As she worked, Hugh strode over to the quilt. His dark gaze scanned the blanket burrito currently encasing Gwen and lingered on her face.
“You’re fighting to stay awake.” His tone was neutral, the set of his mouth displeased. “Do you not trust Lorrie’s ability to protect you?”
“Hey!” Lorrie objected, through a mouthful of gougère. “I’m basically a super-sexy killing machine, bro!”
Gwen raised her head slightly, frowning back at Hugh. “Of course I trust Lorrie.”
“Then please rest while you still can.” He squatted down beside the blanket, his tight black pants straining in a very distracting way over his firm thighs. “Assuming you also trust the rest of us to do what’s necessary?”
“Of course I do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have signed up to fight zombies at their side”—she waved a limp hand toward Lorraine, then returned her attention to Hugh—“or willingly put on a Guy Fieri costume and rolled up to your apartment at oh-dark-hundred this morning.”
His frown eased. “Good.”
“Good,” Gwen echoed, and their eyes met and held.
Lorrie popped her last gougère, studying the two of them with avid interest.
“I, uh…” Hugh gently smoothed a stray hair back from Gwen’s forehead, then cleared his throat and hastily stood. “I imagine documenting the compound and its grounds will take a while, especially since Kip and I need to avoid the cameras. Removing any evidence of Supernatural involvement will slow us down too.” His pompadour ruffled slightly in the brisk breeze. “You have time for a real nap.”
“I’ll keep watching over you, Gwennie-my-sweet.” Lorrie swallowed the last gougère. “And speaking of watching out: When you’re inside the compound, don’t forget to check for any stray zombies that didn’t get the we’re-leaving-now memo, mini-Councilor-bro.”
At that, Gwen sat bolt upright. Why the hells hadn’t she thought of that?
“There’s no need to worry,” Hugh hastily told them. “Kip will be with me, and we’ll watch each other’s backs. I’m not letting him bring any food, so he won’t be distracted.”
Kip’s indignant cry drifted over from the wall. “Fuck you too, dude!”
“Probably for the best.” Gwen did her best to radiateunconflicted, I-totally-believe-you-won’t-get-your-brains-slurped vibes. “Just…be careful, okay? Both of you. Please.”
“We will.” Hugh’s sigh puffed out in a little cloud, and he visibly braced himself. “All right, then. Once more unto the very literal breach. Time to tamper with more evidence, despite the various laws, regulations, and ethical guidelines forbidding that exact course of action.”
He was clearly unhappy about his task—and to be fair, a politician who genuinely cared about ethics constituted a near-miraculous anomaly. Under most circumstances, his commitment to honesty would only help his constituents.
Not in these circumstances, though. And at his age, he should already know that rules and justice didn’t always demand the same actions or work toward the same outcome.
Between her thumb and forefinger, Lorrie played a tiny imaginary violin for him.
“I know removing evidence bothers you.” Against Gwen’s express wishes, her drooping eyelids drifted shut, although she managed to finish speaking. “But you’re working to save millions of innocents, Hugh. Try to remember that.”
The blankets atop her shifted, as if someone was straightening them and tucking them a bit tighter around her. She couldn’t seem to open her eyes to find out for sure.
“I will,” Hugh said, and she was asleep before the quiet shush of his receding footsteps faded into the wind.
6
After Sabrina had erased all evidence of Supernatural involvement in the breach—at least all the evidence outside Wall One—she insisted on treating Gwen’s wounds and magically easing the worst of her exhaustion. Gwen’s repeated protests didn’t sway her in the slightest.
“If you’re going to make it through the next few days, you can’t be lying semicomatose and bleeding on the ground.” The worry and warmth in the witch’s dark eyes belied her matter-of-fact tone, and she laid a cool palm over Gwen’s forehead. “I have just enough energy to speed your healing process. Don’t fret.”
Within moments, tingles percolated through Gwen’s entire body, and the fierce stinging of her knees and hands faded to a dull itch as her various cuts scabbed over.
“That’s better.” With a tired-sounding sigh, Sabrina removed her palm and thumped down beside Gwen and Lorrie onthe quilt. “You still need rest, but you should be able to function now.”
Gwen blinked away tears of mingled gratitude and shame. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Sabby leaned closer, her dark ponytail swinging between them, and lowered her voice to a bare whisper. “I didn’t sense any permanent damage to you or the baby, but you should still see a SERC doctor as soon as possible.”
“Trust me.” Lorrie’s words were barely intelligible through a mouthful of fresh baguette. “Mini-demon-bro won’t let her avoid medical intervention for long. That dude is already one hundred percent—”
