Page 168 of Gates of Tartarus

Down in the kitchen, someone has, thank heavens, just brewed a fresh pot of coffee. I breathe in the bright lemongrass and berry aromas of the Kenyan blend and take a moment to revel in the sheermalenessof the room. Like me, the guys have made an extra effort this morning: suits brushed, shirts pressed, and, I see from the slight nick on Seef’s neck, freshly shaved. I take a sip of coffee, savoring the clean taste, and let out a satisfied breath.

Jorge smiles at me. “Alright, Maela?” He’s dressed in his dark-brown suit, the color of black walnuts, and I can just scent the bergamot of his aftershave when he leans forward across the table.

“Mmm. Just letting the coffee work its magic. I want to be on form.”

Emlyn shrugs. “No need to worry about a bunch of Yanks.” His eyes are dancing, almost ash-grey against the midnight-blue of his suit. He’s paired it with a burgundy silk tie and looks sharply elegant. I shake my head at him.

“Nah,bru,” Seef agrees lazily. “Nothing we colonials can offer.” He’s put his prosthetic on today; I’m actually a little startled to see it. I look up at him, at the close-cropped, blond hair, the straight nose, and the jagged scar on his cheek, and give a little shiver. Mercy.

“We’re just grateful to be allowed to help,” Kavi adds. Somehow, his voice is even more upper crust than usual, almost drawling. Kavi’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, yet still manages to tower over the room. His eyes are bright green.

“Sorry, pal. You’re outnumbered. It’s three to two. Four to one,” I correct myself, seeing Jorge’s indignant look. “Oh, thank you,” I say to Kavi, who refills my cup. This coffee is so good it doesn’t even need milk.

“I consider myself bested. Right, we should make tracks.” Emlyn stands up, flexing his arms, and I gulp my coffee. Drat. If I hadn’t had to redo my eye makeup, I might have had time for a slice of toast. Now my stomach’s in danger of rumbling during the meeting.

“You have time to finish your coffee, copperhead. But we’ll need to go in five.”

I roll my eyes at him. “If that’s the case, why’d you say we had to make tracks?”

“Iknowyou, Maela. You’ll need five minutes to finish your coffee and then find your purse and then realize you left your phone in your room and then wonder if you should change your outfit and panic that you don’t have time. You’re stressed enough as it is without worrying about being late.”

“And you shouldn’t be,” Kavi adds, “because you’re going to be just fine. You’ll impress their little peanut-butter-eating socks off.”

I look up at him worriedly. “How do you know? What if I have to do a demonstration and flub it?” I bite my bottom lip, feeling queasy at the thought.

“We know because weknowyou,querida.” Jorge’s hands rest comfortably on my shoulders, and I tip my head forward in the universal sign for a massage.

“Besides,” Emlyn assures me, “this is just a meet and greet. No one is going to be asking you or Ms. Reed to prove yourselves. Trust me: everyone respects what you two can do. We’re only going to introduce ourselves and review the plans so that we’re all on the same page.”

“That’s good,” I mumble, head dropping further as Jorge’s strong thumbs work their magic.

“Tell you what,” Emlyn continues, “you stay here and finish your coffee, and I’ll go grab your phone and purse so that you’re not tempted to second-guess yourself and change.”

“And you don’t think…?” I peep up at him.

“You look great, princess,” Seef cuts in. “Your outfit’s perfect; your hair’s perfect; your make-up’s perfect. Elegant and natural. Stop worrying.”

I look over at him, not quite believing my ears and half-wondering if he’s going to follow up with a jest, but he simply stands up and says, “Right, I’m going to get my briefcase. I’ll meet you all by the front door.”

Oh! Well, then.

???

Forty-five minutes later, we’re sitting ‘round a table at a conference room in Thames House. It’s a rather swish room, with heavy, blue drapes, an Oriental rug, and a burled-oak sideboard. The table is polished to a high shine. I’m peering down to see if I can trace my reflection in it, when there’s a short rap and the door opens.

First into the room is a Viking. I kid you not: an honest-to-god Viking, if Vikings wore Boss suits and brogues. He’s easily as tall as Kavi, but blond where Kavi is dark. The newcomer has sharp cheekbones and glacier-blue eyes and an air of confident authority. Next to me, Seef breaks into a wide smile and strides forward, hand outstretched. “Mybru!” He and the newcomer – I’m guessing the mysterious Maddox Smith – do some sort of ritual handclasp, backslapping hug that isn’t a hug. If I weren’t so nervous, I’d giggle.

Maddox is followed by a heavily muscled man with a rugged face, brown hair, and hazel-green eyes. He stands straight-backed and square-shouldered, like he’s ex-military, and shakes hands with Seef crisply. The second man looks a little foreboding, and I find myself shrinking back into my seat slightly. Jorge gives my hand a little squeeze under the table.

I sit up, though, at the sight of the third person. A tall woman – she must be at least 5’8” – she has high cheekbones, a long, straight nose, and full lips. Her eyes are dark, almost obsidian, and match her hair, styled in an intricate braid. She manages to project both strength and delicacy, and I find myself staring shyly. So, this is Kailani.

Kailani looks around the room appraisingly and catches my eye. I give a little nod, which she returns before sinking gracefully into a chair, settling a worn, leather bag beside her. We’ve only spoken once – I ended up leaving a message about Fallon – and now here we are, face to face.

I’m so consumed with curiosity that I almost miss the last two people to come into the room. One is a lean man, with the build of a rower, almond skin, and onyx eyes, the eyes of a cat, watchful and wary. He takes a seat quietly at the table. The other, well, the other exudes cheerfulness. It’s the first thing I notice about him, before even the waist-length, dark hair, caught back in a tie, the thick brows, rich mahogany skin, and wide mouth that I know smiles easily. I relax back into my chair, my shoulders sinking.

Emlyn raps the table, calling us to attention. “Shall we get started? We have a lot to plan and not a lot of time. Seef? Would you like to do the honors? Oh, and if anyone wants a coffee, please help yourself.” He gestures to a sideboard, where a silver service and china cups have been laid out.

Seef makes the introductions, and I try to pay attention, but I’m not really taking it all in. Despite what Emlyn said earlier, I’m fretting that I still might have to give a little presentation later, and I’m becoming acutely conscious that I missed breakfast. It would be just my luck if my stomach growled when I had to talk. I’m also wondering just how much there is left to plan. That’s all we’ve done for the past four days, and I know that Seef’s been coordinating with Maddox. Kailani and I will go to the ball and get a read on people. We’ll report back to the teams at the end of the night. The end. What’s more to decide?