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“Fuck. That’s seriously messed up.”
“Yeah,” I said grimly.
“You sure about this? You have proof?”
“I was with P2 when they called. I heard every word. They said he has seven days to finish this. If anything goes wrong, they’ll sell P3 to a brothel.”
She exhaled, a worried, drawn-out sound, and fell silent.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s just—I saw something the other day. Something strange. The Bird was going into Philippe Moreau’s mansion.”
“I think she’s been working undercover as PF’s thrall.” PF was Leo de Froulay.
“She wasn’t with PF, and she wasn’t pretending to be a thrall. She was in her fancy-French-bitch disguise. I wouldn’t have recognized her—I wasn’t close enough to see her eyes—but I know that glamour.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” My head started to throb. “Did she see you?”
“No. I was in the shadows. She wasn’t alone—she was with PT.”
Prima Tremblay.
I massaged my forehead. “They were together?”
“Oh, yeah. They seemed real cozy, if you know what I mean.”
“Maybe it was something to do with the contract.” The contract between Prima Tremblay and Slayers, Inc. that the Board planned to use to pin this on Victorine Tremblay and the blood feud. “Maybe the Bird needed more intel from PT.”
“What intel?” asked Twilight. “Op A has been launched. We don’t need anything from PT.”
“I don’t know. Maybe…” I trailed off. I was grasping at straws and I knew it.
The Crow flies crooked.
My chest ached.
No, not my chest—my heart. Crow was my mentor, the slayer I most admired. I’d modeled myself after her.
I switched the phone to my left hand, and with my right, removed my switchblade.
I extended and retracted the blade. Trying to calm myself.
Snick-snick. Snick-snick.
“P2 has contacts in the New York underworld,” I said at last. “One of them pulled me aside and warned me that the Bird is ‘crooked.’ I figured the guy had his head up his ass, but now I’m not so sure.”
“That’s all the guy said?”
“Yeah. He was cryptic as fuck, to be honest. But why would he lie? He has no skin in this game. He’s some kind of underworld lord with no connection to PK’s syndicate.”
A pause. I waited it out, giving Twilight time to think. Her current cover might be Lainey Q, an airheaded, hashtag-spouting “Stylist to the Stars,” but beneath those trendy, carefully curated outfits was a brilliant strategist.
“If you’re saying what I think you are…”
I let out a puff of air. “I’m not sure what I’m saying. Except that this op has felt wrong from the day we kidnapped P2. After nine years, I know when a vampire is bad—and P2’s not. He feels like you or me, know what I mean?”
“Yeah. After a while you just know. Same goes for P3—he’s not all sweetness and light, but he’s not bad. He was only in Moreau’s lair to get P2 out. They wouldn’t have caught him if someone in his own syndicate hadn’t ratted him out.”
