“Um…yes. I’m good.” She smothered a yawn with her palmand tipped her head toward the side table. “Thank you for the snack.”
His assessing gaze scanned her from wig to booted toes. “I wasn’t certain what else to do. If you’d remained asleep much longer, I’d have called for medical assistance.”
An understandable, responsible instinct, but thank the gods and goddesses he hadn’t drawn that kind of attention to her and her compatriots.
Avoiding his eyes, she tucked the blanket more tightly around herself and took a polite sip of tea. Herbal. Gingery. Perfect. Next, she nibbled on the corner of a cracker. Rosemary. Crunchy little flecks of sea salt. Also perfect.
All that perfection was frankly aggravating, given the way her entire life continued to unravel around her, skein by skein. But she had no more time to wallow in mortification, so she met that smoked-honey gaze and got on with things. “Thank you for helping me. I apologize for my lack of decorum in the vicinity of…”
No, that would be rude. Her brain-to-mouth filter really needed to stop malfunctioning in his presence before her carelessness scuttled her entire mission.
Even though, above the room’s marble fireplace, an actual freakingcoat of armsgraced the wall. The plaque was enormous and intricate and featured a smug-looking inky-hued raven toward the top, because apparently his family took the whole “Blacke” thing very literally.
The raven wore a top hat and monocle. Of course.
“Your lack of decorum in the vicinity of…what?” His expression was oddly knowing. “Go on, Gwen. Whatever you were thinking, I won’t take offense.”
Dammit. He’d realized she was going to say something disrespectful?
Sadly, she was a terrible liar, as he already knew. There was no point in prevarication.
“In the vicinity of the bougiest pajama pants imaginable.” The words were so hurried they were barely intelligible. “But I need to explain—”
“The bougiest…?” His head immediately dipped, and he frowned down at his pants. “They’re plain gray.”
That was a total dodge. “If they’re not cashmere, I’ll eat my boots.”
Which was saying something. She needed those boots. Had gotten them resoled twice in exchange for free prophetic sessions, because buying a decent-quality new pair would wipe out far too much of her rainy-day savings.
The demon didn’t argue her point, so yep. Cashmere pajama pants. Non-eaten boots.
“We’ve veered off topic.” Straightening in her seat, she braced herself. “Please let me explain what’s happening in the Zone. Why I’m here.”
There was no more time to fritter away. She needed to plead her case—and she could only hope his reputation for shrewdness and discretion was well-earned, because his response to her story would likely determine the rest of her life.
Including its length.
3
“Let me ask you something,” Gwen said to Hugh. “Are you beholden to the fae in any way, other than as your constituents and coworkers on the Council?”
She didn’t know of any personal ties or bargains, but a low-level oracle wasn’t exactly privy to private information about someone as exalted as Hugh Blacke.
At her mention of the fae, his brows rose in surprise. “I haven’t made any bargains, if that’s what you’re asking. I do work closely with at least one half-fae and consider her a trusted and friendly colleague, but I wouldn’t say I’m beholden to her.”
That would have to be good enough. She could only hope he wasn’t lying.
“Okay, then. Here’s what you need to know.” Bracing herself against the sofa’s rolled arm, she began her tale. “Two days after Christmas, there was another breach in Wall One, and the zombies escaped.”
Shock whitened the demon’s face. “What? I had no…How did that news not—” Swiftly, he produced his phone from the pocket of his pajama pants and began tapping out a message. “I need to alert the Council.”
“No.” Lurching to her feet, she snatched the cell out of his hand. “The breach is resolved. The zombies are all dead. I swear it on my life.Pleaselet me finish before speaking toanyone.”
Hiding the device behind her back, aghast at her own uncharacteristic audacity, she met his challenging stare and waited for what he’d do next. After several seconds, he reluctantly nodded his permission to continue, his mouth pressed into a tight, bloodless line.
Hurriedly, before he could change his mind, she continued. “Almost immediately after the breach, all power, internet, and phone service throughout the Containment Zone stopped functioning. The outermost wall”—Wall Four—“sealed shut while the doors through Walls Two and Three opened and the drawbridges over the moats came down and remained that way. Thus giving the zombies easy access to the entire CZ, without any safe means of communicating the threat to anyone either inside or outside the Zone.”
His baseline neutral expression had collapsed into horror. He was clutching the arms of his chair with white-knuckled force, practically vibrating with the need to act. Tohelp, if she read him correctly.
