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And then, an image from Gerald’s memory flashed through me. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, as Camille would say. I think I know something but I need to put it together. Please, don’t go anywhere. I need to think about this and call you back when I’ve sorted it out.”
“I have a lunch date, but that’s not till two o’clock, so I’ll be here till then. And you can catch me again after five.” With that, Carter signed off.
I wanted Camille to get back. We usually worked well as sounding boards for each other. As I strained my memory, the door opened and she toted in a couple big bags.
“Don’t say anything for a minute,” I told her, grabbing the bags and carrying them into the kitchen. “I know something, but I need to figure it out. Sit down while I try to find the words.”
Camille slipped off her coat and sat down at the table as I paced. Quickly, I filled her in on everything Carter and I had discussed.
“Okay, so, what’s running through my head is this: when I was in Gerald’s mind, I saw a Fae woman, in a cell. She was locked up and Gerald was thinking about how much money she would bring. In another memory, he was talking about replacing a toy and whatever it was, was expensive. What if Supernatural Matchups . . .”
“White slavery.” Camille paled. “He was selling that woman.”
“Right! What if Supernatural Matchups is a cover up for a sex slave operation? And what if they are finding their merchandise through the dating site?”
“But if he was running it, then when he died . . .”
I snapped my fingers. “But he’s not running it. I need to check something.” I jumped back on the laptop and scanned through the Supernatural Matchups site again. The dating service had been formed . . . “They started the company the same year that Gerald sold the building to Lowestar. Lowestar’s the one in charge of it. I’ll bet you anything.”
I quickly tapped out a few inquiries into the search engine and sure enough, the Washington State Secretary of State’s site gave me all the information I needed. Under the Corporations Division, I was able to find out that the president of Supernatural Matchups was, indeed, Lowestar Radcliffe. Gerald Hanson had been VP. There it was, in black and white pixels.
“Here—look at this. One guess as to what’s happened to Violet.”
“I wonder if she’s still alive.” Camille peeked over my shoulder. “But this can’t be what Grandmother Coyote was talking about with something ancient waking up. This is new, and as far as things go, yes it’s bad but it’s not the worst thing we’ve gone up against.”
As we were puzzling things through, Vanzir burst through the door. He actually looked flushed, as well as soaked through to the skin.
“Okay, here it is. I talked to Trytian—”
Camille bristled. “Fuck, just what we need. Bring him into this.”
“Listen, toots, you want information fast? You go to the person most likely to know. So I did.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You want to hear what I have to say or not?”
“Yeah, yeah, go on.” I tossed him the hand towel off the counter. “And wipe up, you’re dripping all over Hanna’s clean floor and she’ll kill you.”
“Big fucking deal.” But he quickly wiped up the water and muddy footprints he’d tracked in. “Okay, here’s the scoop. Trytian knows perfectly well who this Lowestar Radcliffe is.”
“And how does he know?” Something in Vanzir’s tone told me we weren’t going to like this.
“Lowestar is your daemon—a very high-placed, intelligent, and powerful daemon. He doesn’t like Shadow Wing but he’s not working with the resistance. But he is out to carve himself a niche here Earthside, and he’s always out for his own agenda.”
My stomach dropped. “He’s really the daemon. The one who the Farantino family pledged themselves to.”
“Then why didn’t I catch it when we were at the coffee shop and met him? I knew there was something uneasy about it, but none of us caught it—not even Shade.” Camille rubbed her knuckles on her arm.
“He’s powerful and old and probably very good at shielding his energy. Apparently, he’s been attached to the Farantino family for a couple of hundred years. Looks like he’s been using them to establish a home base for himself. He also happens to be leader of a cult, and their focus is . . . ?” Vanzir leaned against the table, waiting.
“Let me guess.” Camille paled. “They’re trying to wake up something that’s been sleeping for a long time?”
Vanzir nodded. “Spot on. And that something would be an ancient demigod named Suvika. He’s one of the triple lords of vice and debauchery and he’s been sleeping for millennia. Lowestar Radcliffe happens to be the high priest of the cult. Trytian told me that the Farantino Building is probably—not guaranteed—but most likely, a temple dedicated to bringing Suvika out of his slumbering state to rejoin the world of the waking. And when he does . . .”
I sighed. “Let me guess. The mighty will fall, Suvika will rise up and take control, and Lowestar, his prize priest, will reign in terror. Old story, heard it before.”
“Actually, no. They aren’t out to control the world, just sort of . . . take over the corporate structure. Suvika is also, not so conversely, a lord of business. I think Lowestar may be combining his love of debauchery with his love for money and he’s aiming to become the Donald Trump of hedonism.”
With a snort, Camille dropped into a chair. Tears ran down her face and I couldn’t figure out whether she was laughing or crying. After a moment, she caught hold of herself and wiped her eyes.
“Great, we’re taking on big business now.” She sobered. “Put two and two together and this makes sense. Lowestar is running a white slavery outfit. He is high priest in a cult that worships a demigod of vice, debauchery, and business. What better way to marry several loves while trying to bring your patron god back to the world of the waking? But that means he’s probably trying to get his hands into other businesses. Quite possibly, the threats against the Wayfarer—trying to intimidate Menolly so she’d take the lawyers up on the offer to sell? We need to know how deep his pockets are, and what holdings he’s invested in. If he’s been meddling in human affairs for a long time, there’s no telling what he has control over.”
