Chapter 21
The door of the sumptuous office was flung open so unceremoniously that anyone who knew the occupant of the office or of her might question the visitor's sanity or survival instinct.
"How dare you?!" Evony rose from her plush arm-chair, stoked up on her indignation, and caught herself mid-sentence as it was clearly going nowhere without a face to put behind the you. In front of her a puff of black smoke crept along the carpet thickening into a small cloud and taking its sweet time to shape into a form. Slightly chastised and too canny to go off shouting at creatures crafty enough to take a gas form, the leader of the Dark waited patiently for an opportunity to address the intruder face to face or, if one was not produced, to call her hired help for a super-powered vacuum cleaner.
As soon as the need for the said labour-saving device vanished, Evony leaned back into her chair and plastered on a welcoming smile. "Odin? Great to see you," she purred, "It's been centuries. Though we had some dealings with your adopted son Loki a coupe of years back. He is such a frolicky imp."
"I am not here to talk children – seeing as the one I have turn out to be such a nuisance most of the time," the man grumbled and drew another chair for himself, "Like the youngest one – so much effort and all to find out she managed to lose her powers and render herself completely worthless."
The Morrigan had to clamp her pearly teeth on the tip of her pink tongue as the question threatened to fall off it – she knew better than to pry into the semi-good's private life and get involved into his seemingly endless family emergencies. Of all the fae, handling the rulers of other realms were the most dicey, the least predictable and, more often than not, far from enjoyable.
"Hope, you are not here for parental advice? Totally not my area of expertise," she asked cautiously and was relieved to see Odin shake his head.
"No, I am here for something much more material – for a succubus, one of your Dark subjects. Goes by the name of Aiofe," the man explained.
"Oh, the potty one who blew up the Light compound together with the Ash himself and a batch of dignitaries?" Evony allowed herself a giggle.
"That's my Aiofe, she has always been a fiery one," Odin replied with a distinct note of approval.
"Last I heard she was captured by a crazy human scientist and experimented on but then rumour has it she escaped and has been in hiding ever since," the Morrigan made a show of studying her freshly painted ginger nails.
"I am sure it would cause you no trouble at all to find her," Odin didn't bother to sound as if he was asking.
"Why do you want her? She is my subject after all, I have the right to know," the woman flapped her eyelashes, waiting for her opponent to declare his interest .
"Let's say, for sentimental reasons. Maybe to beget another child," the Norse ruler's expression became meditative, "this one to be raised under my close supervision, with no humans leaving their dirty mark on her."
Evony released a long-suffering sigh and shook her permed head mock-deprecatingly, "You can have any blonde valkyrie, any statuesque Northern beauty and yet you are still hot and bothered by the succubus."
"Dark and passionate and such a good mother," Odin's gaze misted over nostalgically, "Also keeps me on my toes. Last time I relaxed my guard she escaped my realm and took our child with her, just to spite me."
"I'll help you out in this hour of need," the Morrigan drawled, her delicate hands curling into fists as her mind was processing the scarps of information, putting two and two together and coming up with an answer that made her tremble with delight. "If you care to elucidate who is the poor girl who dared to distress you so much by losing her fae powers. Anyone I know?" she asked coyly and was rewarded with the name that sent her into ecstatic convulsions.
"I'll send my men out to look for the Dark fae succubus Aiofe immediately, or rather, as soon as I get one more straight answer," Evony was all smile now, "Do you need the girl any more or is she culled out?"
"She is a human," Odin raised his eyebrows, obviously surprised by the inanity of the question, "If my godly children are next to useless in matters unconcerned with boozing, seducing wenches, swinging their hammers around and tricking each other, what good can a human be to me?"
"Just what I wanted to hear!" the brunette exclaimed barely restraining herself from clapping her hands childishly before sending out two groups of her best men – though only one of them was the search party.
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While the girls and Trick, who was physically caught in the middle of the female emotional outpourings, were hugging it out, the two tall fae were propping up the different sides of a column, adorning the main room of the Dal.
"So," Hale broke the uncomfortable silence, "Glad to have you back, partner."
"Glad to be back, partner," Dyson answered with utmost sincerity but apprehensive of the possible turn the conversation might take.
"And my little princess is ever the one to be the rescuer, like when she returned to save you from the berserkers," the siren went on in a tone betraying nothing but appreciation, "and now again when you were playing the Sleeping Beauty. Should've shaved, mate."
The wolf, who was semi to completely un-conscious during most of the proceedings and was a bit fuzzy on how Kenzi had actually managed to bring him round, did his best not to stammer. "Kenzi is our little hero," he said less than evenly, "at least, she didn't have to kiss me awake, did she?"
"Fortunately not," Hale replied keeping the tone light but a bit surprised by the shifter's tentative intonation and the tag, "She just kinda shook you awake."
Dyson felt distinctly better at this and chortled good-humouredly, "Well, she is persistent, isn't she? And such a good friend."
"All of that she is," the siren agreed seamlessly before tacking on, "And turns out she's also the woman you've never stopped loving. At least, that's what Bo's crazy father said."
The shifter felt as if he had been dropped into a quagmire and was being sucked deeper and deeper into his own omissions and half-truths. He asked himself how he had found himself in such a preposterous position – screwing his best friend's girl-friend, lying to his face and still unable to be ashamed enough to at least feel punsihed. What for was he reverting to his old reckless, philandering self, to the unscrupulous, double-dealing Dyson he used to be before he met Trick. The answer came up like a light-bulb turning on right in his line of vision – Kenzi, the small fragile figure smiling at him from above Trick's graying head and from under the tangle of long blonde and dark hair, Kenzi who could bring the best out in him as well as the worst but never failed to leave her mark on him.
Dyson surprised himself with a sudden thought of coming clean but discarded the idea immediately – what right did he have to ruin their relationship, what truth could he tell Hale that could explain and justify what he had done. Instead, he settled for the usual defense line – a plausible but misleading understatement. "Well, Odin is not to be trusted, my friend," he shrugged his shoulders as nonchalant as he could master, "His aim was to disorient Bo and make her doubt her closest people. Who knows what the spell was all about. And Kenzi… she has always been in my heart even when the Norn ripped all my passion out of it, Kenzi managed to stay put. Guess, there are types of love the old tree hugger couldn't imagine existing."
Hale opened his mouth, as if ready with another question, and closed it again, his good nature and overpowering desire to trust those dearest to him making him nip his own doubts in the very bud. He nodded, seemingly satisfied with the explanation, "Yes, Kenzi is special and I'm the luckiest siren in the world to have her." With these words he unpeeled himself from the column and ambled over to the one who made him such while the wolf found himself restraining a sudden urge to grab his hand and stop him.
An hour later Trick opened the second bottle of the night with a resigned look. "I've lost a whole day in takings due to our Norse visitor," he groused, "Might as well lose another bottle on the lot of non-paying free-loaders."
"No, it's only me, T-man," Kenzi happily snatched a filled glass from under his generous hand, "Bo is family, doesn't count, and the rest of the bunch do pay. Sometimes. Especially Lauren – she's responsible. And Hale –he's loaded."
Dyson, who evidently didn't make her list of sometimes paying patrons, nonetheless seized the second glass, courtesy of Trick, and downed it in one gulp – his previous high spirits after being revived in Kenzi's arms had dissipated and given place to dark brooding and a hollow feeling of unidentified origin. Bo took her own drink and raised the glass in a toast. "Kenzi has just hit it on the head, that's what I want to drink to – family – the real one, the one that is always in your corner, that is always caring and wise and patient."
"In other words, to Trick, sista," Kenzi chirped and clinked the side of her glass against Bo's, "and to his complete lack of pettiness and stinginess."
The oldest fae in the room was doing his best not to let show how touched and warmed he felt by the girls' words and the others were just about to join in when the well-tried door of the Dal was thrown open and off its hinges with a cracking sound of splintered wood. A group of bulky-looking fae were crowding the entrance, their faces far enough from politely indifferent to be openly hostile. Glass shattered as Dyson flew off his stool and tensed in a fighting stance, his claws out, shielding his friends. Trick dove behind the counter to grab his shot-gun, but disappointedly came up with his heavy bat while the girls were readying their own weapons – Kenzi working up some succu-appetite and Bo searching for her handbag and the gun, too big for her cleavage, stashed in it. Hale and Lauren exchanged a tired apprehensive look, "We just can't catch a break, can we?" the doctor muttered, unsure whether to play the stupid heroism card or just get out of the way and help by not hindering those who could fight.
"The Morrigan sends her best regards to the defenseless ex-succubus," one of the goons, obviously the most articulate one of the batch and to be trusted with long words, declared, "and offers her condolences to the possible survivors in advance if too many of Bo's protective friends are added to the body count."
A/N: Feeling a bit warmer and, thus, inspired. It's all thanks to your reviews and kind words! Enormous thanks to everyone.