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“Yes.” Beatrice stayed still, statue-like in the moment. “I have been debating the death of the Chaddock man. He gave them information. Your other servants are loyal, despite being mostly human. That one is not.”
“We don’t know how involved—”
“He was used as a tool, and we do not know for how long. That is a vulnerability. Vulnerabilities must be eliminated!” Beatrice sounded remarkably upset about it. “He is not mine to slay, though.”
“Geneviève, perhaps you could give Tres to your grandmother as a thank you for her kindness,” Eli suggested mildly, as if he was uninvested in this. We both knew that Tres Chaddock’s attention to me irritated Eli.
It wasn’t a bad idea, though. I’d tried to get Beatrice to do just that when I bonded Tres to me. Still, I had a responsibility to him since she’d refused. “I cannot allow his death or torture.”
My grandmother scowled. “If I agree not to murder or unduly torture—”
“Define unduly torture.”
“Maim. Leave permanent physical scars.” Beatrice waved her hand dismissively. “He’d have all appendages when I was done.”
“And his businesses?” Eli prompted.
“Would be run well, no loss of business income.” She preened a bit. Warrior garb was suitable for her, but so was the “lady of the castle” persona. Beatrice didn’t hold the crown simply because she was fierce; she was clever and manipulative—and proud of it. Without false modesty, she added, “I expect I’d increase his profits. I could offer the excess profit over the last three years’ average to you as compensation for a twenty-year lease of the man.”
“Three years,” I countered.
“Fifteen.” Beatrice grinned slightly.
“Six.”
She smiled outright. “Ten. For ten years he is mine to manage, and the excess profit is your compensation.”
“And no maiming, undue torture . . .”
“Yes. Yes. Summon him,” Beatrice ordered.
Chapter Twenty-Four
We wereat Eli’s house. My house now since I was married to him. My brain realized that Eli and I needed to have a chat about money at some point. I hadn’t married him expecting to have access to his, and I enjoyed the independence of making my own.
“Tres opened an account for me,” I told Beatrice. “You can add the residuals to it.”
Beatrice gave me that strange smile that was like laughter for her. “Unwilling to give me any information on your accounts.”
“Trust issues when it comes to money,” I said, not entirely lying but not exactly admitting that my issue was that she—much like Eli, Ally, and Tres—was likely to make random deposits. I didn’t mind if I earned it, but I didn’t ever want to feel beholden to anyone.
Eli muffled a word that might have been ruder than usual for him.
“Indeed,” Beatrice murmured. “I will request that information from him when I am gathering information.”
“I don’t want to know.” I shook my head. “Why don’t we meet at Bill’s Tavern. I need to patrol, and then we can have Tres meet us there.”
“Patrol,” Beatrice echoed.
I stood and grabbed my nifty new halberd. It was overkill, huge and barbaric, but I was there as a result of someone wanting me on the street. Why not go big? It was Carnival.
“Patrol,” I repeated. “Official liaison to the NOPD. Here to keep streets safer. The dead deader. And . . . try out my new toy.”
Beatrice and Eli exchanged a look.
“How could anyone not love her?” Eli murmured.
Beatrice full-out smiled. “Indeed. Let us patrol then.”
