The Flame Game (Magical Romantic Comedies #12) - R.J. Blain Page 0,63

view her as a sufficient reward for you. You’ve earned her after having climbed into how many dumpsters rescuing sick animals?”

“A few too many,” I admitted. “And there will be more. There are dumpsters I have not yet sufficiently explored in my quest to save every helpless animal on Earth.”

“You can’t keep them all.”

“I would have to take over the Earth to keep them all.” I considered the probability of successfully taking over the planet. “That seems like a lot of work. I’ll practice with my new job and reevaluate my stance on world domination later.”

My husband stared at me with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open.

“Taking over the planet while pregnant might be stressful on the babies, so I have to wait until after they’re born at the absolute earliest. Don’t worry so much, Quinn.”

“Well, I wasn’t worried before, but now I am.”

I giggled, wiped out the interior of the bottle, and used the erasable marker to jot a note reminding me to clean it properly before using it again. “You’re so easy.”

“I don’t know who taught you to be so wicked lately, but keep doing it.”

“You know, that’s a really good question. My husband, who keeps encouraging me to be more vocal and not worry about when I do stupid shit, couldn’t possibly have something to do with it. My husband, who rewards such behavior using his sinful body, couldn’t possibly hold any responsibility at all.”

“I have done a pretty good job if I do say so myself. You should reward me for a change.”

“You are so full of it, Mr. Samuel Quinn.”

After booking a hotel for us in Maine, one that could accommodate our eclectic collection of pets in exchange for offering the other guests a chance to meet and greet with them, Quinn took over our investigation. He began his share of the work after connecting the SUV to his phone so he could call using the vehicle. “Call Thomas of the Orlando hive,” he ordered.

The phone began to ring, and the sound came out of the vehicle’s sound system.

“Thomas,” a man with a nasally voice answered.

“It’s Samuel. My bride is listening in. We have some questions for you.”

“Good morning. Congratulations on your promotion, Chief Quinn.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

“How can I serve?” Thomas asked.

“We’re technically on vacation, but we’re trying to look into the rabies outbreak and the latest incident of gorgon dust production. You tend to be well-connected, so I wanted you to find out if you could approach the hives about a missing woman.”

“A woman?”

“A woman. We have reason to believe that former Chief Morrison, who served in the Hamptons as part of the NYPD, may be involved with the rabies outbreak at a minimum. As I’m of the opinion the dust production and rabies outbreaks are connected, I need to find out more about who he has been working with and why. He has a son—”

“Michella Hautlin’s boy. Human hatched. She was infected with gorgon dust at the start of her pregnancy, and she fled with her egg to Chicago, where she was taken in by a vampire hive. She’s still in Chicago with her vampires. She’s a propagator, so she can’t mingle with humans. Vampires are immune to infection, as are the older incubus and succubus that work with them, so she’s cloistered with them. From my understanding of the situation, an incubus recovered her egg and helped her care for him until he hatched, but he hatched human rather than gorgon. She has several children now with incubi and succubi in Chicago, although she doesn’t have a gorgon male. We have been building a case to assist in your efforts, especially when word spread this Morrison, the father of the boy, might target your bride. Morrison has several daughters through other women, most of whom disappeared under similar circumstances. I suspect they are statues somewhere, but this is only speculation.”

“Jesus,” my husband whispered. “Does the boy have a gorgon mother?”

“We don’t believe so. We are of the opinion she was infected with gorgon dust after the boy’s conception, and the potency of the dust was such it partially converted her boy into a gorgon, in that he was hatched. He is not contagious, and if he can embrace his other nature, we haven’t heard of it happening. I suppose he may be a hybrid.”

“Alexander,” I said, determined to humanize him despite my awareness he could be his father’s ally. “He was at our wedding. Well, at the demonstration. I thought I