Moment of Truth (The Potentate of Atlanta #5) - Hailey Edwards Page 0,1

my line of work, I had run across addicts desperate for their next hit in better shape.

Blotting her forehead, Abbott frowned. “It appears to be an allergic reaction to the anesthesia.”

“You mean you don’t know?” I faked a gasp and clutched my chest. “And you call yourself a doctor.”

“I’m not omniscient, Hadley.” He chuckled. “I’m doing the best I can, but pregnancy complicates things.”

Witchborn fae complicated every single little thing. One more hurdle barely rated a sigh of annoyance.

“You’re tired.” Midas rested his hands on my shoulders. “You’ve been going nonstop since we discovered the archive.” He began a massage that left me putty in his hands. “You need to rest.”

The instinctive urge to shoot him down and keep on trucking got crushed beneath my exhaustion.

“Okay.” I didn’t have enough fight in me to argue. “I’ll take a nap. A tiny one. Like thirty minutes.”

Midas and Abbott exchanged a glance over my head that smacked of them handling me.

Oh, sure. They would say it was for my own good, but I think they were scared of me when I got hangry.

Though, to be fair, I had no clear memory of the last time I had eaten or slept. And that jerk shadow had stolen the mouthful of caffeine that might have made all the difference in my cognitive ability.

Just for that, I was going to ask Remy to wrap gas station meatballs in truffle foils from Ambrose’s favorite chocolatier. And then…sweet revenge. Or not-so-sweet revenge. Which was the whole point.

Let Ambrose get a taste of how it feels to think you’re getting a treat and then bam.

Goddess, I really was tired if I was plotting revenge on, essentially, myself.

“I’ll send the ultrasound photos and recordings to Bishop along with Liz’s file,” Abbot promised. “The information will be with your team when you wake.”

“Thanks.”

Out in the hall, Midas waited until the shadow made himself scarce before reaching into his pocket a second time. He pulled out a small brown tulle bag tied with a black ribbon that made dull clacking noises when its weight shifted on his palm. The smell hit me, and I moaned, perking instantly.

“Gimme.” I lunged for them. “Gimme. Gimme. Gimme.”

“Nap first.” He snatched them back. “Chocolate-covered espresso beans later.”

“You’re so mean.” I buried my face in his side, trusting him to guide me to the elevators. “Why do you hate me?”

“I also sourced you a copy of Moon Cats Colonize the Sun.”

“I take it back.” I kissed his shoulder through his shirt. “You’re the absolute best mate ever, and I love you more than the single-origin Costa Rican chocolate bars I order from French Broad Chocolates in Asheville.”

The ride was oddly peaceful, probably due to me shutting my eyes just for a second. Or three. Or maybe during the whole trip.

The jolt as the elevator stopped jarred me awake, and I shuffled out before recalling I was supposed to be going up to our apartment and not making a pit stop in the lobby.

As I pulled my vision into focus, I noticed Remy. She grinned at me, her needlelike teeth flashing, her skin so pale it was translucent. Her spiked pixie cut highlighted the roundness in her cheeks, and the green elastics on her braces matched her hair.

Tonight, she wore a palm-sized white lily behind one ear, a tame accessory by her usual eighties punk rock standards. Her wide blue eyes, the color of her pronounced veins, sparkled with excitement as she futzed with it.

“You look like crap.” Remy wrinkled her nose at me. “Oh, and the Faraday is surrounded by the coven.”

Dunking my head in an ice bath wouldn’t have shocked me to alertness any faster.

A cold sweat drenched me, my heart galloped a mile a minute, and the spit dried in my mouth.

“The coven?” I reached for Ambrose on instinct. “They’re here?”

She had to be wrong, right? Reece hadn’t noticed, and Bishop hadn’t warned me. The OPA didn’t make mistakes on this scale. We ran a tight ship, but if Remy was right, the Faraday was sinking.

“The enforcers haven’t reported any unusual activity.” Midas frowned toward the break room where they hung out between shifts. “Are you sure?”

“Two and Six have been people watching from the roof for hours.” She honed her glare. “They’re sure.”

Remy was fae. A macalla, if you wanted to get technical. Or simply an echo in layman’s terms. She could split herself into eight sentient halves, or halves of halves, or halves of halves of halves, as the case may be.