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“Alright,” he says. “So—in the late eighteenth century on Earth, an organization called Tammany Hall was formed. Do you know it?”
I groan. “Keon, please cut this out.”
“We’re stuck in traffic,” he says. “You have time.”
“Okay,” I say. “I don’t know anything about it. I told you, history wasn’t really my strong suit.”
“Well, Tammany Hall was formed to protect immigrants, in a way,” he says. “But more than that…it was a racket. They provided goods and services to immigrant communities in New York, especially the Irish, and they lined their pockets and had new citizens vote for them. Do you understand?”
I narrow my eyes. “Is this some veiled warning that we’re being played? Because it wasn’t really necessary. You could just tell me.”
Keon takes another drag of his cigarette, the coal in the end glowing bright red with an inner blue flame. I feel like it has to be hot—either that, or it has something to do with the flower inside. “It’s a metaphor, Penn,” he says.
“So in this situation, we’re the Irish and the Diavolos are Tammany Hall,” I say.
“Precisely,” Keon says. “The Diavolos offered your people money, weapons, technology, protection. And your people took it, of course—because some of usarea threat. The Diavolos did you a real favor…it just comes with a price.”
“That being?”
He leans forward, meeting my eyes, and my heart almost stops when he says the words. “Human women.”
I knew it was coming, I suppose. The bride program is just one example of what’s going on with the Aelyds, and First Wave has known for upwards of a year that they’re having serious issues with fertility system-wide. But I didn’t realize the Diavolos themselves were trafficking humans.
I bite my lip as the realization dawns on me.
“They took Layla,” I murmur.
“I knew you were smart,” he says.
He leans back and crosses his leg over his knee, taking another drag. The butt burns to ash in his fingertips, and he flicks one long hand as the pieces disintegrate to nothing. I chew on his words, thinking now about what this all means.
“But the Diavolos wanted First Wave to send someone looking for her,” I say.
“The Diavolos wanted to send someone to kill Atlas,” he says, correcting me. “That you came here looking for Layla Dara was somewhat of an accident…and I presume they don’t know about your connection to her.”
“But the Widowdoes,” I say. “Which means…”
It just occurred to me that I have found myself in a real shitstorm. I sift through all the facts—who knows what, where everyone’s allegiances lie. I know that Corvus was lying to me, but about what parts? Does he know about the Diavolos?
Am I ready to sell him out to Keon, if—when—he asks?
“So do you know where she is?” I ask, my eyes snapping back to Keon’s. “Layla, I mean.”
“I wish I did,” he says. “The last time I saw her, she was heading to Ganivet territory with a man named Zaire en’Diavolo.”
He saw her? I take a second to register what he’s just told me, my heart pounding. “So she’s safe?”
“She was,” he says. “But then they dropped off the map. I don’t know what happened after that.”
“And was she…” I swallow hard, trying desperately to regain my composure. “Was she happy?”
“Happy is a subjective term,” he says. “She was in love. I could sense it in her emotions.”
“With a Diavolo operative?” I say. “Sounds like he could have had something to do with her disappearance, if he’s one of them.”
“He defected for her,” Keon says. “Or at least, so the story goes.”
“But you saw her with him.”
