Proof of Life (The Potentate of Atlanta #4) - Hailey Edwards Page 0,92

screen and let him see for himself.

Ghoulish faces screamed in silent fury, crowding the vast opening like ants swarming picnic food. Blueish light emanated from them without illuminating the darkness around them. Their clawlike hands grasped for the edge where I had stood gazing down at them without realizing the terrible danger I was in.

Midas pinched his fingers to zoom in on the creatures. “What are those things?”

“I have no frakking clue.” I dialed Bishop then demanded, “What are those things?”

“That’s the closet.”

“I’m sorry, but it sounded like you said that was a closet.”

“I did, and it is.” Keys tapped in the background. “We got big problems, kid.”

“Only always.” I leaned against Midas. “How did you figure it out?”

“I had help.” He exhaled. “I’ll meet you back at the Faraday.”

“Okay.” I glanced behind us, but the road was empty. “See you in a few.”

The gwyllgi had overheard both sides of the conversation, as usual, but even Lisbeth sat close enough I didn’t have to repeat myself.

“He sounded freaked,” she said when no one else spoke. “Bishop doesn’t do freaked.”

“This is going to be bad,” I agreed. “It’s hard to get under his skin.”

With that settled, the four of us spent the rest of the drive lost in our own thoughts.

Mine kept circling back to Boaz and Addie. I wanted them gone. Tonight. Back safe in Savannah.

I had no idea what we had uncovered in that warehouse, but it promised me nightmares for days.

“We’ll meet you upstairs.” Ford pulled to a stop in front of the Faraday. “Give us ten.”

“Sure.” I slid off Midas’s lap, and he exited after me. “See you up there.”

Hank was polite as you please, but I chalked it up to my sister’s kidnapping and not a permanent shift in his general attitude toward me. That would be too weird. Hmm. Maybe he ought to get tested again just to be on the safe side.

No one stopped us in the lobby, but everyone stared, and it creeped me out.

When the elevator doors rolled shut behind us, I slumped against the back panel. “Ares?”

“Yes.”

“The pack needs to get over it.”

Rather than answer, he pressed a kiss to my temple. “You have a way of simplifying things.”

“Mostly I open my mouth and see what falls out. Usually, I’m as surprised as you guys.”

Soft laughter moved through him, and I grinned as I buried my face in his chest.

All too soon a ding announced our arrival, and we trudged over to the door and let ourselves in the loft.

Bishop stood in the center of the living room, legs braced apart and arms crossed over his chest. He glared at the couch. Specifically, he glared at someone sprawled on the couch.

The fae who had gifted Midas and me with the sight sat with his arms around a pillow on his lap in what reminded me of a petulant child’s pose. Dressed in what I was coming to think of as his standard uniform, he looked the same as he had the last time we met.

Black leather pants encased his legs, and a whip hung from the silver-studded belt wrapping his narrow waist. He wore no shirt, but the oversized pillow shielded us from a view of the pale muscle he displayed as casually as if my living room was his. His heavy boots made the coffee table groan when he twitched his crossed ankles on its edge. But what caught my eye and held it was the blue-black hair that slid over his shoulders in a seductive curtain. His fingers clenched and relaxed on the poor pillow’s tassels while he stared at Bishop’s forbidding profile, as if his hands would rather be squeezing…

Ahem.

When our guest spotted us, he rose with leonine grace, giving Midas and me an eyeful of a tattoo of bird wings covering every inch of his back before disappearing into his waistband. I hadn’t noticed the design on him before, so it could be cosmetic. He did love his glamours. I was no expert on corvids, but I pegged them as belonging to a crow or raven.

“Bishop,” I said warily. “Introduce us to your friend.”

Once I had known the fae’s true name, but the memory of it was slick as Crisco when I tried to grasp it.

“This is…” he hesitated over what to call him, “…a pain in my ass.”

“Only if you’re lucky,” the fae said toothily, fingering his whip. “You may call me Vasco.”

“Okay, Vasco.” I hit the kitchen for bottled water and tossed one to Midas.