And then with a little push, Mason set his creation—a man made out of newspaper—walking across the table. The little man strode over to Michael and tapped the child’s hand with its own paper one, a blunt fold with a triangle for a thumb.
The boy looked down, and the paper man affected a deep bow from its waist, its arm sweeping low to its waist.
Michael looked up at Mason, now with bright, clear eyes, and laughed out loud. “Is Fletcher here?” The paper man climbed onto Michael’s hand and began a trek up the mountain of his arm to the summit of his shoulder.
“Fletcher couldn’t come this time.” A tone of heartache, if one knew to listen.
Cari had wanted to see Mason-the-father, and now she almost regretted it. Felt like a knife got stuck up under her ribs, making breathing excruciating. And this kid wasn’t even his.
She never should’ve slept with him. And yet, night couldn’t come fast enough for her to do it again. Could they stay here longer?
Talia dove to kneel at her son’s feet so that she was eye level with him. She brushed the hair from his forehead. “Hey, buddy. Where have you been?” There was no mistaking the relief in her tone.
Mason slid out of the seat and backed to the counter next to Cari.
Talia snapped her fingers behind her, and Adam had a carton of ice cream and a spoon ready. “How about some of your favorite?”
Ice cream in the morning? Cari guessed they were willing to do anything to keep the child in this room with them.
The little paper man leaned in to Michael’s ear and whispered a secret.
Michael laughed out loud. “He wants some, too.”
Cari leaned over to Mason. “How’d you do that?”
The little man sat down on Michael’s shoulder and crossed his legs.
“Used to do it all the time with Fletcher.”
That’s not what she meant. “How did you know to do that?”
He shrugged and grabbed a mug from a tray. “Just thought it might interest him, too. Want something to eat? You slept in.”
Heat rushed her face, recalling last night. “I was pretty tired.” She looked back at the little boy, wanting to watch him play with the newspaper man.
But Mason’s strong arm went around her waist, and he kissed her, right there in front of everyone, who yes, seemed to accept her solely on the basis of his companionship, regardless of the fact that she harbored a mad fae queen inside her.
When she drew back, her heart was locked up with feeling. She’d been asking herself for days how Mason could’ve possibly earned the notice of the Council or someone like Khan, but she understood it now. And the knowledge came painfully, because deep-down, she’d already known. Protector and father—that’s what his horrible life had taught him. He’d become everything he hadn’t had himself. That’s how he could come here, and on the strength of his word, she would be welcomed. And she actually liked these people, with the exception of Khan. They seemed dependable, in a completely erratic way. They seemed true.
Mason was the kind of ally her House needed.
Which meant—this realization was a hot, sick rush—that Dolan House was on the wrong side. Brand was supposed to be an enemy, the mage that the Dolan was supposed to topple from the Council Seat, and Cari had shrugged off an opportunity just last night. Further, angels were to be reviled—one had thrown a spear at her—but she kind of liked that Custo. Dolan had kept its bloodline pure, but it seemed that for the modern age, strength was in a different kind of unity.
Oh, sweet Shadow, she was in trouble. This was probably the most dangerous of all—she was shifting her loyalties.
Centuries worth of the careful cultivation of allies, and she had to undo it. The Dolan’s duty was to see to the strength of her House . . . and it wasn’t with Vauclain or Martin or Walker. The Walkers were stupid not to have snatched up Mason when they could, but Webb had been smart. He’d even taken in Mason’s son to raise with his own. Very clever.
She’d have to think which to approach first. She was suddenly feeling a little dizzy at the prospect.
“You’ll want something to eat before our chat with Khan.” Mason put a mug of coffee in her hand. The omelet the brown-haired woman had been making materialized in front of her, too. “Eat up. The Dark Lord is waiting.”
Maeve crouched, her fingernails lengthening to scratch out the crow’s eyes.
Shadowman.
How she hated him. He’d gone into the service of Order ages ago, ferrying souls from this world to the great gate of the next. Of course he would take up with angels at the first opportunity. Fool. No matter how he groveled at their feet, he would never be one of them. No light for him, unless he stole it and ate it.
Mid-day on Segue’s mountaintop was prickly and sweet with pine scent, but the chirping bugs stayed away from the main buildings. Mason sat across from Khan on the terrace, keeping Cari at his side. He didn’t want her in the direct path of Death’s fury again.
Khan was looking out into the trees, his dark, almost alien eyes peering into the greenery.
Cari took an audible deep breath to get his attention. “I want to thank you for meeting with me.”
Mason bowed his head to hide his smile. Trust Caspar’s daughter to take control of the meeting at the outset, even against the likes of Khan.
Khan’s attention didn’t waver. “The wild creatures are moving, drawing nearer, attracted to still greater wildness.”
Mason turned in his seat to look too, but couldn’t see anything. There were bears up here. Wolves and coyotes, too. Maybe even mountain lions. “Dangerous?”
Khan regarded Cari, his keen eyes slanting to assess her. “Certainly not more dangerous than she.”
Cari sat up a little straighter, to go head-to-head with Shadowman. Mason didn’t want her to wear herself out already, so he flung an arm on the back of her chair and tugged her shoulder back. Nothing to worry about.
“I am dangerous.” She stated it like a fact, with a little whatcha-gonna-do-about-it? thrown in for flavor.
Mason liked her so much. He played with the ends of her hair with his fingers, relishing the wide silky loop of a natural curl. Wanted to brush her hair off the back of her neck and kiss her there. Again.
Khan didn’t seem amused. “I have been chastised at length throughout the night. I see no hope for you, regardless of whether the Maker is at your side or not, but I will acknowledge the possibility, however slight, that the world might survive you.”
Mason felt an inner tug at hearing the word “Maker.” Khan had taken to referring to him that way over the past year, and yeah, Making was the kind of magic Mason specialized in. It must have been the aptitude of whatever House had given him a drop of their blood. He liked to work with his hands.
Trust Cari to pick up on it. “Maker?”
“Bah,” Khan growled. “If you don’t even know what Mason is, the world is indeed doomed.”
Cari’s shoulders went back, offended.
“Khan!” Layla’s voice came from behind them, on the other side of the patio doors.
Mason smiled. Khan’s wife was just as bullheaded as Cari. Khan must face his own doom every other day.
The Grim Reaper regrouped. His eyes twitched. “The world might survive you, Cari Dolan, though the possibility grows ever slimmer.”
“Bra-vo,” Mason said.
Khan’s black eyes burned. “My woman is due to have our child soon and I have upset her.”
Cari looked stunned. “I’m a little lost. Maker?”
Mason craned his head back over his shoulder. “Take a load off, Layla. We’ll be all right.” Then to Cari, “It’s just what I do—make things. Like the little newspaper guy for Michael.”
“Makers are rare.” Khan gave him a vindictive smile. It seemed if he was going to be uncomfortable, forced into making uncomfortable admissions, then Mason was, too. “They are born only at the rise of Shadow, and sit on the right hand of kings.”