Going Down In Flames: Bridges Burned Part 33

Unless you wanted to know what was going on. Bryn tried to focus on what she could do, which was talk to Lillith and keep her calm.

"Have you picked out a theme for your nursery?" she asked.

"Theme?" her grandmother said. "What do you mean?"

Okay, so she'd never decorated a nursery herself, but she'd seen nurseries on television and seen the things for sale in the stores. "You know, some people decorate with ducks or Disney characters."

Lillith pressed her lips together like she was trying not to say something.

"Most of the nurseries I've seen are decorated either blue or pink," her grandmother said, "None of them had a theme."

"Jaxon's room had the cutest teddy bear theme," Lillith gushed. "Ferrin didn't think it was masculine enough but I loved it."

Bryn filed that information away for later. For right now, she'd keep Lillith talking to keep both their minds off the attack. "Have you picked out something for Asher yet?"

"I can't decide. There are so many cute things but I can't ask Ferrin, because he'll say none of them are masculine enough, and Jaxon practically runs from the room whenever I ask him to look at anything baby-related."

"I'd be happy to look at baby things with you. It sounds like fun."

"Really?" Lillith grinned like she'd just received the best Christmas present. "That would be wonderful. Maybe we could go shopping one day and have lunch."

"I'd like that." The funny thing was, she meant it. Lillith was fun to hang around with and she laughed at Ferrin's pretentiousness. How she lived with the man without killing him was a mystery.

Lillith leaned back on the couch and sighed. "Would it be all right if I closed my eyes for a bit?"

"Of course," her grandmother said. "There are bedrooms down the hall if you'd like to lie down."

"Thank you, but this will do just fine." Lillith kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet up underneath her.

"I'm going to make the rounds and check on all my guests. Bryn, why don't you stay here with Lillith so I know you won't wander off."

"Yes, ma'am. I can do that." Her grandmother floated from group to group, checking on the women and children scattered throughout the shelter. Through all of it, she remained calm and composed, projecting confidence like there wasn't a thing to worry about. How did she do that?

Lillith's breathing became regular. Now that she was asleep, could Bryn run upstairs to check on the situation? Not without her grandmother finding out and kicking her b.u.t.t. So she stayed where she was, working her way through the plate of cookies.

Were Clint and Ivy having a fun Christmas Eve? They lived next door to each other, so they were probably celebrating together. Valmont was probably knee-deep in homemade food. What else had he told her they did on Christmas Eve? Some kind of tournament. Ping-pong, that was it. His family had a ping-pong tournament. Which was kind of strange, but in a fun, wholesome family values kind of way.

What she wouldn't give to have Valmont here right now. Not that she couldn't stand on her own two feet, but having backup in the form of a handsome knight would be a bonus.

Boredom and a full stomach made her eyelids heavy. How long had they been down here? An hour? Women and children slept on the couches. Her grandmother sat across the room speaking with the ladies who'd shared their table during dinner. They looked to be the same age as her grandmother. Maybe they were her friends.

Falling asleep on the sidelines while Jaxon fought upstairs was not an option. Time for caffeine. Standing up, she made her way over to the buffet and asked for coffee. While she was there, she grabbed another plate of cookies.

Now what? Polite conversation with strangers would be awkward. She walked over to a bookshelf and spotted a sudoku book. Maybe that would keep her mind off how little control she had at the moment.

Five completed puzzles later, a phone rang. Everyone turned toward the sound. The phone, which Bryn had overlooked, hung on the wall by the entrance into the shelter. Keeping a sedate pace, Bryn's grandmother crossed to the phone and answered it as if it were any other phone call.

Bryn moved to the edge of her seat, clutching a throw pillow while she watched her grandmother. The set of her jaw and her relaxed stance gave nothing away. After hanging up, she turned to face everyone.

"The attack is over. The Directorate has everything under control. Even though they feel it's safe to return to your homes, you are all invited to stay the night. We have more than enough bedrooms for everyone's comfort."

Women picked up their children and headed toward the steps. No one ran or panicked. They walked at a leisurely pace. All she wanted to do was race upstairs and demand answers. Was she the only female who'd wanted to fight? How was that possible? Ivy would've joined the battle if she were here. Was it a Clan thing or a cla.s.s thing?

Who knew? Either way, it was d.a.m.n irritating.

A hand touched her arm. "Don't march upstairs demanding answers," Lillith said. "Even though the men will appear calm and act as if they have everything under control, they'll still be on high alert. I'm sure your grandfather is ready to rip someone's head off over this incident. His Christmas Ball was disturbed by an act of war."

"Act of war?" Chill b.u.mps broke out on Bryn's arms.

"What else would you call attacking the estate where every single Directorate member is known to be?"

She hadn't thought of it that way. "Will you stay the night?"

"Ferrin will make that decision, and I'll let him because it will give him the sense that he is in complete control of something. A Blue male with wounded pride is one of the most dangerous creatures on the planet. Remember that in your dealings with Jaxon."

"Are you afraid of your husband?" Uh-oh. Boredom must've turned off her filter.

Lillith stared off in thought. Which was scarier than an outright answer. "I never fear for my safety or Jaxon's. However, I do fear for the safety of others."

And suddenly Ferrin seemed scarier than he'd ever been. Great.

Bryn stood. "The crowd has cleared. We better go find Jaxon before he accuses me of losing you."

Chapter Thirty-Two.

As they climbed the steps back up to the main area of the house, a cold feeling skittered down Bryn's spine. Was the house damaged, or the grounds ripped up like at school? Whoever was behind these attacks seemed to have dragons from every Clan. How was that possible? The first attack on campus came in the form of sonic waves, then they'd used wind, directing tornado-like gusts to attack the theater building. In Dragon's Bluff, the attack had come in the form of giant hail. Tonight had been the Black dragons' weapon, lightning. That only left the Reds' weapon, fire. Whenever the next attack came, would it come in the form of flames?

On the way back to the ballroom, everything appeared normal. Had they panicked over nothing? The smell of burned wires drifted through the air. Lillith's grip on her arm prevented Bryn from running ahead.

Inside the ballroom, Bryn found the source of the smell. Christmas trees lay on their sides, with their branches burned and broken. Ice, or maybe gla.s.s, glittered on the ballroom floor. Most of the floor-to-ceiling cathedral windows were missing their panes or were left with jagged remnants of gla.s.s.

Had the attack been centered on the ballroom? If it had, that meant the attackers knew when and where everyone would be at a certain time. Men stood in groups with their heads together, talking heatedly. Blood spotted their dress shirts, and in a few places it puddled on the floor.

She approached a man she didn't know who was seated on the floor, clutching his arm against his body. Blood soaked through his shirtsleeve.

"If you're hurt, I can help you. I've had some training as a medic."

Indecision showed in his eyes.

"Jaxon Westgate trusted me to heal his cla.s.smates." Maybe that would sway him.

He pulled the sleeve of his shirt up, revealing a jagged tear, like a talon had ripped through his skin. Bryn sat on the floor next to him and focused her life force, visualizing it as a small sun glowing in her chest. Then she directed the flow of Quintessence through her right arm and out of her fingertips. Tracing her fingers back and forth over the torn skin, she visualized the raw edges pulling together, the muscles knitting themselves back together.

Concentrating on healing the young man, she didn't pay attention to anything else. When the cut was healed, she smiled up at him.

"Thank you." His words were sincere.

She nodded and pushed to her feet. That's when she noticed everyone staring at her. And she did mean everyone, even her grandparents. Nothing like a captive audience.

"Does anyone else need help? I can't heal broken bones yet, but I'm good with flesh wounds."

You could have heard a leaf hit the gra.s.s.

"Over here." A woman pointed to her son.

"I'm fine, Mother," the young man protested.

"You're not. I won't have you bleeding all the way home." She pointed to her son's face. Blood soaked through a handkerchief he held to his forehead. "If you would be so kind as to take care of him."

"Humor your mother," Bryn said. "And remove the handkerchief so I can see what I'm dealing with."

Resigned, the boy did as he was told. Healing him was easy.

"Thank you." The woman held out her hand. "I'm Mrs. Everson. Do have your grandmother call me for lunch one day. My treat."

"Thank you."

Someone tapped Bryn on the shoulder. Another woman asked Bryn to heal her husband. She made her way around the ballroom healing half a dozen males who had refused to ask for help, but accepted it when their wives or mothers insisted. All the women extended offers of lunch or tea.

When there was no one left to heal, Bryn located her grandmother, who was saying good-bye to guests. One look at Bryn and her eyes went wide. "Please tell me that's not your blood."

Bryn glanced down at the crimson spattering her emerald gown. "It's not mine. Sorry I ruined the dress, but I did receive several invitations for lunch and tea."

"Then it was a fair trade. Now, help me say good-bye to everyone."

Bryn did as her grandmother asked. The funny thing was, now more people looked her in the eye when they spoke to her.

Where was her grandfather? He was probably off doing Directorate business while her grandmother covered PR. An hour later, the last guest was shown out the door. Feet aching, all Bryn wanted to do was collapse in bed. "Any chance we can find out what happened tonight?"

"Your grandfather will tell us what happened when he is ready. It would be best if we went to bed."

She was halfway back to her room when someone called her name. "Bryn."

c.r.a.p. She recognized that voice. What did her grandfather want? She turned with a polite expression on her face that became harder to maintain as her grandfather stalked toward her.

When he was within arm's reach, he placed his hand on her shoulder. "What you did tonight...healing Clan members...it's not something a Blue would do."

Uh-oh.

"You are not the granddaughter I dreamed of having, but tonight you proved you're worthy of our Clan, and I am proud of you."

Warmth filled Bryn's chest. "Thank you."

The next morning, Bryn rolled over and stared at the clock. It was 8:00 a.m. on Christmas morning. And for the first time ever, it meant nothing to her.

She curled up in a ball and hugged her pillow, remembering Christmas mornings past: waking as early as possible, running into the living room to see what Santa had left for her. When she was older and her belief in Santa had faded, Christmas morning meant ripping open presents and eating pancakes dyed red and green like Christmas ornaments. Then they'd watched Christmas movies or played in the snow.

Tears soaked her pillow and a pounding started at the base of her skull. She sighed. This was getting her nowhere. Time to shower, dress, and find out what the h.e.l.l had happened last night. Where would her grandmother be this morning? Should she call the operator and ask? Hopefully, Rindy the all-knowing phone fairy had Christmas morning off. Not wanting to find out for sure, Bryn headed to the dining room. There would be food there, if nothing else.

Her grandmother sat sipping coffee and reading a gardening magazine. "Good morning, Bryn. I wondered if I should send someone to wake you, but decided after last night, you could use all the sleep you could manage."

"Thanks. This is the latest I've slept since I came to school, thanks to that stupid alarm in my dorm room."

"I never cared for those alarms myself." Her grandmother pointed to the sideboard, which held covered dishes. "Abigail left food warming for you. Or we could order something fresh if you like."

Bryn poured herself a cup of coffee and went to investigate her options. Time to play what's-under-the-covered-dish. Under the first lid, Christmas cookies. No need to go any further.

She'd worked her way through four chocolate chip cookies before asking the question burning in her brain. "Any news about last night?"

Her grandmother set the gardening magazine down. "We know that someone attacked our estate to make a statement, to try to show that we weren't in control. We mobilized and launched a counterattack. Minor injuries were sustained on our side. Your grandfather believes the other side suffered several casualties."

Was that a good thing? "Do they know who the other side is?" Since these attacks had started, the ident.i.ty of the rebels had remained a mystery.

"There are indications Black and Orange dragons were among those fighting against us last night."

"I understand thinking it was Black dragons due to the lightning, but why Orange?"

"Because of the wings they found."

And the chocolate chip cookies were about to come back up. "Wings? They found severed wings?"

Her grandmother nodded. "Orange and Black wings, and various other body parts. Disturbing, isn't it?"

That was an understatement. "What happens now?"

"If my instincts are correct, the Directorate will declare the attack on our home an act of war."

"You are correct, Marie." Her grandfather strode into the room, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat at the head of the table.

That didn't sound good. "What does that mean, an act of war?"

"It means," her grandfather said, "that the Directorate will declare martial law to keep the population safe until we can neutralize this threat. An eight p.m. curfew will be put into effect. Everyone will be advised to travel in pairs or groups rather than alone."

She remembered her conversation with Onyx. "Someone once told me the attacks would continue until the Directorate limited everyone's freedom to a point where they would fight back, creating a civil war."

Smack. Her grandfather's coffee cup hit the table. "Who told you that?"

Uh-oh. "I think he was just theorizing the reasons behind the attacks, not saying it was a good idea."

"His name. Now," her grandfather roared.