Of course, that could also be my naturally pessimistic streak coming to the fore.

Darby had parked in the second of Lugh’s parking spaces, which forced Mathi to find a spot several houses further along. As thunder rumbled overhead—signaling not only a renewal of storm activity but also seeming to place an emphasis on the growing sensation of trouble—we hastily made our way back to the old power station.

A wave of warmth and laughter washed over me as we entered. I led the way into the living area and saw Darby perched on a stool one side of the counter while Lugh sat on the other. Between them was a half-finished bottle of Penfolds Grange Hermitage. If the color of the label was anything to go by, it was a fairly old one too.

“Good grief,” Mathi said, in a shocked sort of voice. “Is that a ’51 red?”

“A new arrival should always be celebrated with a very fine wine,” Darby said cheerfully. She was typical light elf in looks—tall and slender, with long pale gold hair plaited into a thick rope that ran down her spine. Her eyes were the color of summer skies, and her features sharp but ethereally beautiful. “Would you like some?”

“That is the stupidest question ever, but why on earth would you waste such a rare wine on an unappreciative lout like Lugh?”

Though his voice suggested annoyance, his eyes twinkled. Lugh laughed and raised his glass. “Because she knows the fastest way to this man’s heart is via his stomach.”

Darby rolled her eyes. “As if.”

I walked over and gave her a quick hug. “Congrats on becoming an aunt again.”

“Thanks.” She wrinkled her nose. “You both look and smell like shit and need to go shower. I cannot fix this”—she waved her hand up and down my length—“until you’re clean.”

Mathi’s gaze immediately met mine, intentions obvious. I held up a finger. “No.”

He sighed and glanced at Lugh. “Do you mind the imposition of us using both showers?”

“Better that than having to put up with the smell for any longer than necessary,” Lugh said. “Seriously, did you both get caught in a stink bomb?”

“No; blue dust explosion.”

“Almost as bad.” Darby made a shooing motion. “Go, now.”

I headed into the spare room and had a quick hot shower. Various bits of me protested the water’s touch, but it was definitely worth it because I felt so much better after.

Thankfully, my coat had protected the top part of me from both the storm and the blast, so I was able to get back into my sweater, shirt, and bra. My jeans were pretty much a write-off, however, which forced me to raid the drawer of spare clothes.

Mathi was sitting beside Darby sipping on the red when I came out. She’d already patched him up, because there was no sign of the wicked cut on his chin and no indication of a bandage underneath the sweatpants he was wearing. Lugh’s, obviously, as Mathi did not—and never had—keep a cache of spares here. He also generally would never be caught dead in anything resembling sweatpants.