17. Nora

17

NORA

I would be lying if I said it didn't hurt when I turn the corner and see the burned carcass of our warehouse. All our hard work over the past year reduced to smoking rubble.

The large paned glass windows are blown out from the fire and are now shimmering, deadly confetti scattered on the street. Once a brilliant red brick, the face of the building is scarred with black where the flames licked, like necrosis spreading over flesh.

It'll need to be gutted, but the building seems to be salvageable based on the whispers of the authorities gathered around.

So, there's that, at least.

I watch the response team scour the rubble from the sidelines. The rope they put to block pedestrians hits my hip every few seconds in the breeze, which carries with it the bitter scent of burned metal and charred wood.

The human authorities are well paid to keep their eyes off our business, but this will be harder to sweep under the rug than a few dead bodies. Still, my people have jumped into action as they were trained to.

"They're not as shaken as I thought they'd be, given the circumstances," Imogen murmurs, scanning over the few members of House Pride who are chatting with Josie and the police.

When we heard the news, she'd demanded she come with us, wanting to help in what ways she could. I didn't have the nerve to say no.

"Especially Hattie."

"Hattie's a survivor. She doesn't fear death in the same way others do," I say.

My boot taps against the pavement, my impatience physically overwhelming me. I had told Josie I'd let the professionals assess the damage first, but it's been a half hour. I've given them enough time.

I lift the rope barrier and step into the rubble.

Hattie had acted swiftly when the flames broke out during the shift change, using her magic to transport as many as she could from the building. She was hacking up half a lung and covered in soot by the time she made it to our apartment in Anwynn, but she'd been successful in getting everyone to safety.

She'd had a furious glint in her eyes as she described what happened to us, one that I'm sure I've been wearing since the words hit my ears.

Was I grateful no one was hurt? Yes. Of course. It could have been a terrible tragedy otherwise.

But was I also pissed that we lost hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of product? Also, yes.

"Ma'am, you can't go in there." A human fireman steps in my way. "It's not safe."

"This is my building. I'll do what I like," I say with authority.

"I'm sorry, but rules are rules," he says, puffing out his chest. His thick mustache hides his mouth, but I can tell he's frowning. "Let the men do their work."

I smile, sweet and saccharine. "Step aside."

"What she means is, please , step aside." Imogen appears at my side, gripping my arm. I'm hit with the force of her magic, and it nearly makes me stagger. Pride had me trained against compulsion since I was young, but there's no denying she's as powerful as they come. " We want to take a quick peek. We won't be long ."

Of course. Not long at all.

I have to focus to shake away the yielding thoughts that her magic spurs. Meanwhile, the fireman's eyes glaze over and he's nodding, waving us forward with apologies. Then Imogen's pulling me along, shooting a cheeky grin over her shoulder.

"See? Told you I could help," she says.

I shake my head. "I had it handled."

"Sure."

I tug Imogen to a stop. "How many times have you been on this side of the Veil?"

Her expression falters, confusion twitching across her features. "Not many."

I cock a brow. She huffs.

"Okay, only once with my mother. And I didn't even get out of the car."

"I have been here over a thousand times. They may be humans, Imogen, but this realm isn't a playground. Don't forget that."

She nods, and I let go of her hand as we head into the disfigured building.

I forgo the warped metal door, opting to climb through the blown-out window to its left. Glass and charred debris crunch under my boots as I help Imogen over the edge.

It's quiet inside, like the soul of the building has left its body. The only sounds are the small crackles of rubble as it cools, the final fissures of the blaze taking shape. I expect rage to bubble up from my gut, but it doesn't. I'm the same as the warehouse: a shell with a gaping emptiness inside.

What was once red-toned brick is now black. All the vibrancy that lived here is charred and burned and ruined .

A third pair of footsteps join ours.

"It's me," Josie calls from behind us. She comes to a stop at our side, hands on her hips and murmuring a curse.

Then I hear a groan.

My head whips from side to side, trying to locate the sound. But there's nothing but burned rubble.

"Did you two hear that?" I say.

"What?" Imogen asks.

I hear it again, low and aching.

"That," I say, stepping deeper into the building. "There's someone still here."

"Not possible. Hattie got everyone out that was on shift," Josie says, but panic is laced through her tone.

The moans are louder now, and Imogen gasps, confirming I'm not alone in hearing them. The three of us curse, following the sound.

"Help me," the person cries. "Please."

The air is thicker, still smoky and warm, the deeper into the building we go, but we push through. I spin in place, the moans right next to me, but there's no one in sight.

And then I see it. The air wavering, a slight shimmer within the dust and smoke that curl around us. The Seelie illusion breaks, and where a pile of burned boxes once stood, a man lies, red and bloodied burns marring half of his body. Beyond the burns, recognition flares?—

"Jamison?" I say, dropping to his side while Josie protectively shoves Imogen behind her.

"Shit! Is he okay?" Imogen squeaks.

My magic perks to life at the sight of him, tickling my fingertips under my gloves.

"This is because of you," he groans through barely parted lips.

Now that I'm closer, I can see his skin making an attempt to stitch itself back together. But it's far too slow to quell the bleeding. Even the strongest healer would need help with wounds this extensive.

"I told him no," Jamison moans. "He didn't like that."

I glare into Jamison's one good eye; I recognize the fear shining there.

This was a challenge.

A lump forms in my throat as I scan the rest of the room, acutely aware of our surroundings. My gun is out of its holster before I know it.

"He said you don't get it both ways. You can't keep prete?—"

"Nora, what are you?—"

Imogen's yelp echoes in the space alongside the single shot to Jamison's head. His body slumps against the rubble, blessedly still.

"Why did you do that?" Imogen screeches.

"He was going to die anyway. Think of it as a mercy." My nose twitches, the smoky air starting to tickle my sinuses. "We should leave. We're probably being watched."

"What do you mean, being watched ?" Imogen snaps, eyes wide. "You just killed someone."

I sigh. Imogen knows what I've done—had to do—but it's much easier to hear about it and rationalize my actions than to see them in person. While Imogen's not squeaky-clean, her sins are far different from mine. House Lust may be full of spies—they may bribe or blackmail Royals—but they don't deal with the true, brutal nature of our kind.

Lust doesn't deal in death. But House Pride and House Wrath do. So does the Unseelie King.

Maybe I should have had Josie take her away before I pulled the gun out.

"He was Seelie," I say, even and steady. "The man I told you about before?" Imogen nods, jaw tight. "He was with him. So, trust in my judgment that he needed to die."

Though Josie stays quiet during our exchange, her lips twist, betraying her judgmental thoughts—she knows I didn't have to kill him.

I just didn't want Imogen to hear what he had to say.

"Everything is fine, but we do need to leave, okay?" I say.

"Yeah," Imogen says, straightening her spine. "I've never seen someone die before."

"First time for everything, yeah?" I whisper, but the joke doesn't land. I press a kiss to her cheek and turn to Josie. "Get her and the others home. I need to pay Silas a visit."