When he finally arrived, he opened the door wide for Gwen. “The councilor will see you in his apartment.”
She bit her lip. Braced her still-wobbly knees.
Then she stepped inside.
2
At first glance, Hugh Blacke could have been almost any human man Gwen knew. Any man who’d been awakened out of a sound sleep, anyway.
His thick brown hair stuck up in spiky patches on one side of his head, and the shadows beneath his heavy-lidded eyes betrayed his fatigue. He was still wearing his pajama pants and a pair of comfy-looking socks.
Small horns peeked out from his rumpled hair, though. Also, he lived in a damn penthouse, and even a plebe like Gwen could spot the expensive fabric and impeccable fit of those pants and his Henley. And while he might look tired, his scrutiny of her as she stood in his apartment’s foyer was just as sharp and thorough as she remembered from twenty years before.
Then, of course, there was the gargantuan self-portrait. It took up almost an entire wall of the anteroom. Most human men didn’t have one of those either.
Despite the urgency of her task, she couldn’t stop herself from staring at it.
“Wow.” She regarded the oversized, spotlit painting. “That’s really…something.”
Above the slicked-back hair of Hugh Blacke’s massive painted head, two flapping ravens held an unfurled, curling-edged banner aloft. It readSEMPER RECTIOR.
Sempermeant “always.” She knew that much. But what couldrectiorbe?
Always…rectums? Was that his motto?
Plastering a hand over her mouth, she covered an inappropriate giggle with a fake cough.
Faint color burnished the actual, in-person demon’s angular cheekbones. After clearing his throat, he nodded at the portrait and offered a seemingly reluctant explanation.
“The Blacke family motto is ‘Always more right.’ ” He paused. “Rectiorcan also be interpreted as ‘more proper’ or ‘more honest.’ ”
Clearlymore humblewasn’t another alternate meaning.
When she stepped closer, the painting’s other details struck her eye. The slim-fitting black suit, with jet—or onyx—buttons, over a glowing-white shirt. The mirror-shined black Oxfords. The razor-sharp tips of his horns, which didn’t actually match the blunt-edged reality.
In one hand he gripped a thick book. Something about laws. In the other…
“Are you holding a scepter?” Tipping her head, she considered the item. “Like, a symbol of monarchical rule?”
Becausethatwould be quite a statement. Yikes.
“Yes,” he brusquely confirmed, even as she spotted a bizarroiteration of Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel fresco on the lofty ceiling overhead. One featuring an unrealistically ripped iteration of Hugh Blacke instead of Adam.
When she slipped off her sunglasses and took a step closer, squinting to make out all the details, the councilor loudly cleared his throat. “Ms. Wexloff.”
Oh, yeah. Her mission.
“Councilor Blacke.” She swiveled to face him once more, tucked her sunglasses in her pocket, and offered a nod of acknowledgment. Then had to nudge her wig back in place. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“Hugh, please.” Despite the pretty manners, it was an order. Not a suggestion. “Tell me what brought you here.”
Normally, she’d never, ever confront anyone like this. Especially not someone who’d hurt her feelings and watched her utterly humiliate herself. But fear and frustration had pushed her past her normal reticence, and she was too tired to be embarrassed, so she licked her cold, chapped lips and got to work.
“According to the best, most reliable information you’ve been given,” she asked, “what do you believe is currently happening in the Containment Zone?”
He rocked back on his socked heels, his dark brows furrowed. “The Zone entry gate malfunctioned several days ago, and various telecommunications systems are currently offline too due to maintenance issues. That’s all I know.”
She raised her brows, willing him to see the oddness of it all. “An entire population of people—common humans, Enhanced humans, and Supernaturals alike—has been incommunicado for days. Why hasn’t there been a full-scale response?Helicopters doing surveillance or carrying volunteers to check on residents? Supply and medication drops?”
