,” I said, already striding toward the building.
He mumbled his assurances, and I disconnected and pocketed my phone without ever looking away from Nori’s approaching figure. She carried something large and limp in her arms. A body? No, there was no grave essence reaching for me. A survivor, and fae, based on the pale purple hair.
Nori landed a few feet from me, sagging to the ground as she lowered the fae she carried to the sidewalk. Paramedics rushed forward, but then hesitated as
they noticed the inhuman features of the rescued victim. She was small, no bigger than a child, but her skin was as purple as her hair, except where it was stained with soot and blood.
“I’m sure oxygen and healing charms will be just as effective on her as anyone else,” I snapped to the closest paramedic. He startled and then jumped into motion, sliding a mask over the fae’s face and beginning to assess her injuries.
I moved closer to Nori, who was still on her knees beside the smaller fae, but she wasn’t looking at her. Nori’s inhuman expression was hard to read, but she seemed dazed, unfocused.
“Did you see Tem inside? Is he okay?” I asked.
Her head twisted toward me, but her eyes didn’t focus. She nodded slowly. “He’s right behind me.” She turned, the movement stiff, and looked around. She seemed confused for a moment before mumbling, “The ledger . . . must have been destroyed.”
Shit. That was going to make things tricky. The ledger kept the door to the VIP room mostly in sync with the time in mortal reality. Without it, well, Tem might have been right behind Nori, but he could emerge at any time.
Nori shook her head as if to clear it. “Tem has more survivors, but even he couldn’t carry all of them. Agent Mabel is a healer. Has she reached the scene yet?” She fumbled her phone from a case on her waistband, but then stared at the blank screen.
“How many more people are trapped inside?” I asked. The fire chief had said he’d cleared the human side. The fae had been left behind—and the VIP section was where the fire was still raging, so they were in the greatest danger. I stared at the ruined building, again considering going in to look for survivors. I’d run into a burning building once before, but I’d known the fire was only glamour then, and I’d been able to See through it. This fire was very real.
As if to highlight the danger, something inside the building cracked, more of the roof caving in. I swallowed. Not moving. Coward.
Grave War (An Alex Craft Novel) Page 7