Chapter 14 - Above Cursed Winds

The diagnostic Jeremiah had run since yesterday revealed that Nero’s security was nearly flawless.

It only strengthened his conviction that this had been an inside job. What Nero had said was true: it would have been nearly impossible for someone to waltz onto clan lands, break into the dome, unlock Zia’s office with no sign of forcing the door, then crack her password and fingerprint protection to access her device and nab the files. Then manage to get out without almost any trace.

It was both concerning and disconcerting. He was currently living in his number one suspect’s house, and she had shown him kindness last night—and this morning. What he needed to discover now was whether she’d have a motive to betray her clan and all of immortal society.

He simply couldn’t reconcile the two images in his head. On the one hand, a betrayer who had thrown innocents and vulnerable children into the cruel maw of the enemy; and on the other, the devoted mother and lieutenant who had blushed when she’d accidentally walked in on him. Her wide, innocent eyes, so frazzled yet full of heat. It just didn’t add up.

All day long, he mulled through the possibilities as he worked on upgrading Nero’s system. Though it still functioned like a well-oiled machine, their technopath had stopped installing updates around the time the Heat hit.

Like the Elementals had done for Paracel, Nero had mounted sensors on any roads into clan lands, and there was continuous video monitoring on the public buildings. Tomorrow, he’d work through the footage to see if he could find anything Zia had missed. Or purposefully omitted.

It was her computer, her office, and her information. His list of suspects was short, and she was at the top, no matter how prettily she smiled when her son won at Mario Kart. Zia was a single mother with a kid who was starved for attention. Myko’s father, still unaccounted for, was an unknown. If she had been blackmailed, threatened, or manipulated into giving the information to the Citizens—or any other interested party—she’d still have to play the right cards with her sovereign.

Everything about it was unsettling. Until he had more proof either way, letting Nero in on his suspicions would be counterproductive.

Early in the afternoon, Jeremiah was keen to escape the stuffy offices and get out of his own head. He went in search of Myko. The youngling had been crowned uncontested King of the Kart this morning after their impromptu tournament and now, Jeremiah would take him to an actual field where they could practice with the soccer ball.

Myko’s enthusiasm was contagious, and the Elemental couldn’t help but feel his own spirit become lighter. It’d been ages since he’d felt anything but spite and hostility and being around the Raeth youngling seemed to damper that antagonism.

Every once in a while, a couple of Raeths would pass by their impromptu stadium, pretending not to stare at them. Electricity had tingled up Jeremiah’s spine, informing him that their silent auditors were telepathically communicating with another party. Zia, if he had to guess.

Myko had confirmed it after the third time it happened, letting him know that they were merely making sure he wasn’t being kidnapped or tortured.

After a few hours, Jeremiah insisted on going back to Zia’s house, his anxiety churning with the need to accomplish something. He knew he’d find a festering pool of guilt if he examined the feeling, so he left it unexplored. Instead, he got to work on repaying his host for her generous welcome.

Jeremiah had spotted the kitchen cabinet doors lingering in a far corner of the ground floor, ready to install. With time on his hands and the toolbox he grabbed from Zia’s room, the least he could do was hang a few.

But a few soon became all of them.

“Now, which ones adjust the height, Myko?”

Jeremiah held Myko’s waist as the boy stood on the countertop, tentatively tapping on the hinge’s two vertical screws.

“These two?”

“Yeah! Now give it a go.”

Myko deftly untightened one side before tightening the other, leveling the door’s height with a near-perfect adjustment. He gently swung the door closed, eyes pinching at the corners to inspect his handiwork.

“Did I do it right?”

“You did awesome, little man.” Jeremiah grinned, helping him down. “I think we’re almost done. You want to give that one a try by yourself?”

Nodding fervently, Myko clutched his screwdriver like a prized trophy before trotting over to one of the last remaining cabinets on the lower portion.

“My mom woulda done this, but she’s super busy with all the babies.”

“I’m sure she is. It seems like she’s a busy woman.”

“Oh yeah.” Myko’s laugh sounded before he began adjusting the hinge. “She does so much for our sovereign. She helps with the babies, like, all the time! And takes care of most of the builder’s stuff. And then she works with our lighthouse, too, and then with all our clansmen who are just coming in, and of course she does the safety and security for the clan, and takes really good care of me, too.”

A sound of approval rumbled in Jeremiah’s throat. He was aware he’d been too harsh on her initially. He’d already confirmed the breach hadn’t resulted from Zia’s ineptitude. Whether or not she’d purposefully taken the information was another question entirely. The boy’s account of everything his mother did for the clan, on top of the way she had conducted herself in her duties as the Peace Accords Administrator, certainly didn’t match with his idea of treason.

For the first time, he acknowledged and empathized with the difficulties of working as Nero’s second and being mother to an eight-year-old as special as Myko.

“No matter how busy she is, though, she always makes me the best dinners,” Myko was saying. “Sometimes she’ll make these really fancy dishes to help me try new things, but I always ask for spaghetti because it’s my favorite. Sometimes we have it every other day!”

“Your mom is a good mom, huh?”

“Super good mom,” Myko echoed, nodding his head victoriously at the well-adjusted hinge. “Sometimes I think she’s lonely, though.”

“Lonely?”

Jeremiah frowned, studying Myko’s features as he moved on to the next cabinet and started adjusting the hinges. Something about the thought sat ill with him.

“It’s ‘cause my mom never dates anybody. It’s just me and her.”

Hoping it wasn’t a sensitive subject, Jeremiah asked, “What about your dad?”

“Oh, they don’t date,” Myko said, his head disappearing into a cabinet. “They just sleep together.”

Startled, Jeremiah choked, coughing to clear his throat and mind from what must’ve been an unintentional slip. Though Myko didn’t expand on his statement, he looked at Jeremiah worriedly.

“You okay?”

Grunting a barely intelligible response, Jeremiah refocused on the hinge adjustment staring him in the face. While he wasn’t certain what he’d expected, he hadn’t expected that, and it made his gut churn with a foreign sensation. He kept his thoughts to himself as they continued to work on the cabinets. After six more hinges, they called it quits, stepping back to inspect their handiwork.

“If your mom hates it, then this was your idea, little man.”

Patting Myko on the shoulder, Jeremiah braced for the brief vision that floated into his subconscious and was shocked when it didn’t come.

“No vision?”

Myko beamed up at him. “I can sometimes control it once I’ve been around someone enough.” His smile faltered a bit. “But … but most people don’t give me the chance.”

Two hours later, after Jeremiah had shown and instructed Myko how to finish the raw edges on the carpeted stairs, Zia’s muffled voice sounded in the kitchen.

“What—what on earth?”

Busted.

“We’re up here, Mom!” Myko shouted.

“Myko?”

Jeremiah called out, “We’re finishing the stairs.”

The sound of her hurried approach made Jeremiah break into a smile. He didn’t move as Zia halted near the bottom of the staircase, her expression shifting between suspicion, gratefulness, and confusion.

“My kitchen?”

“Myko did half the work.” Smirking, he tilted his head toward the youngling who was curling under the raw edges of the carpeting on the last stair. “It was good practice, anyway.”

Zia’s tone was suspicious. “Practice for what?”

He shrugged, the gesture casual enough that she glared daggers at him. “You never know when you might happen along a damsel in distress.”

“Whose kitchen is half finished?”

“Precisely, Z.”

Scoffing, the Raeth turned to Myko, the expression instantly dissolving into one of tender affection. “You did awesome, baby.”

“Jeremiah helped out. Can we have spaghetti tonight?”

Choking down a laugh, Jeremiah helped him up. “Give the spaghetti a break, buddy.”

Myko bounded down the stairs and passed Zia with a sigh. Jeremiah descended far more slowly, keeping eye contact with the radiant woman.

“Multiple people telepathed me today about Myko playing soccer with a red-haired stranger.” She deadpanned, “From all accounts, it sounded as though you were half a second away from strangling him.”

“Reports of his death have been greatly exaggerated.” He returned the volley to her, looking over at where Myko was now shouting at his Mario Kart opponents. “He looks fine to me.”

“I can see that.”

A pregnant pause before Jeremiah spoke again. “I’m headed out.”

“What? Why?”

“Fish and guests smell after three days.”

She shot him a dry look. “You’ve only been here one night.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.” Sidestepping around her, he inhaled the sweet fragrance of her tropical scent. “Anyway, I figured I’d give you a night alone with your son. I can scavenge. Maybe I’ll try the pufferfish.”

Zia tried again, “But Myko—he’ll wonder where you are.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Jeremiah was stalling now, and he knew it. But Zia was stalling, too, which was just as interesting. Her teeth bit into that plump lower lip, in a gesture very reminiscent of her son.

“I’m making saimin. Have you ever had it?”

Jeremiah searched his memories for the traditional Hawaiian dish and came up empty. He was at a crossroads: say no and he’d be obligated to try hers, or lie and effectively give himself an out for dinner tonight.

Even before he could weigh his options, his gut tightened. He didn’t truly want to leave; he’d offered it to her as a way to smooth over what must’ve been an imposition.

“Should I be concerned that you’re floating?”

Snapping out of his trance, Jeremiah’s feet hit the ground with an audible thump, his eyes widening at the involuntary loss of control.

“What was that?” Miko’s shout resonated from the other room.

As if on cue, both he and Zia echoed, “Nothing!”

Humor danced across his features as the blushing Raeth turned back towards him, sporting the same expression. They shared a genial chuckle, their soft camaraderie ringing true in the foyer’s elegant confines.

In that moment, he truly noticed how stunning she was. Delicate fingers partially covered her mouth as if to hide the truth of her amusement, the nails painted a sharp black. Her beachy waves, colored to look like an oil slick, cascaded down her back, but framed her features perfectly. Once more, his eye was drawn to the hint of a tattoo peeking out from beneath her shirt collar, the ink just below her collar bone. Everything about Zia was utterly transcendent.

As if hearing her name in his thoughts, those indigo eyes found his. “Stay. Let me feed you. It’s the least I can do, especially after you fixed my cabinets.”

“Nothing more than a lowly handyman, huh,” Jeremiah exaggerated his woe. “Don’t forget the stairs, too.”

“If you’re expecting pat on the back and a kiss on the cheek,” she mockingly warned “I’m afraid you’ll have to look elsewhere.”

“Scandalous, Z.”

After a brief pause, he followed her into the kitchen, letting Zia cook while he continued to fiddle with the cabinetry, perfecting each and every door so that it’d last for the long haul.

Because Jeremiah certainly wouldn’t.