Page 75 of The Flame Game

“And ended up Audrey’s gorgon plaything,” I muttered.

“However much I love your jealousy, you don’t need to be jealous. Even if she’d snorted gorgon dust and become one before our divorce, I still would have divorced her. And because gorgon law is far stricter than human law, she probably wouldn’t have survived the divorce proceedings, because gorgons do not cheat. Not in that sense. Gorgons are polyamorous, but they’re loyal to their multiple partners. I just can’t handle that sort of lifestyle, especially because gorgons will change loyalties fairly often.”

“They’re loyal while engaged in a relationship, but they’ll shift relationships often.”

“Right. That doesn’t really work with me.”

“You don’t say?”

My husband glared at me.

I smiled.

“Okay. You win. I love you, my beautiful. Try not to turn our house into a menagerie more than it already is. Remember, for every species we bring into the house, we have to be certified and trained in their care.”

“That’s so weird. Like, we can produce humans, gorgons, cindercorns, or possibly others, and we don’t have to be certified for them, but the instant we adopt a wolf, we need to be certified. Wolves are easier than humans or cindercorns. Feed them, don’t let them eat people. Treat for rabies as appropriate. Cuddle or avoid cuddling as required.”

“It does bother me, at least a little, that we are somehow qualified to care for young, defenseless tiny humans, gorgons, cindercorns, and some others without certification, but wild dogs with a domestication problem require certification.”

“It’s the domestication problem.” I shrugged. “I like certificates. I have many. I collect them. And for some reason, people keep putting me in classes and expect me to collect yet another certification. I am the queen of certifications.”

“You really are.”

“I’m not certified to be a cop yet, yet here we are. For some reason, people expect me to go to work and do cop stuff starting in January. You should make me flash cards to teach me how to be a cop. I’m not ready to be a cop. Unless you’re putting me on the bomb squad. I was born ready to be on the bomb squad. I get so many delicious explosives when I work on the bomb squad.”

“You also get shot. From my understanding of the situation, in the ass.”

I frowned, thought about the times I’d gotten shot, and realized I had stopped a round with my rump at least once. “Right. They give me fancy gear to protect my head and important bits from bullets. They didn’t have a lot of spots left to shoot me after that. I mean, somewhat. If a bomb went off, the gear didn’t last long. But that usually didn’t happen.”

“That usually not happening implies it did happen.”

“Well, explosions just annoy me a little. Don’t make such a big deal out of it. It’s just a few bombs.”

“We’re going to have to have a talk about your enjoyment of bombs.”

“I wouldn’t call it an enjoyment. We just have an explosive relationship, and it tingles nicely.”

My husband sighed.

Kendra Thames handled her freedom from petrification better than most of the victims. I believed there needed to be limits to how calm and collected someone could be upon learning she’d lost years of her life to her friend’s treachery. She wandered through the gardens while the CDC kept an eye on her and I finished helping the other victims.

Quinn stayed at our rental, waiting until I finished my dirty work before bringing me clothes so I could change out of the blanket, which I tossed in a pile with other contaminated materials destined to be burned.

When Kendra spotted my husband talking with me, she approached and said, “You picked a really shitty woman to be your wife.”

I twitched, scowled, and put my hands on my hips, staring at my husband while waiting to see what he would do.

“Her shitty behavior played a major factor in why I divorced her. Had I been aware you had gone missing, I would have had this place looked into a lot sooner.”

Did my husband like or hate the woman? I couldn’t tell. He’d seemed concerned when he’d identified her, but he’d gone icy cold.

“Really.” Kendra looked my husband over. “Never thought I’d think this, but the years have done you wonders. Damn, Sam. You’re looking good.”

That earned her a raised brow. “Thank you. Anyway, I’m not at all responsible for what Audrey did, but I would have worked to resolve your disappearance had I known. As you may not have noticed, love had nothing to do with our marriage, which ended in divorce after I gathered sufficient proof she had been cheating on me. Anyway, she’s dead.”

“Finally bit off more than she could chew, did she? What finally got her? I’d guess one of her jilted lovers—or her main fling. Not you, that is. You’re one of the good chiefs, and you don’t play that game.”

He did, but unless my husband informed her of his heritage, I’d keep my mouth shut.