Pia Does Hollywood (Elder Races, #8.6)(27)

For the first time since Pia had arrived, Tatiana showed a visible reaction at the news. She flinched, and the skin around her mouth whitened, while fear flashed across Bailey’s face. Quentin pursed his lips and somehow managed to look both intrigued and pained at once.

Dragos asked, “Who’s Morgan?”

Yeah, good question, Pia thought.

Then, in the next moment, she realized it wasn’t a good question at all, as both Shane and Tatiana turned to stare at Dragos.

“What do you mean, ‘Who’s Morgan’?” Tatiana asked. “Isabeau’s Chief Hound. He’s been in her Seelie Court for centuries, remember?”

Dragos’s expression tightened and briefly he closed his eyes, which was when Pia realized what a major misstep he had just made.

Slowly, his gaze as sharp as swords, Shane added, “You must have met him several times before, Dragos. You did frequent the Seelie Court decades before the rift between Tatiana and Isabeau occurred, and Morgan wasn’t with her then, but at the very least you must have heard of him. Morgan of the Fae is one of the oldest, most famous sorcerers in the British Isles. Surely, you haven’t forgotten—or have you?”

Dragos looked at Pia, and the frustration and self-recrimination in his darkened gaze made her want to put her arms around him so badly, she almost went and did it despite the danger of contamination. Biting her lip until it bled, she wrapped her arms around her torso and forced her feet to remain planted where she stood.

“Actually, I had forgotten,” he bit out.

Tatiana took a few steps toward him. Her gaze had turned fascinated, speculative. “That’s unlike you, dragon. You have always had a remarkable mind for minutiae, even centuries later, and the time you spent at the Seelie Court is no piece of minutiae.”

Of all the things they had worried about—the baby’s safety, Pia’s f*cking secret—they had forgotten to be on guard for pitfalls that might stem from Dragos’s memory loss.

And of all their secrets that could have been betrayed, she thought this one would cause the least amount of damage, but still, Dragos would hate it. He hated the thought of exposing anything that might be seen as a weakness.

As he had said to her before, the dragon was one of the oldest of the Elder Races, and he was not a peaceful-minded creature. He had made enemies. Dangerous, old enemies.

Pia didn’t pause to think. Instead, she leaped into the conversation. “It is unlike him,” she said nervously. “Do you think the infection could be affecting his cognitive abilities?” Turning to face Dragos, she asked, “Dragos, do you remember anything at all about Morgan?”

Dragos’s eyelids had lowered when she’d started speaking, and his expression had turned guarded and closed. Walking to the rear bumper of one of the Hummers, he leaned back against the car. The pose should have suggested relaxation. Instead, he looked as coiled as a king cobra about to strike out. Despite the heavy chains shackling his wrists and ankles, if it came down to a free-for-all melee against all the others, she would bet everything she had on him.

Much as she hated to admit it, the Light Fae were right to keep their guns trained on him, even now.

He said, “Now that you’ve mentioned him, of course I do. I don’t recall my time at Isabeau’s Court, though. And as Tatiana said, it’s unlike me to forget.”

Tatiana tapped a manicured finger against her bottom lip. “Maybe this is what happens to every victim before they turn. They forget who they are and become like rabid beasts. Only for them it happens quickly, within fifteen minutes or so. But Dragos is changing much more slowly. I wonder what else you might have forgotten.”

Dragos’s shuttered gaze met Pia’s again, and then he looked away. “Once I’ve been healed, it won’t matter, will it?”

“One hopes,” Tatiana murmured. She had not lost that dangerous, speculative expression. “It would be most unfortunate if you suffer permanent memory loss from this. As long-lived as we are, it does not do to lose track of memories of dangerous things.”

In retrospect, it had been rather miraculous that Aryal had been silent to date, but now she snapped, “Which is all the more reason for us to step up the pace of this conversation, don’t you think? I’m growing gray hair over here. Goddamn, let’s stop the useless speculation about whether or not Dragos has forgotten anything, and move along already, before he does actually have time to turn. So, Morgan might be one of the Hounds in L.A. So what?”

For once, Pia felt overwhelmed with gratitude for Aryal’s abrasive, impatient nature.

Thank you, she said in Aryal’s head.

You’re welcome, the harpy said shortly. She hitched a shoulder. Also, I was just being honest.

That, Pia believed. But she still could have kissed her.

“So,” Shane said, “if Morgan and others of the Queen’s Hounds are here, and the contagion is sorcerous in nature, I don’t think this outbreak is some terrible random act of fate. I think it’s a planned attack on the Light Fae.”

Bailey said suddenly, “That would explain why the outbreaks keep popping up in different places. When someone is infected, they don’t really have time to travel around before they turn. This hasn’t behaved in the way other diseases do. With some things, like the flu, the incubation period is long enough that someone who has been infected can travel across the world before they realize they’re sick. Whereas here, if someone gets bitten, they change almost immediately. The infected haven’t had time to travel to other areas.”