sock, and extended the left side. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s a miracle.”
“That’s the plan.”
As the magic was worked on his other foot, Blay realized that the angel was not wearing one of his trademark crazy outfits. He was in all black, his wild blond-and-black hair likewise braided and out of the way. For a male who usually went around in spandex leggings, à la David Lee Roth, the reserve was yet another jarring shock.
Nothing was ever going to be normal again. Of this, Blay was quite sure.
“Can I ask you something?” he blurted.
“Anything.”
It was a while before Blay could frame the question. “What can I do to help him?”
Okay, fine, it was probably not fair to ask that of the angel, given the attack. But was anybody really thinking right tonight?
“You know the answer to that,” Lassiter said.
“No, I really don’t.”
The angel leaned down and picked up the shoes. The wetness on them receded as soon as he touched them, retreating from the tips and traveling to the heels. Unfortunately, there were stains left behind in the fine leather, that which had been unmarred before now marked with permanent discoloration.
“Yes,” Lassiter said, “you do know what to do.”
After the shoes changed hands, the angel left, a lonely figure it seemed, in spite of his power and influence. Or perhaps . . . because of it.
Blay, on the other hand, stayed where he was, staring at what had been on his feet. Overhead, the heating came on, warm, dry air drifting downward onto his hair.
“I can’t stay here all night,” he said aloud.
All things considered, the first part of going anywhere else was putting his shoes back on. His socks were still wet, however, having not benefitted from Lassiter’s attentions, and so he wadded them up into soggy fists that he held in one hand. Then he shoved his feet home, the loafers fitting more tightly than they had before.
Out in the foyer, he discovered that everyone had scattered from the drama. Turning to the grand staircase, he pictured Qhuinn upstairs. He knew where the male would be. He would be with the twins—
Blay frowned and looked around the base of the stairs.
A split second later, he fell into a hurried rush.
The angel was right. He did know what he had to do.
Qhuinn found what he was looking for in the playroom. As he pulled open the door, Layla glanced up from the floor where she was sitting with the kids—and froze while their eyes met.
“Oh, Qhuinn.”
She made a move like she was going to get up and hug him, but when he stepped back sharply, she ducked her eyes and hung her head.
“I’m okay,” he heard himself say as he waved at Lyric, who’d started beaming at him, and then to Rhamp, who was shaking a rattle in his direction. “I just want to be with them for a while, all right? Just me and them.”
Layla nodded and got to her feet like she was stiff. “Of course. I—ah, a text went out. From Tohr, so . . . I’m so sorry—”
“It’s fine.”
She recoiled—and then tried to hide her reaction. But he couldn’t help her with her awkwardness. He couldn’t even help himself right now—and the “fine” thing was just a door to close on her sympathy, her worry, the burden of the referred pain she was feeling as she confronted a tragedy that really only affected him.
“Is there anything I can do?” she said.
“Just give me some time with them.”
The Chosen pulled the waistband of her jeans higher up on her hips. Then she pushed her blond hair back as her eyes roamed around the cheerful room—and he was grateful she kept her thoughts to herself. He did not want to be mean, but he was raw—and like a wounded animal, he was dangerously unstable.
“Let me know when you need me back?” she said. Then she shook her head. “Actually, I was going to feed them in about forty-five minutes. Unless you’d like to?”
“That’ll be good. I mean, forty-five. That’s fine.”
“Okay.”
There was a moment of frozen silence, and then Layla went over to the door. As she hesitated to push her way out, he cleared his throat.
“I’m not going to do anything stupid,” he said roughly. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ve seen entirely too many dead blooded relations of mine tonight.”
Her eyes closed. “Oh, Qhuinn. I am so sorry—”
“Scratch that.” He rubbed his eyes, not because he was getting emotional, but because he couldn’t stop seeing