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“You hold meetings?”
He flung the end of his boa around his neck. “We’re a guild. Of course, we hold meetings. You’re looking at the secretary. I take the official notes. Very copious ones, I’m told.”
“Congratulations.”
“Hey, it wasn’t an easy win. My rival is very popular, although he buys his suits at Men’s Wearhouse, a crime of fashion not so easily forgiven.”
“I don’t understand. If you’re not allowed to conduct business here, then why were you torturing Wentworth?”
He scoffed. “If I were torturing him, I would’ve broken his bones.” He paused. “Not all of them, only a few of the smaller ones.”
I remained skeptical of his claim. “And the rules are okay with that?”
“The rules don’t say anything about breaking a man’s will.”
“Even if your interaction with him qualifies as business?”
“Technically, it doesn’t. Nobody paid me to intimidate him. He swindled money from a friend, so it’s arguably a favor.”
I’d have to take his word for it. “Who allows you to live and meet here?”
The assassin suddenly found the cracks on the exterior wall of Bluebeard’s Castle fascinating.
“Oh, their identity is a secret? Then how would I report a violation if I witnessed one?”
His gaze swung back to me so quickly, I worried his neck would snap. “Except you didn’t witness one,” he said firmly. “I told you; this was a favor.”
“I’m talking hypothetically.”
His shoulders sagged; he seemed resigned to telling me more than he wanted to. “There’s a regulatory body.”
It was like pulling fangs from a vampire, which I’d done. More than once. “And who’s in charge of the regulatory body?”
“Kane Sullivan. He’s not our boss, though,” Gunther added quickly. “He only makes sure we operate under the rules and punishes us if we don’t.”
“What’s the punishment?”
“Don’t know. Nobody’s ever crossed the line.”
Interesting. “And all the assassins are fine and dandy with oversight by someone you didn’t choose?”
“Nobody says no to Mr. Sullivan,” he said with an air of reverence.
I looked in the direction of the gate, through which Wentworth had fled. “Why not let the police handle your buddy Wentworth?”
“The local cops are down one these days, and they’re busy with bigger problems. Plus, I wanted to help my friend. He didn’t deserve to lose his savings.”
“Oh, so you’re one of those honorable assassins.” I was well aware of my mocking tone.
My attitude didn’t seem to ruffle the mage’s feathers. “I care about my friend. There’s nothing wrong with that.” His face grew pinched. “This is what’s wrong with the world today. You don’t want guys like me to feel anything. I’m supposed to be this big, bad killing machine.” He adjusted his feather boa. “Well, guess what? I have emotions, and I’m not ashamed of them.” He pressed a fist to his chest, over his heart, and I noticed his fingernails were painted a deep plum color.
“Then you don’t carve a line in a wooden panel every time you kill someone?”
His hand dropped to his side. “Oh, I totally keep a record of my kills, but I feel conflicted about it.”
“I see.” An idea occurred to me. “Do you ever get local jobs that involve lesser crimes like kidnapping?”
He leaned his hip against one of the taller headstones. “I’m not aware of any kidnappings. That’s too likely to result in complications.”
