has others.”
With Tonia she crossed a sidewalk, went up a trio of steps to a paved walkway toward a wide, covered porch.
“I talked to Duncan.” Tonia tapped her temple. “We have Utah.”
Fallon felt twin tugs of jubilation and trepidation. “How many casualties?”
“Zip, zero. Not a single one. Some injuries, but not a single casualty on our side. He said their security was a joke, and half the enemy was drunk or stoned on peyote—which is a big no-no for PWs. I don’t think White sent his best. I think Dunc’s actually a little disappointed it was so easy.”
“The next won’t be.” Fallon paused on the porch. “I’ll need a full report, and details of what they’ve done and are doing for our security there. The supplies, the prisoners, the rescued, all of it.”
“He knows. Once they’ve done the inventory, got their numbers, and all that, Mallick’s coming back to report to you directly.”
“Good. I’ll check in with Mick, and we can hope the news there is as positive. Meanwhile, we’re going to set up our HQ here.”
She opened the door.
As they stepped in, Tonia gaped. “Holy … Wow!”
The entrance spread over gleaming floors, towered up three open stories. An elaborate staircase split and veered off right and left on the second floor. Overhead, an enormous light showered with crystals.
Art in ornate frames covered the walls.
As Fallon wandered farther, she saw some sort of open sitting room to her left with twin sofas covered with silky fabric, chairs with curved legs, tables of polished wood, lamps with more crystals sparkling.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Tonia said as she shifted right.
A fireplace framed with white stone shot through with silvery gray stood between tall white pillars. The room held a piano painted gold, more sofas, more chairs and tables and lamps, more art.
A few pieces had been smashed or broken during the battle. The steel shutter over the big front window, compromised during the fight, hung crooked. Blood stained the colorful rug. Some had spilled on the polished floors.
“Luxury,” Fallon said. “The leaders lived in luxury, stealing whatever they wanted, decorating their nests. And you see?” She moved to the window. “They could sit here, stand here in their stolen palace, and watch the crowds cheer as they hanged those like us.”
“Not anymore.”
“No, not anymore. We’ll leave what’s needed, take what isn’t to distribute where it is needed, or store until it is.”
She roamed on, amazed at the space and furnishing of a dining room—another fireplace, this in a green stone she knew as malachite, a long, glossy table large enough to sit twenty surrounded by chairs with high backs and fancy seats. Sideboards holding silver candles and bowls.
A kitchen that would surely have made her mother weep with joy, despite the blood on the floors, the broken doors of glass that led out to a stone patio, a pool, a garden, a fountain.
A kitchen, she thought, where slaves had cooked and served.
She opened a door. “A pantry—a big one, and with enough supplies to feed fifty for a week.”
“Same with this fridge.” Tonia opened another door. “It’s a kind of laundry room. There’s a cot in here, shackles. They kept a personal slave.”
“Not anymore,” Fallon said again, and opened another door. “Leads downstairs.” Though she knew the house had been cleared, she laid a hand on the hilt of her sword as they started down.
“Communication center. Bless the goddess,” Tonia said with a wild grin. “Chuck is going to lose his shit. Man, oh fuck, Fallon, it’s as full of toys as anything I’ve seen outside of the nuke plants we hit.”
“They worked hard putting this together.” Fallon studied the controls, monitors, radios, components. “Now we’ll use it against them.”
“It’s got to be full of data, records, locations, everything. Chuck will dig it out.”
“That’s his magick.”
The battle had come here, she saw, in blood and gore, overturned chairs, bullet holes in walls.
She walked to the broken door, stepped out into the steamy night. Closing her eyes, she reached out to Mick.
Man, we’ve been waiting to hear from you. You’re okay?
We have Arlington.
Hot damn! What did you—
Later. I need a sitrep.
Well, we’ve got Carolina—or this part of it. Utah?
Yes.
We freaking did it!
Casualties?
She felt his hesitation, prepared for the worst.
Eight. Sixteen wounded. We lost eight, Fallon. We lost Bagger.
She grieved for the elf she’d known as a child, for the boy who had a love for jokes. I’m sorry, Mick.
They lost more, I can tell you that. A hell of a lot