Page 171 of Gates of Tartarus

“Yeah,” I smile, a little sheepishly. “My accent’s always been a bit middle of the Atlantic – my mother’s French – and years of watching BBC America, and reading Brit Lit, I guess, have left their mark.”

Nodding, Kailani continues. “When I was a kid, I had a mix of Hawaiian and Peruvian accents. It’s funny how things stick.”

“Your parents...?” I ask hesitantly. She looks kind of far away for a second, and I’m not sure if that was a false step.

The barista is approaching with a laden tray, interrupting the moment, and we fall silent as she sets out the mugs and plates. “Cream tea for me, please. Thanks.”

Kailani’s eyes round as she looks at the plump scone, bursting with raisins, the pot heaped with strawberry jam, and the dish of clotted cream, the pale-yellow tinge promising a satisfyingly unctuous experience. “Thank God. I was worried you were a health fanatic when you ordered a fruit scone.”

“Me?” I laugh. “No. I mean, Seef and Kavi would probably like it if I ate more vegetables. They’re kind of into fitness. But give up cream teas?” I shake my head. “Technically, I should probably call it a creamcoffee, but same difference.” I slather some jam on a piece of scone, followed by a dollop of cream, and shove the whole bite into my mouth. “Ooh, that’s good,” I mumble.

Kailani looks at her own Chelsea bun in seeming discontent. “I didn’t realize yours had all the stuff. I was thinking more of, like, a Starbucks scone.”

I shove the plate towards her. “Try some! But remember: jam, then clotted cream. Some people insist it’s cream, then jam; but I think you just run the risk of everything falling off,” I say seriously.

She prepares her own bite, and I watch as her eyes slide closed and she smiles. “Whipped cream is just not the same.”

“No,” I agree. “It just isn’t.” For a moment, we concentrate on the coffee and pastries, then, “So. You think we’re in trouble?”

Straightening up, she half smiles and shakes her head. “With the teams? They can get as mad as they want, but they kind of need us. So. Yeah. No.”

“Yeah, no? You are? Or…” I frown.

“Sorry. Christ. This is weird, right? No, I’m not concerned.” She smiles a secret sort of smile. “I felt Jonah’s signature like, ten feet after we stepped out of the office. The teams can’t bethatupset if they’re willing to give us some space. He’s somewhere nearby.” She waves her hand towards the front door vaguely, then looks at me again, and sighs, coming to some sort of decision. “Jonah’s outside, somewhere to the left of the door, broadcasting so loudly I think he’stryingto get my attention.” Her phone buzzes, and she glances at it, grins, and shoots off a quick text. Moments later the man himself walks into the cafe, sends a quick smile our way, grabs a coffee to go, and walks back out. I watch the interaction curiously.

“You’re not upset? And, what does it feel like? How far do you have to be from someone? I thought you had to be in the same room, give or take? And is it distinct? Is each emotion a unique feeling? How…” My voice trails off, and I sigh. “Sorry. Habit. Research,” I offer up as an explanation, and she shrugs.

“It’s fine. If we’re a team, we need to know what each person can do, yeah? And no, Jonah following us – I kind of expected that. I mean, the fact is it’s just not safe for us to be wandering around at the moment. But I’m happy for the illusion of privacy. One of yours is here, too.”

I can feel my eyes widen in surprise. “Which one?”

“Eh. I don’t know their signatures well enough. I can describe him? Not the Brit. His energy is very distinct. Very sharp. Not Seef. He’s like a volcanic twin to Maddox. Madds is ice; Seef is fire. Easy read there. The other two feel similar. Like friends. But this one is… hmmm. Very – thoughtful? Maybe?” Frowning, she closes her eyes but shakes her head. “We’ve been practicing having the guys leave the room I’m in to see if I can read anything, but honestly, it’s hit and miss. They have to have alotof emotion usually for me to tell they’re close by, and they have to bereallyclose by, like, immediately outside the door, or nothing.” She exhales sharply in disappointment. “Nope. He’s too far. Sorry…”

I nod towards her phone. “What was that all about?”

“Oh. Jonah knewIknew he was here, said it was cold and would I mind if he grabbed a coffee and that he wouldn’t bother us.”

Seconds later, a very modish waitress drops a plate with three different cakes on it in front of us. “Compliments of the gentleman who just left,” she says, curiosity bright in her voice.

“Thank you,” I reply, looking at the cakes with true happiness.He buys us cake? He can’t be all that bad.

The waitress hangs by the table for a moment too long, adjusting the plate. “Do you need another coffee?” she asks, and Kailani rolls her eyes slightly, obviously knowing what’s coming.

“We’re fine!” I trill, trying to hint for the woman to move along, but she’s still hovering. “All set!”

“Ah. Yes. What a... what a nice friend? To send you some cakes? He said if you want any more, just to let me know and he’d take care of them. American, is he? Hmm. If he needs anything…”

There’s a certain tension in Kailani’s jaw at the waitress's refusal to leave, and I set my cup down a little too firmly, deciding to take control of the situation. “Thank you,” I nod crisply, employing the universally understood clipped tones whichcouldmean ‘thank you’ orcouldmean ‘feck off’, and she straightens up, remembering herself.

“Right... just motion if you need something.” She blushes a little at having been caught out, and Kailani watches her leave through dark eyes.I wonder if something’s up there.

“So... What’s the plan?” I say, making an effort to get us back on track.

“We go to the benefit, circulate, and hope like fuck we can get something on Elizabeth before we actually have to go work for her.” Her eyes are somber pools.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” I pause. “I still can’t believe it,” I say quietly. “About Elizabeth.”

“Me neither,” Kailani shakes her head and sighs.