A Warm Heart in Winter(49)

The pool was Luchas’s favorite place to go. Made sense. Given the extent of his physical issues, the buoyancy must feel nice, and the way he could move in water was no doubt so much easier than anything for him on land. The amputation of part of his leg had been necessary to save his life, but the prosthesis had been a tough adjustment. He was doing better, though.

Thank fuck.

Stepping into the swimming area’s ante hall, Qhuinn sneezed at all the chlorine and stretched his arms over his head. Maybe he’d get in, too—

As he emerged from the second set of doors, he looked at all the still water, the empty benches, the absolute silence in the floor-to-ceiling tiled space.

Hurrying over to the bathrooms, he ripped open the door to the males’ side. “Luchas?”

There were two stalls, and he shoved both their metal panels open. Nothing.

Back out at the pool, he went over to the edge of the water, heart in his throat. But there was nothing at the bottom, no twisted body that had sunk after drowning.

There was a logical explanation for where his brother was. There had to be—

“Shit, you dummy,” he muttered to himself as he went back out into the corridor.

Luchas was welcome anywhere in the mansion’s complex, free to come and go as he pleased, and Qhuinn kept hoping that part of that “coming” would include showing up for First or Last Meal in the dining room up at the big house. He’d offered to come get the male, to save him a seat, even to provide menus in advance if it would help entice him. So far, it was a no-go, but Qhuinn was going to keep making the invitation.

Hard sell, though. Luchas was a loner by nature now, very different from who he’d been before. Still, from a physical standpoint at least, he was getting better every night, and he had every medical advantage from not only the species, but the human side, too. Havers was even available for consults.

So it was going to be fine. Eventually.

As Qhuinn headed for the classroom section of things, he had to laugh. Reading, writing, and ’rithmetic were not what had been taught here. Try bombs and detonators, poisons and gases, fighting, shooting, defensive driving techniques. He and Blay and John Matthew had been in the first class of trainees, and then a second group had gone through. There would be a third, sometime in the near future.

Once they figured out exactly what they were fighting now.

The trainees’ break room was just what its name described, a place for the students, or the brothers and clinic patients, to chill out in, watch a little tube, have a bite to eat. It was also where Luchas ate all his meals.

Given the time, Qhuinn should have checked there first, but whatever. Pushing his way in, he was totally relieved that—

No one. Not at the tables. Not by the soda machines or the buffet or the fridges. Not in the armchairs by the TV.

Qhuinn told himself not to panic.

But he couldn’t stop his heart from going on a sprint inside his rib cage.



Outside of the library, elbow-deep in fresh snow, Blay fired up the chain saw, the high-pitched whine flaring and receding when he pumped the gas. As the motor settled into a purr, the scents of gasoline and oil were thick, but when the low-level wind changed direction, all of that was wiped clean.

“You got it?” he said.

Tohr nodded and leaned into the shitkicker he’d planted on the fallen evergreen’s trunk. “Hit it, son.”

Blay brought the running blade down on the tree that had broken into the house, the sweet balsam aroma a delicious conifer cologne. As sawdust flew off to the side and the engine sound got loud, the cut went quick, the chain’s barbs making ready work of the job. And when the blade broke through on the far side, the tree shimmied like it was relieved the surgery was done.

“Good work,” Tohr said as he bent all the way over and took hold of the trunk.

As Blay cut the motor, the Brother stood the conifer up and they both nodded. The pointed top was a good twenty feet off the ground and Tohr’s body was completely obscured by the fluffy green branches.

“The kids are going to love it.” Blay traded the chain saw for a tree stand. “I’ll just slap this on if you can lift our little friend.”

Tohr hefted up the tree, and Blay squeezed under on his belly. “Hold on, just getting it—okay, drop it!”

As the fresh-cut stump end was lowered into the stand’s basin, Blay cranked the screws tight—and marveled that he had developed such a core competency in what was exclusively a human tradition. Who’d have thought he’d end up knowing that it was always better to put the stand on outside of the house?

“We’re ready,” he said as he crawled out from underneath.

He would have offered to help, but Tohr was strong enough to just walk the pine-scented albatross into the library. The Brother also knew where it went, setting it down in the corner by shelves that held all the Charles Dickens first editions.

“Yay!” Bitty said from the boxes of ornaments she was unpacking. “It’s perfect! Thank you, Uncle Tohr.”

The little girl ran over and threw her arms around the Brother. Which, appropriately, caused the enormous fighter to completely melt.

“Oh, you are so welcome, baby girl.” Tohr smiled and put his dagger hand on her slight shoulder. “Do you have everything up from the basement?”

Considering the number of Rubbermaid containers dotting the library’s rug? Which were all the size of twin beds? It was hard to imagine there were any more Christmas decorations left in Caldwell: From the strings of lights to the lengths of garland, and the thousand glass ornaments in red, green, gold, and deep blue, it was quite the inventory.