blouse. Riana, the earth Sibyl next to Andy, had her dark hair pulled behind her head, giving her exotic face a sharp, determined look. Cynda, the fire Sibyl, was sitting closest to the wall. She seemed larger with child and more miserable than Riana. Sweat plastered her red hair to her head, and her black jeans gave off a steady stream of white smoke.
Jake concentrated on the musical sound of Merilee’s voice, let it lift over the incessant babble and float through his very existence. Next, he isolated her tempting scent from the attack of so many others, and centered his focus on that delicious strand of white tea and honey. It kept him sane, seeing her, feeling her so close—but he knew he shouldn’t let himself dwell on Merilee. No matter what Mother Anemone said about his light needing to shine, about him being a good enough man for this Sibyl, the truth remained firmly locked in Jake’s unhappy mind.
He wouldn’t ask any woman, especially one so beautiful and talented, to risk her future and her safety to be with a demon.
(4)
At the front of the room, a few feet away from Jake, Freeman moved behind a long metal table, scratching new shift assignments on the chalkboard covering the main wall. The veins in his neck stood out. Circles as dark as his hair ringed both eyes, and somehow he looked twice as tired as he did when Jake saw him, what, half an hour earlier?
The slate where Sal Freeman was writing had lots of cracks. From heat, no doubt. Jake’s brothers, who had taken afternoon patrol, had told him that the room had once been furnished with wood and plastic, but fire Sibyls had made short work of all combustibles. Pyrosentients, or those with deep mental and emotional connection to fire, were notoriously unstable and poorly controlled. Now the whole place was decked out in elementally locked iron, fire-resistant cloth, and flameproof hardwood laminate.
Not exactly an aesthetic improvement, but functional.
Freeman turned and held up both hands, and the thunder of voices gave way to whispers, murmurs, and finally, to silence. Jake’s ears ached from relief. Once more, he glanced at Merilee. Her blue eyes were fixed on Freeman. She had a pad and pencil now, ready to take notes, as all air Sibyls tended to do in almost any situation.
Damn, her hands were close to his.
Jake envisioned running his fingers over hers, holding her delicate wrists, lifting them to his mouth, and—
Concentrate, Lowell. Not on her.
"We’ve got serious shit happening," Freeman boomed in the now-quiet room.
Jake immediately caught Andy Myles’s reaction to the captain. The way she sat forward when he spoke, the way her eyes brightened as they followed Freeman’s every move. Freeman responded to her just as deeply, staring at her, then forcing his attention back to the room at large.
Trouble in the making, no shit. Jake’s gaze shifted back to Merilee. Like I’ve got any fucking room to talk.
Freeman cleared his throat. "Our afternoon patrols just reported that paranormal groups in the city are pulling up stakes and running like hell." He paused to let that information sink in, and Jake frowned.
His arousal faded away as he considered what the captain had just told them.
Paranormals, fleeing New York.
What would cause that?
His attention automatically moved back to Merilee, who was taking notes. Shorthand. In ancient Greek. And coded, if he wasn’t mistaken.
Impressive . He studied the side of her face, the way her cheek curved upward in a full, pink bloom, then jerked his attention back to the captain.
"Many known ‘sensitives’ and sentients aren’t at their residences." Freeman recaptured Jake’s attention by suggesting the disappearances were citywide. "Unknown entities we’ve been tracking, they’ve gone underground, too."
"Shit," Cynda murmured, and a spit of fire wrapped itself around the metal table leg. Jake sensed the wave of earth energy Riana used to snuff the flames, and appreciated the