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Lila nodded. “I’m not going to bullshit you. If I’m right, your mother is involved in something serious. She’ll go to trial, and she’ll likely be hanged. You’ll be part of what tied the noose around her neck. You don’t have to be a part of this. It’s a heavy burden.”
“It’s also a heavy prize. Maybe she deserves it. Maybe I want to be involved.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“What if I do? Do you think you were the only one who played games with her matron? Some of us weren’t so lucky. Some of us would still be playing if…” Alex brushed a bit of flour from her skirt. “What makes you think that she’ll even see me?”
“She’ll do it to save face. The season is coming. There’s no telling what I might say if I’m annoyed with her, no telling what rumors I might spread and who I might spread them to. She’ll want our business long concluded before the season starts. She needs willing senators if she’s going to have an heir.”
Alex rubbed the little scar on her neck, the healed over imprint of her slave’s chip. Healed, but marked and not forgotten. “I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m highborn,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height. “Daughter of Senator Elias Hardwicke-Craft and prime to the Wilson Empire. Becoming a slave hasn’t dulled or rusted my mettle. I might not walk among you any longer, but my nature hasn’t changed.”
Lila took down a set of keys from a peg near the door, unlocking the Adessi. While Alex buckled up, Lila connected her palm to the vehicle’s port. One of her programs came up immediately, allowing her to disengage the GPS system. She then used the palm to locate and toss out all bugs she found hidden inside the roadster.
Lila patted her pocket, which contained the bug stolen from her motorcycle. She had played with it after dinner while waiting for Tristan’s call the night before. It only responded to her and her receiver now. She had learned well from her mother and her commander.
Lila pulled out of the garage and passed by the gatehouse, waving to Sergeant Hill and his rookie. The radio in the Adessi had been tuned to opera, and neither woman reached out to change it. Not even Alex, who loathed such music. She remained quiet as they drove through the city, head cocked to one side, eyes roaming the streets, the buildings, the cars, the signs. She studied life outside the compound hungrily, as it was something she rarely saw unless Lila had time to take her out. Her hands sat in her lap, thumb tapping, betraying her thoughts.
Too soon, they reached the crumbling Wilson estate. A battering ram or a semi might have bent the front gate, given the large dent in the ce
nter. Engineers had replaced a bolt in one of the bottom hinges with a thick beam of steel the size of an infant’s arm. Dark smudges marred the Wilson coat of arms on the gate, two intertwined serpents ready to strike. Someone had welded it back together after a bad break. Make Your Own Good Fortune peeked beneath the weld. Wires flowed out of the instrument panel in the guard post beside them, some taped together with worn duct tape.
The gate’s electronic lock sparked suddenly, arcing into the sky in a sizzling blue light.
Alex’s brows rose. “You’ve been sparing my feelings, haven’t you?”
“What good would it have done you?”
“I’m an adult, Lila, not a child.”
A guard knocked on the car window—a sergeant, by the stars on his collar.
“Name?” he asked when Lila rolled down the window. His voice was bored and hoarse, as though he had been yelling all night. He clicked the tip of a pen and started writing the time on his clipboard.
Lila rested her elbow on the window. “Elizabeth Victoria Lemaire-Randolph and Alexandra Craft-Wilson, here to see the chairwoman.”
The guard dropped his clipboard to his thigh and stared back and forth between the two women. “Do you have an appointment?” he asked, face paling, voice rising.
“No.”
“Please state your business.”
“My business is none of yours. Tell Chairwoman Wilson that I am here to escort her daughter into the compound. See that she accepts a meeting, or I’ll remember you when my family takes over, sergeant.”
The blackcoat wheeled around and sprinted back into the guard post. He yanked an earpiece from the wall and shouted into it, gesturing into the air.
Soon after, the gate opened.
The sergeant did not return.
Lila drove into the compound. A Wilson militia cruiser sat on the other side, waiting to follow them in.
Her initial amusement faded quickly, for the inside of the estate was much worse than she could have imagined. Chairwoman Wilson had shuttered half the buildings, chained the entrances, boarded up the windows, then left them for the elements and scurrying beasts to claim. The broken roofs had been ignored, as had the crumbling bricks and splintered doors. Wilson’s disgruntled family had done the rest, tagging them with more graffiti than a workborn slum. The word waiting crept up frequently, written in block letters, as did existing with a giant question mark. Here and there, a red phoenix had been stenciled, no larger than Lila’s palm.
Even the buildings still in use had not escaped the barrage. Only plywood and an open door told the difference between them.
