There’s no kicking down doors, guns blazing. No explosives or otherwise grand entrances.
Drae simply turns the doorknob to Klaiburn’s office, and in we walk.
The old man practically leaps from his chair like a kid caught jerking off to porn in his father’s study, but the moment he recognizes us, he drops right back down again, cursing under his breath.
To his credit, the old man doesn’t play stupid.
He knows why we’re here.
“I didn’t have a choice, Caldwell,” he mutters. “You’ve got very, very powerful enemies.”
“We have that in common, then,” Drae replies. “Do you have any idea what sort of line you’ve crossed?”
“I had to pick a side.”
“You picked wrong.”
Klaiburn nods, acceptance settling into his eyes. If he’s frightened, he doesn’t show it. I wonder if he’s even the tiniest bit relieved.
For a man with as many shameful secrets as Klaiburn, death is often the best exit plan.
Drae takes the chair across from him. I remain in the doorway keeping watch, though I doubt Klaiburn’s going to bother with a silent alarm. He’ll be dead before help arrives, anyway.
Setting his gun and attached silencer on the desk, Drae says, “In deference to our long years of association, I’m hoping you’ll be willing to answer a few questions.”
“Shoot,” he says, and then laughs. I can’t help but return it. Even Drae cracks a smile at that.
“Do you know where Lennon and Celine Forsythe are hiding?” Drae asks.
“No,” Klaiburn replies. “Only that theyarehiding. Not long after the fire, they went off-grid. Everything that’s happened since was coordinated through anonymous sources within the society.”
“What about Detective Grant Reedsy?” Drae asks.
“As far as I know, he’s out of the country. Somewhere in South America by now, I believe. That was his plan after the—”
“Don’t,” Drae practically growls. “Do not mention the events of that night to me if you value the lives of your family members.”
At this, Klaiburn pales. Then, a quick nod. “As far as I know, Reedsy got on a plane a few nights ago.”
“What can you tell us about the shadow magic society’s involvement with the dark fae?” Drae asks, and we both watch Klaiburn closely. This is the first time we’ve ever directly mentioned anything supernatural to him by name.
The last of the light drains from his eyes.
“I don’t like to speak of the dark fae,” he says. “No disrespect to your kind, Caldwell, but some of your kin makeyouseem downright pleasant.”
“They are no kin of mine, I assure you.”
“Regardless… I’ve only had the displeasure of dealing with them directly on a handful of occasions, and they certainly never shared anything significant with me. The few of their kind who’ve been able to travel here were mostly interested in my… other business operations.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” I roll my eyes. Dark fae trolling high-end sex clubs for mortal pussy? Sounds like the pitch for a terrible TV series.
“They seem to be involved in some kind of dealings with Forsythe’s son,” he continues. “Though I can’t say what. Hunter Forsythe is even cagier than his parents. I rarely spoke with the boy.”
Drae and I scrutinize him. It doesn’t seem like he knows Hunter’s a demon—rather, a vessel for one.
I also don’t get the sense he knows anything useful at all.
Klaiburn must come to the same conclusion. I can see it in his eyes. The realization that these will be his final moments.
