Page 33 of Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part Two

This is why I reached out. I just know it, even though that type of essence-wielding isn’t among my abilities. “I would appreciate the introduction.”

Miller clears their throat. “It doesn’t quite work like that. I can reach out to this person. And if they want to reach you, to help you, they will.”

“All right.”

“And Mirth?”

“Yes.”

“They won’t recognize your position, your rank.” Another beat of hesitation. “And you’ll owe them.”

“Money isn’t an issue.”

“They trade in favors.”

Now I’m the one to hesitate.

“You understand what I mean?” Miller says in response to my silence.

“I believe so. Is this other person also one of the awry?”

“Yes.”

So the favor they demand might be binding on an essence level. And open ended. “They’ll help me find the kids.”

“I believe so, yes. They specialize in this sort of thing. But if they do agree to work with you, it will be you and you only.”

“The purple eyes,” I murmur softly.

“Yes. Plus the societal norm that the royal guard represents is an anathema to them.”

“I understand. Thank you, Miller.”

“I’ll keep working with the royal techs to see if I can help them with the phone.”

“I appreciate it.”

Miller takes a breath, then says, “Will you be happy, Mirth? It’s … you haven’t chosen the Mertons, have you? It’s Sully, yes? And maybe … Bolan?”

“Nothing has been formalized. But it’s not the Mertons.” It’s the first time I’ve acknowledged that out loud. “Is there something that concerns you, more specifically than simply who I’ve chosen?”

Miller clears their throat. “Just completely unsubstantiated rumors.”

My stomach sinks. Something about the Mertons? “Perhaps a conversation for later? After I secure the children?”

“Yes. And again, the person I’m hoping to connect you to might be an … ongoing resource … in that sort of area. If you wish.”

I have absolutely no idea what Miller is referring to. Or whom the tech shifter might be about to get me tangled up with. “I’ll need a name for your contact so I can ask the royal guard to transfer the call to me.”

“It … that’s not going to be an issue. I’ve sent them a message already, along with a … data package.”

A data package. “All the info you have on the children?”

“All the info I have on you.” Miller clears their throat. “Routing a skilled tech through the switchboard isn’t much of a … barrier, Mirth.”

I laugh quietly. “Of course it isn’t.”

“Not that I tried to get through the other protections on your phone, but I have enough information that I could contact you again.”

“Please do.”

“Best of luck, Mirth. We’d better clear the line now. My contact is very … insular. It’s better if you’re alone for the first meeting.”

“Thank you, Miller. My regards to the Hernandezes.”

“Right back at you.”

I tap the screen to end the call. Silence falls around me. After a mere moment, I find I’m unable to sit within it. My mind whirls through the conversation with Miller, in anticipation of the conversation to come. Assuming Miller’s contact reaches out at all.

I have no context, no experience, with … well, any of this. So I can’t even guess what my next steps should be, let alone what they will be.

Bolan pads into the great room, moving almost silently on bare feet. His eyes are bright with the essence of his wolf, presumably to see better in the low light.

“Anything more about the kids?” he asks quietly, crouching next to my chair but not touching me.

I allow myself the moment, reaching out to lightly run my fingers through his hair. “I’m waiting on another call. You and the others can’t be here for it.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

“Those are the rules.”

He huffs. “How would anyone know?”

“They will know.”

He narrows his eyes. “No one tells you what to do.”

“Including you, Bolan.”

His energy spikes around him in a way that actually feels belligerent. I lean over him and brush a kiss across his lips before he can turn all of this into an argument. “I’ll come find you when I know more.”

He grumbles under his breath, then nips lightly at my lower lip as if he thinks that’s a punishment. It’s not.

Huffing, he straightens, crossing back the way he came. But he pauses in the outer hall, looking back over his shoulder at me, just a little smugly.

“You might not answer to us, Mirth. But you don’t have to tackle everything alone anymore. We can shoulder some of the responsibility. Just like we can help you protect the kids. If you let us in. That’s how this is all supposed to work.”

I hold Bolan’s gaze. He doesn’t just mean this situation with the kids. He doesn’t just mean how I segregated myself in my grief over losing Armin. Even before my brother died, even when I tucked myself into his shadow or trailed along in his wake, I was … oddly alone.

“I’m … let’s just find the kids, okay?”

Bolan nods, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his low-slung jeans and bowing his head. “I’m going to head out with Sully. Elias will stay with you. We haven’t gotten hold of Christoph yet. Maybe … if the kids are ours, we can track them on the ground better than the royal guard can.”

“You haven’t even met them yet, Bolan.”

He shrugs belligerently, still not quite looking at me.

“Just … wait?” I ask quietly. “Just wait for me, please.”

His head snaps up, eyes bright in the low light. “For as long as it takes, Mirth. Forever.”

“So dramatic, wolf,” I say, trying for a light teasing tone and actually managing it. Mostly.

He flashes a toothy grin at me, then steps through the hall into my apartment beyond.

Taking my phone, I slide out of my seat, crossing through the darkness and down the hall into Armin’s bedroom.

Everything is neat and tidy throughout the apartment.

I might not have done my sisterly duty over the last seven months and taken care of my brother’s more personal items. Paying any lingering bills, packing up, or donating his possessions.

But the staff have kept everything dust-free since Armin’s death.

In the massive main bedroom, moonlight filters in through narrow floor-to-ceiling windows cut into the original brick.

The heritage restoration of the building required that the architects retain as much of the original facade as possible, while also making certain that all seismic upgrades and other improvements were in place.

The filtered light does little to penetrate Armin’s walk-in closet, but I navigate to the row of neatly folded sweaters easily enough.

Setting my phone on the shelf, I find the oversized black cashmere sweater I want by feel.

A well-worn favorite of Armin’s, and fashionably oversized even on him, the sweater is thick and comforting on me.

I retrieve a silk handkerchief from Armin’s drawer — he never used them for anything other than pocket squares — and pull my hair back. Quickly and messily braiding it, I all but knot it into a loose bun, using the silk handkerchief to secure it. Sloppily.

I’ll need sensible shoes as well … though for what, I have no idea. I’m trying not to think too far —

The screen of my phone glows in a way it never has before. Like black neon. Without even a hint of hesitation, I swipe my thumb across it as I would to accept a call.

Deadened air fills the space around me. As if this tiny pocket of the universe is suddenly waiting, listening for … something. Waiting on me?

“This is Mirth,” I say.

That feeling of waiting flexes around me for a moment, just long enough for me to wonder if it’s an energy actually emanating from the phone itself. Is the tech on the other end powerful enough to reach through my phone …?

Then I remember they’re a purple-eyed tech. Of course they’re powerful enough.

And I blithely answered the call.

For the kids.

But also in acknowledgement of all the responsibility I’ve shirked for far too long.

Tapping … lots and lots of tapping, like fingers flying over a keyboard, filters through the phone’s speakers. Maybe multiple keyboards.

“Her Royal Highness Euphrosyne. Heir to the United European Nation.” A low voice murmurs through the energy most definitely emanating from the phone now.

North American accent. “I’ve been hoping you’d call.

A lot of us have been hoping you … or before he died, that brother of yours …

would reach out. Powerful friends in powerful places, am I right? ”

“Who am I speaking to?”

A low laugh filters through the phone’s speakers. “You can call me Coda. Let’s find your missing kids, shall we?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Good,” Coda says. “But first things first. I now have complete access to your phone and everything that comes with that. Miller and your techs haven’t found your missing kids.

” More keyboard tapping. “They don’t even have a trail yet, not even a cold one.

But I, having pulled that bit of vid from your phone and matching it with multiple other feeds from that game, I’ve already got eyes on both kids at the soccer game earlier today. So we’ll start our trace there …”

I close my eyes, relief already trickling through me. “Football.”

“Yep, right. So … point is, I suspect I’ll need to see what you are seeing. And once I’m in your phone, I can’t be easily removed. No matter how skilled your techs are.”

“I understand. The second thing?”

The keyboard tapping intensifies. “Let’s track where your kids went after the game. Then we’ll figure out where to go from there.”

I wait. The darkness and the tap of Coda’s fingers on their keyboards is a comforting cocoon. But just a gossamer layer, easily torn through when I need to move again.

“So … seems no one knows exactly what you can do, Princess. But an awry’s eyes don’t get much lighter than yours without that awry being able to take care of themselves.”

“Is that pertinent?” Yes, I’m peeved that the tech awry is apparently researching me when they should be solely focused on the kids.