Page 53 of Up in Smoke

“If what I’ve been hearing is true, she’s gone from having the short straw to being queen of the castle. Can you imagine her with a crown?” Brent chuckled, and as Frankie brought out the cardboard boxes, he loaded them up on the dolly, along with the smaller box meant for Lora. “She’d probably throw it out or sell the jewels so she could go off finding someone else to go rescue. I swear, if she had a few more dollars and a little more time in each day, she’d take over the world.”

“And then she’d change it for the better before getting distracted by something sharp or shiny and run off to chase that.” Frankie laughed. “She’s going to turn that Moretti family upside down if they give her an inch.”

“From word on the wire, they’ve given her miles and the room to run with it, and that poet ran himself ragged working to make sure she stayed his. He’ll do.”

“Think she’ll change anything?” Frankie asked.

“She already has. Do you think Mr. Mansfield just up and decided to open hunting season on foxes on a whim? He noticed her long before he started planning how to make use of people like her. His guards and the cops told him about her efforts in the outskirts, and he’s not stupid. She has a reputation, and he’s the kind to take advantage of any opportunity. He assumed all vixens were like her without looking into it.”

“And most vixens really aren’t like her,” Frankie muttered, shaking her head. “Keep an eye on Mr. Mansfield, Brent. We all know the only reason he brought you into Asylum was because of your reputation and ability to manage a restaurant. He has no use for you outside of that.”

“Oh, I’m aware. But for now, I’ll do what I must because I have no other choice.”

“Who does in Tulsa?”

Instead of answering, Brent embraced Frankie, kissed her temple, and left.

Outside of Tulsa, the storm raged, and the first drops of rain fell, as though Mother Nature wept for those who would soon perish.

Thursday, June 25, 2043.

Asylum, Oklahoma.

The Alley.

The Pentax should have weighed far morethan it did, considering the burden it carried within its steel body. I turned it over in my hands, aware that Frankie had been the last to hold it before me, and she’d known she’d faced her death. In so many ways, I pitied Brent.

He hadn’t told the old woman he’d loved her, but she’d felt it in the way he’d held her and offered her a farewell kiss.

“Jade?”

“She captured pictures of the storms, and she’d guessed they weren’t natural. Brent knows, too. She took pictures of the storm that took her life before giving the boxes to Brent. She hadn’t brought them down to him. He’d retrieved them from her home and told her goodbye there.”

“He lied to you.”

I shrugged. “You know those little white lies that make it easier to cope with something traumatic? Leave him with his lies if it let him get through our talk. He wasn’t trying to harm anyone, and it likely kept him from being the one to start crying.”

“All right. That’s reasonable. Final goodbyes aren’t easy.”

“No, they aren’t.” In some ways, I’d carry around some of the burden, understanding I couldn’t tell Brent what I’d seen. “Whatever is in these boxes, they think you’re the one who might be able do something about it. I’m just a stepping stone to get access to you at this point. And that’s fair, although Frankie seemed to think you’re easy on the eyes and I deserve you because I otherwise got the short straw.” I allowed myself to laugh at the old woman’s commentary, which held back the grief—and would continue to hold back my grief until I somehow secured justice for her and the others who’d died. “And Brent thinks you’ve made me the queen of the castle.”

“Well, you’re the queen of my castle, which is all I care about. But I can understand where they got that idea. He must have some connections in the East. My family doesn’t get involved with much often, but when we do, we bring a lot to the table, so it doesn’t surprise me he knows of my family’s reputation. As the future matron of our family, your word has a lot of weight now. Mine does, too, as the future patron. The key thing is we don’t use our voice often, but when we do, people stop and listen.”

I could see the advantage to that method of going through life. “When you do speak out against something, there’s a damned good reason for it.”

“Exactly. I’m thinking I’ve underestimated your influence here, too. You may not mean much to the uppers, like Mansfield, but the little fish all care about you. If the little fish school together, they can make a big difference. That’s a dangerous situation for Mansfield to be in.”

“Thus his concern about my livelihood. If I get hurt again, and he’s blamed, he has a big problem on his hands.”

Sandro nodded. “That’s a possibility, yes. What bothers me is the lack of other possibilities, which means we don’t have a good enough view of the situation. Men like Mansfield don’t exist without people trying to bring him down, and I know nothing of anyone who is against him.”

“Unless he’s made them all disappear,” I muttered.

Sandro eyed the camera I held with a frown. “Yes, but if he has, why isn’t this known? What happened to them? How has he accomplished so much without opposition? This is worrying me. Now I want to know what’s on that film, but I have no way of developing it.”

“I think the camera just contains pictures of the developing storms from her doorstep. It’s the rest of the box’s contents that might be important.” I set the camera on the end table and eyed the box. “I saw her taking the pictures and what happened as she packaged the camera, but it’s entirely possible the roll of film was the source of the imprint. The magic does what it wants.”

“I wonder if the scryers disappeared not because they could see into the past but because they could delve into the future Mansfield wishes to build. We’ve been so focused on the here and now I haven’t put much thought into the long-term game. The end goal. What he really wants to accomplish.”