Page 101 of Light

“She told them she wanted to take them to the ballet dance.” He sighs and rubs his eyes.

“Ballet? What ballet?” Emma asks.

He makes us wait while he adjusts the drawstrings, pulling until they extend out to the same length.

“Buddy?” I prompt, trying to clench back my impatience. “What ballet?”

“She said…it was the one about the swans.”

Emma frowns. “Swan Lake?”

“Yeah!” The kid pumps his fist, nearly clocking his mother in the jaw. Luckily, Emma’s used to dodging when the kid gets fond of the ninja act. As she sweeps her head to the side, she uses the motion to catch my gaze with her open curiosity. I respond with an adamant shrug. Does she expect me to know if, when, or where Swan Lake is playing around town?

“Curtain is at eight tonight.”

On the other hand, maybe it’s my turn to have my mind read now—except the woman I expect the clairvoyance from is still sitting there with our son, tight-lipped and confused.

Until she joins me in looking up at the source of the intel.

Who happens to be her sister, stumbling up next to Foley, the back of her head bathed in as much blood as his face.

“Oh, holy God!” Emma hands Lux off to me and then bounds to her feet, running for Lydia. “Dee Dee. Oh, my sweet ’Dia. Are you—”

“Stop.” Lydia bats her away. “By Peter, Paul, and Mary, sister. if you don’t stop, I’ll force you to!”

Emma’s having none of the Dee Dee lip. “You’re both bleeding like Tarantino characters. You need medical attention.”

Fershan marches in closer, bringing his starship-captain persona with him. “Which is why we have a fully functioning lab, convertible into a medical bay, fifteen steps behind me.”

“Ah!” His comment has Atticus pivoting around, an approving grin sparking across his face. “Your team continues to impress me, Richards.”

“As they should be mitigating Miss Paranoid Pants over here.” Lydia snorts before shoulder-butting her sister. “Who should be listening as I tell her that the Los Angeles Ballet is staging a gala performance of Swan Lake tonight benefiting downtown revitalization efforts at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion.”

Instead of launching into her own happy ninja moves, Emma appears perturbed. “At the Music Center?” she retorts. “But the ballet doesn’t normally perform there.”

“Did I mention gala?” Lydia counters. “Benefiting downtown—which just took another hit from that damn earthquake?”

“Which might or might not have been an earthquake,” I mutter.

“Lots of shit under those streets we haven’t been sure about.” Foley tags a sweeping glance at the end of his gritted observation—right back at my wife. “Maybe even the fact that bitch-witch Garand has some secret storage rooms we weren’t aware of.”

By now, I’m exploding back to my feet too.

As my head confirms the terrifying logic of my friend’s statement.

As my gut roils in violent protest of it.

As my senses shoot into wild hyperawareness—activating my body into action.

“Fershan,” I bark, already stomping my way back toward the front stoop. “Take Foley and Lydia and get them stitched up. I’m leaving Aliz here as your nurse and Kain as your tech backup.” As I come abreast of Atticus, I stop long enough to order him, “Get that monstrosity off my property. Park it as close to the Music Center as you can. Take one of the musketeers with you. The other two, along with everyone else, are with me.”

To his credit, Atticus cranks out an encouraging nod. When he stills his head, it’s to gift me with his direct stare, filled with the affirming respect of a peer. “What is your plan?” he queries.

“To get my girls back.”

That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less. But the man’s second nod is a confirmation that right now, it’s enough for him. A damn good thing because it’s enough for me too.

I just pray, with every filament of fortitude in my body and soul, that it’s not too late for Ira and Miseria.