Chapter 7“No joy on that burn,” I say as I enter the hotel room while thinking about my complete failure in getting the information I’d originally been after. “I repeat, there’s no joy on the burn.”
Fenrir looks up from his resting spot on the bed and c***s his head at me.
“Nothing, Fen,” I say. “Go back to sleep.”
He looks with interest as I fortify the walls of the slab containing the frozen scarabs and carry it to the window. Tomorrow as the sun rises, the interior ice will melt and the scarabs should warm enough to wake up but it won’t thaw the icy box; that would take a blow-torch the way I have made it. But then, someone has learned how to crack my container with a pinhole prick, just enough to extract a single hair.
As I sag into the chair, I miss my house. I shift my hips so I
