“Going!” She hustled into the bathroom, where she removed the tissue-wrapped outfit from the shopping bag. She laid it on the counter next to the map of the Garden and the gold pipette she’d be using to draw blood to form the portal. She pulled back the first layer of tissue.
Red leather, worked into beautiful patterns and burnished with black so that the leather took on an almost antique look. It reminded her of some of the outfits she’d seen Mortalis in. She ran her hand over the skins. Super soft but so very different from the kind of clothing she was used to. She shook her head. “Oh, Fi,” she whispered. “You silly girl.”
Reluctantly she undressed and put the pants on. They clung to her form, but were surprisingly flexible and fit over her swelling belly as if they’d been measured for her yesterday. She shrugged. Fi said they’d been custom made. The top looked more like an engineering project in the back, straps crisscrossing her shoulders and lower back in an intricate pattern. The front was a solid piece. Almost like a breastplate, and it too fit like it had been molded to her body.
She tugged the laces tight at the back of the top, tying them off before looking at herself in the mirror.
A warrior stared back at her. A gold-gilded, red-leather-clad warrior. “Holy mother.”
“You like it?” Fi called.
“I… I don’t know. It’s different. And it shows a lot of signum.” And it was too tight to hide the one thing she didn’t want Tatiana to know about. She turned sideways to see exactly how pregnant she looked in the outfit.
Oddly, her stomach was perfectly flat. She ran her hands down over her belly. She could feel the curve of it. Why couldn’t she see it?
She opened the bathroom door. “Fi, why—”
“Holy crap, that’s freaking awesome.” Fi bounced on her knees on the bed. “You look like you’re going to kill someone. Like you’ve already killed someone. A lot of someones.”
Chrysabelle held up her hands. “Take a breath. Why can’t I see my stomach in this?” She turned sideways and studied her reflection in the bedroom mirror. “Look. Nothing shows, but I can feel it. So strange.”
Pure delight gleamed in Fi’s eyes. “Not really that strange when you consider who made it.”
Chrysabelle glanced over at her. “Who?”
Looking extremely self-satisfied, Fi laid down on the bed, propped on one elbow on her side. “The same fae that makes all of Mortalis’s leathers. Nyssa hooked me up with him.” Her gaze went to Chrysabelle’s stomach. “The reason you can’t see your belly is fae magic, plain and simple. I figured it would come in handy in case you needed to hide the pregnancy for these next few months.”
“Or just from Tatiana.” Chrysabelle’s hands coasted over her abdomen. “Amazing.”
“So what do you think?” Fi asked. “Are you going to wear it to face down Tatiana for the last time? I know I’d be afraid of you if you came after me in that outfit.”
“Why red? I know I’ve been trying to wear more color, but red?”
A satisfied gleam sparked in Fi’s eyes. “Red means stop. It’s a warning of danger. It’s the color of blood. There were a lot of reasons I chose that color.” She crossed her arms. “So are you going to wear it?”
Chrysabelle took another long, hard look at herself. “Believe it or not, yes.”
The front door slammed. “Chrys, where are you?” Damian called out.
“In my bedroom,” she answered.
He walked in. “Are you ready to—holy mother, what do you have on?”
Chrysabelle planted her hands on her hips. “My Tatiana-killing outfit.” Fi snickered at that. “Am I ready to what? Open the portal? Yes.”
He stared open-mouthed another second, then shook his head. “That looks like a Tatiana-killing outfit.”
“Fi’s choice. She did well, didn’t she?” With a wink at Fi, Chrysabelle continued. “How was the penthouse? Are you going to move in there?”
“It’s nice, but not my style. If it’s okay with you, I’ll stay here a little bit longer.”
She frowned at him. “What’s okay with me is if you don’t leave at all. I really don’t want you to go.”
“You’re sure? I just thought with things about to change the way they are, that… I don’t know. You’d want your own space.”
“Damian, the space I want has you in it.”
He nodded and smiled. “Then I’ll stay.”
“Good. Thank you.” She rubbed her forehead. “I’m glad that’s settled. One less thing to worry about, especially since I really need to open that portal and get to the Garden.”
Fi hopped off the bed. “That’s my cue to leave. I told Doc I wouldn’t be long.” She gave Chrysabelle a hug. “Get it done and bring Mal home.”
Chrysabelle hugged her back. “Will do.”
Fi waved to Damian as she left. “See you later, D.”
Chrysabelle shot her brother a look. “You ready?”
“Absolutely. Are you? Do you have everything you need? Are you sure you don’t want me with you?”
“I’d love to have you with me, but I’d rather have you here protecting the portal.” And out of harm’s way.
“Understood. I know with our training you can handle yourself. I just can’t help but worry about my sister.” He smiled. “Give her hell, Chrys.” He laughed. “Or at least send her there.”
Chrysabelle returned his smile. “That’s exactly what I intend to do.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Doc nodded to Creek after Remo was seated. “Show him the pictures.”
Creek tapped the screen of his phone, and then held it out for Remo to see.
He studied the picture for a long second before his angry gaze rose to meet Doc’s. “You are having me followed? On what grounds?”
Doc fixed his gaze on Remo and held it there. One way or another, Remo was going to tell the truth. “I’m not having you followed. Creek took those while on surveillance for another matter.”
“So.” Remo shrugged. “What is it supposed to prove, other than I often take walks through the streets?” He sat back. “Is this the council meeting? If so, I fail to see what a photo of me out walking has to do with anything.”
“Those photos were taken after I chased you out of Fritz’s apartment.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Remo laughed nervously. “Who is Fritz?”
“You know who he is. He’s the council member you replaced. The one you’re trying to frame as Heaven’s murderer.”
Remo started to stand, but Creek put a hand on his chest and pushed him back into his chair. “Don’t be rude. Your pride leader’s talking to you.”
“Get your hand off me. I’m done with this,” Remo snarled.
Doc rapped his knuckles on the desktop. “You leave and you’re done with this pride, you get me?”
Remo shut up.
Doc continued. “What this proves is that you’re not the innocent you make yourself out to be.”
Creek set the phone down on Doc’s desk. “I saw you in that alley in your animal form. You had four scratches on your back.”
“Do you have pictures of them also?” Remo asked.
“No,” Creek answered.
“His word that he saw them is good enough,” Doc said. “Because I know where those scratches came from. I put them there when I chased you out of Fritz’s apartment.”
Remo had the nerve to look bored. “I said I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Doc took a breath and tried to remain calm, tried to pull the frustration from his voice. “Look, all I really want to know is why you did it? Why you’d kill your sister? I can’t make it work in my head.”
Remo’s face didn’t change. “I loved my sister and I resent the implication that I would hurt her.”
“Why’d you frame Fritz? What does that get you?”
