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“It’s Shay.” I forced my voice to come out light. “I’m new.”
“Ah, yes.” Angelo twisted my arm to peer at my brand. “The mark’s still fresh.”
“Nicole brought her in.” The Lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “I had high expectations. But from what I’ve heard, she’s having trouble warming up.”
Had he been watching me escape the Paters’ advances party after party, or had someone actually complained? My heart hammered.
But Angelo still held my hand, and now he rubbed it. “Shame on you. The best ones are always shy at the beginning.” He smiled at me, practically cooing. “Little lambs. You have to make them comfortable before they’re pliant.”
I was learning there were many different ways to be a Pater.
Angelo waved a hand at the estate. “Some of my comrades don’t appreciate the exquisite nectar of delayed gratification. Philistines.”
“Maybe we’re tired of being told to have patience.” A new man stepped out of a line of trees, two others flanking him, all of them dressed in leisurely country suits. “You know we can only wait for the Philosopher for so long.” The man’s eyes drifted to me. “Who’s this?”
There were five of them in the sculpture garden now. Five to one.
Angelo clutched my hand to his chest. “A new muse. I was just telling her how much I adore women.” He leaned close and whispered, “Between us, sometimes I wonder about the others.” He winked.
“Ah,” said the interloper. “Another lecture about the sanctity of women from the Artist. As if each one you touch doesn’t turn to stone.” The two men flanking him laughed, but Angelo frowned.
Here it was again: internal division. Even the Pater Society, with its rigid hierarchy and strident mission, wasn’t immune. I wondered if Don knew, if he was already one step ahead with a plan, the way he’d been years ago.
The man who’d insulted Angelo addressed me. “I’m glad to see new girls, at least. There’s too few lately. Makes me restless.”
“You know very well we had to—” the Lieutenant started, but Angelo cut him off. “Not enough fresh blood, say the wolves.” He turned to me with a confiding look. “Be wary, my dear. These three are hunters.”
The hairs on my arms stood on end. “And where,” I said, lilting my voice like I was an idiot who couldn’t sense danger, “are the hunting grounds?”
“Where did you come from?” one of them countered.
“Tongue-Cut Sparrow.”
He looked surprised. “I thought that place was off-limits. Too conspicuous.”
The man beside him nodded. “Too hot.”
Because of the missing girls? The first woman Jamie and I had met there, the one who’d propositioned us, had flagged that a handful of girls she’d known through the Sparrow later went missing. Perhaps the Paters were avoiding recruiting there because the connection had grown too obvious.
I concentrated on the reassuring itch of the recording device inside my bra, arranging my face so it was inviting.Talk to me. I am a weak, defenseless creature.
“The colleges are better, anyway,” Angelo said. “The girls are younger and cleaner.” He grinned at me. “As the wolves like to say… Not me, of course.”
“I thought the schools around here were practically feminist communes,” I said, repeating things people used to say about us. “I can’t imagine you find many girls who aren’t already brainwashed.”
The man who’d insulted Angelo—the head wolf—grinned. “Those girls are the best. They tell themselves they’re being sexually liberated when I take them home and chain them in my basement. Owning their sexuality, and all that.”
“Maybe they are,” I said, trying not to visualize.
“What he means is that the feminists are far more agreeable than they used to be.” Angelo smiled. “The third- or fourth- or whatever-wavers are practically Paters themselves. Empowering women to bend the knee if it feels right. It’s delightful. They’re never suspicious because they always think they’re in control.”
“Let them think they’re in charge,” said the head wolf. “Doesn’t make a difference to me, as long as they keep giving me what I want.”
“It’s one point on which I disagree with our great leader,” Angelo said. “We don’t need a culture war. We’re already winning.”
“No,” growled the Lieutenant. “The Philosopher is right. There’s no living side by side. We need to take back control. There are people who need us to free them.”
My heart raced, practically lifting out of my chest.Thiswas the bigger thing—Don’s ambition, what he was really after. Some sort of culture war that ended with the Paters in control. But how? When? Control of what? This had to be how real journalists felt when the story started coming together. A hit of pure dopamine, an electric buzz—
