Obsidian Fire (The Raven Queen's Harem 4)

“The professor?”

“Yeah, he said he didn’t know where she went but he’s a nosy bastard. I suspect he’ll have an idea.”

Every soldier has a crossroads, where they have to make a decision in a blink. Sitting behind the wheel of my truck with Morgan in the passenger seat, I have to make a choice. Risk more lives or reveal a secret that may send shockwaves through my home and life.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” I ask, giving us both one last out. “He may have questions.”

“I think Anita is an important factor in all of this.”

I nod and roll the truck into the street. At the first intersection I have the option to turn right or left. The university is to the right but I head left. Morgan isn’t familiar enough with the city to realize we’re going in the wrong direction until a few blocks later when the scenery changes. The streets become cleaner. The houses nicer. We’re in a residential area.

I notice her fingers shift on the seat. She leans forward and asks, “Where are we?”

“Sutton Place.”

“This isn’t near the school.”

“No,” I agree, spotting the house ahead. It takes up half a block. Red brick and three stories high. “You said you wanted to talk to Professor Christensen. This is where he is.”

She faces me. “What’s going on, Clinton?”

I open the truck door. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Chapter Fifteen

Morgan

I’m filled with a mixture of confusion and dread as we walk up the steps to the grand house. Clinton refuses to tell me what we’re doing here, and his jaw is so tight I think it may crack. The door is opened by a servant who doesn’t seem surprised to see Clinton, but his eyes do hesitate on me for a brief moment.

“Seriously,” I say to my Guardian as we stand in a small but ornate foyer, “you’ve got to tell me what’s going on.”

He opens his mouth, no doubt to tell me nothing important, but the servant returns. “Dr. Christensen will see you now. Follow me.”

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nbsp; He leads us down a narrow hallway. The walls are covered in a thick, aging paper. I catch snippets of the images as we pass. They appear to be battle scenes from history. Some are quite gruesome.

I don’t know what to expect, obviously, but I’m surprised when we’re escorted to a large, modern kitchen. Everything in it shines. The appliances, the counter top. The pots hanging over the wide stove. The strangest part is Professor Christensen standing over the range in a black and white striped apron. Something sizzles on the flat surface and he flips it with a spatula. He glances up as we walk into the room and smiles.

“Now this is a surprise,” he says, removing the food and placing it in a bowl. He turns off the range and wipes his hands before walking toward us. He offers his hand forward. “Clinton, it’s always a pleasure to see you. How’s the music?”

“Good, sir.”

Sir?

“And Morgan. I knew this day would come.” His eyes flash between us. “I’d hoped it would be under better circumstances.”

The confusion I’m feeling merges with anger. I’m totally in the dark and I don’t like it one bit. Unable to hold my tongue I blurt, “What the hell is going on?”

Christensen looks at Clinton. “You haven’t told her?”

“Not a word. I felt like it may be better coming from you.”

I grab Clinton by the shirt. It’s a pointless move. He’d squash me in a second, but my mind is reeling from this moment and I look into his gray eyes and say something I know is true, “Start talking now. Or I walk out of here and none of you will see me again.”

Christensen’s eyebrows lift and in a controlled voice says, “Sit down, Morgan.”

He gestures to a high stool across the counter. Clinton takes one and after a steadying breath I take the other. Christensen pulls another up to the end.