House of Strife (Poisoned Houses Book 4)

by Lyn Forester

  “Would you like me to read the note back?” Nikola asks, his expression holding the perfect level of disinterest.

  “No, thank you.” I hold Mr. Carter’s horrified gaze a moment longer. “It’s not important enough to waste further time on. We have other business to attend to.”

  “Yes, demi-Councilor.” Nikola tucks his palm-port away and moves to open the door for me.

  I turn and stride out to the frantic tapping of fingers on screens as my private note washes out over the collective. The gossip mills of the wealthy flowing outward, word spreading faster than a Storm Maker can suck the energy out of a spacecraft. Before we make it more than ten paces outside, accounts will be closing, funds pulled from TPR, deposit boxes emptied by the end of the day.

  TPR Financial won’t weather such sudden, mass withdrawal, but I don’t care.

  I have worries of my own to figure out. The first being where to come up with the credits to buy the devices from Skittles. What I have on the credit-stick will barely cover the cost of using her elevator between levels.

  The second, far more concerning issue, though, is Black Corporation seizing my assets. While I doubt Mr. Black performed the review himself, whoever processed the forms must have seen my name on the account. No matter where my credits came from, I should have been overlooked.

  The balance between Black Corporation, the Peace Keepers, and the High Council is delicate, and something as paltry as my small bank account isn’t worth tipping the scales.

  First Declan’s family is poisoned, with Mr. Blue as the supposed culprit.

  Now, Mr. Black stole my money.

  Both men took over their offices at nearly the same time.

  This adds weight to the rumor Skittles voiced that the new Mr. Blue has a direct hand in the shift in power in Black Corporation.

  If life has taught me anything, coincidence doesn’t exist. Everything happens for a reason, and my gut tells me I need to figure this out before the answer is shoved in my face.

  The Muse

  Without exchanging words, Nikola reads my need for privacy and directs me toward The Muse, an upscale karaoke club located next to High Gate Theater. The Muse offers group rooms as well as private rooms for couples or those who want to sing without an audience.

  Nikola steps ahead of me to open the left side of the glass double-doors, his hand hovering over my back as I step inside. The loud cacophony of the bright, midday gives way to soft, ambient light, the quiet clink of glasses, and subdued conversation.

  A bar lines the right wall, the glass shelves behind it illuminated beneath each of the expensive bottles of clear, triple-filtered water and a rainbow variety of alcohol choices. Padded, low-back stools sit in front of the high counter, and a second, gilded glass counter runs down the center of the large room for standing.

  The left wall offers more comfortable seating with red, winged back chairs circling round tables in sets of four and six. Gold leaf-patterned drums hang overhead, providing sound dampening to the tables, while sheer curtains pushed off to the side wait, ready to be pulled into place if the occupants require further discretion. The fabric, while transparent, is a halion marvel of technology new to the market and blocks all sound from traveling past its seemingly flimsy barrier.

  At this time of day, only a few of the seats hold occupants, but we stride past, our steps muffled on the engineered marble floor. While it looks like real marble, the bronze and gold-veined surface gives subtly underfoot, making our passing as unobtrusive to the other guests as possible.

  The hostess at the back, in a red and gold uniform that matches the decor, smiles as we stop in front of her stand, her voice a low murmur. “Would you like a private booth for two?”

  “Yes, please.” My response comes out louder than I intended, and I hide the cringe at breaking the atmosphere.

  Never one to embrace singing, even in private, I’m not used to places like this. I don’t even know if I can sing. Father didn’t encourage the frivolous pursuits of music, and for once, I didn’t fight his tight confines. Lonette Manor is a place of silence, and until I began escaping the house on my own, I never realized not everywhere was the same. By that time, though, I was used to quiet, and the ruckus others embrace overwhelms my senses. I can function through it just fine, but when it’s over, it leaves me drained and in need of stillness.

  As we follow the hostess down a carpeted hallway with bronze painted walls and a gold ceiling, I appreciate the quiet. No noise escapes the doors we pass, not even the ones with amber lights above them to indicate they’re in use.

  She stops in front of an unlit room and presses a button next to the door. It opens with a slide of well-oiled gears, vanishing into the wall. Beyond, a narrow room waits with a dark-brown, bolstered bench on one side, a narrow table in the middle, and a holo-screen mounted to the wall opposite. An artist painted the walls in such a way that they look like crushed gold velvet. Pendant lights hang from the ceiling, adding an additional golden glow to the room.

  Luxurious and private.

  The hostess steps aside and motions for us to enter. “Would you like a bottle of our world-class triple-filtered water sent to the room? Or perhaps something stronger?”

  I turn back, mouth open to order the water, and freeze. I don’t have enough credits to order water here. I’m not even sure I have enough credits for this private booth. Did our ticket begin the moment we stepped past the hostess booth? If we find some excuse to leave now, will there still be a bill? This is a situation I’ve never been in before.

  Nikola steps smoothly in front of me. “Water, please. And if you have any snack options, those would also be appreciated.”

  “Of course, sir. Please leave the center of the table free of clutter. Your order will arrive shortly. If you need further assistance, simply press the button next to the door.” She bobs her head, her sleek, brown hair brushing at her chin, before she steps back and the door silently closes us inside.

  I turn to Nikola. “I don’t have the funds for us to be here.”

  “It’s fine.” He motions to the couch, but I ignore the gesture, too agitated to sit.

  “It’s not fine.” I pace in the narrow confines. “We can’t charge the house for this. Father will know we’re not safely locked up at APA. We need to leave before our bill gets any bigger. If we spend everything I have here, Skittles will skin us alive for not covering our lift fees.”

  He clasps my arms, his dark gaze gentle as he catches my attention. “Relax, I have this covered.”

  “You—” I search his face. “You’re paying for this?”

  His hands slide up my arms to my shoulders, leaving a rush of nervous flutters in their wake. “I’m not without means, Caitlyn.” His thumbs graze my throat, and my pulse spikes. “If I wanted to, I could live anywhere I wanted to in Leton and be comfortable. I can afford to foot the bill here.”

  His touch tries to distract me from the obvious issue. Nikola’s only two years older than me. He can’t possibly have that many credits. “How?”

  “I receive a monthly stipend that I’ve invested very well.” His fingers trace over my collarbones. “If you end up rejecting me, I won’t be destitute, nor will I be forced to sign on with an unappealing city official, no matter what Garrett may have led you to believe. Being by your side isn’t an obligation for me, it’s where I choose to be.”

  My eyes narrow. “You hid this from me to make me more sympathetic toward you.”

  His hands rise to cup my jaw, his expression hardening. “My financial portfolio was in the dossier provided for your review along with all of your other secretarial candidates. That you chose not to look isn’t my fault.”

  My heart hammers as I struggle for some way to make this his fault, to find anything to use as a shield between us. Everything is moving too fast, changing too quickly. I still don’t one-hundred percent trust Nikola’s motives, but this new information shakes my foundation. I need a stabilizer, something to put us back on t
he right footing.

  “Caitlyn,” he breathes, eyes dropping to my mouth. “We can be so good together if you just give us a chance.”

  I lick my lips, conscious of him in ways I never would have been a week ago. My eyes skitter away from his and then return, drawn by an inescapable force. “I don’t think—”

  “Stop thinking, just for a moment.” His hold shifts, fingers sliding into the curls at the back of my neck as he tips my head up, his breath warm on my lips as he dips closer. “If you don’t want this, say it now.”

  The denial sticks in my throat, blood rushing to my head so fast I sway with dizziness. My eyelashes quiver with the need to drop, to hide from what’s about to happen, but Nikola’s burning eyes hold mine firm, demanding I acknowledge him.

  A chime fills the room, breaking the spell, and I shove his hands away, stumbling back in the process. The backs of my knees hit the couch, and I drop onto it with a heavy bounce.

  Beside me, the center of the table lights up, and a hidden panel slides to the side, making room for the tray that rises from below. A glowing bottle of water sits in the center like a jewel, matching tumblers beside it. A narrow, rectangular plate fills the rest of the tray. It holds three inverted cones of purple rice with a mysterious red sauce drizzled over the top.

  My stomach clenches at the sight, too filled with panic and unwanted disappointment to be tempted by the first real food I’ve seen in a while.

  Nikola walks over and lifts the bottle, filling both glasses before he extends one to me. He looks completely unfazed while my heart feels ready to burst.

  My hand shakes when I reach for the glass, and he sets it on the table in front of me without comment.

  How can he be so calm when I’m a nervous wreck over something that didn’t even happen?

  Then I notice the way his hand presses to his thigh, and the subtle tension in his shoulders. Not unaffected. Just better at hiding it. The realization relaxes me, and I reach for my glass again, my hand now steady.

  I take a sip, the cool water smothering the nervous flutter in my stomach, then set the glass aside once more. “So, I’m broke.”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Nikola circles the table to sit beside me, with enough space that we can face each other without touching if we sit sideways on the bench.

  I pull my knee up and rest one arm on the back of the couch. “I’ve never been in this position before.”

  “You’re not really in it right now,” he points out, mirroring my position. One side of his mouth kicks up. “You know you can make a withdrawal at Leton Main Financial. Your father might not even notice right away.”

  “Or he might and then how we came to be here when we should be at APA will come into question.” I wave the suggestion away. “We can’t lose the convenience of moving between the levels. If everyone knows we’re in one location, they won’t expect us to be somewhere else. If we’re going to help Declan, we need to stay under the radar.”

  “I suppose it’s occurred to you that Mr. Blue’s attack on House Arrington and Mr. Black’s attack on your finances aren’t a coincidence?” The way he says it provides the information regardless of whether it actually occurred to me.

  Did Tri-Worth train him to hide his intelligence like that while bolstering others? It seems a waste for him to constantly give credit to others for his ideas.

  I nod slowly. “Yes. If Mr. Blue is proven to be the culprit for the deaths in Declan’s house, which seems more and more likely, then it puts Mr. White under suspicion as well. There’s already gossip he coveted the old Mr. Blue’s wife and wanted him gone from the picture.”

  Nikola’s brows lift. “You still question Mr. Blue’s involvement?”

  “The accusation came from a poisoned man unable to support his claim. I’d like something more concrete before believing that the man who controls the city’s human and halfbreed Peace Keepers is dirty.” The ramifications of a corrupt Mr. Blue could destroy the delicate balance of the city.

  “I agree.” Nikola rubs his chin in contemplation. “But we should also go forward under the assumption that the Blue Guard isn’t trustworthy.”

  A shiver rolls down my spine. The Blue Guard is everywhere, from traffic enforcement to crime resolution. How do we even go about investigating Dominick’s claim against Mr. Blue? And delving into Mr. Black just terrifies me. He runs the underground and can make people vanish the same way the High Houses can. Of anyone in the city, he stands equal in power to my family. If he’s working together with Mr. Blue...

  I’d almost rather Mr. Blue be dirty and the issue with the bank just an unfortunate side effect of the new regime.

  I bite my lip in thought. The task seems daunting, but if we break it down into pieces, maybe it will be easier. “We need to figure out how Declan’s family was poisoned. He said they didn’t eat the same thing, or attend the same party, so how were they all struck down?”

  “There are many ways to poison people.” The readiness of Nikola’s answer should disturb me, but somehow, knowing he already put thought into the situation makes it less overwhelming. “We need to know when Declan first felt the effect and where he was in relation to his brother at the time and in what order the others died.”

  I nod. “We can go over that with him when we meet up.” I check the time on my palm-port. “We still have a couple hours to figure out the situation with my funds.”

  “That one’s easy enough.” Nikola shrugs, unconcerned. “I’ll withdrawal from my account. It’s not monitored by the Lonette House, so there’s no risk of exposing us to your Father.”

  “I can’t ask you to front that kind of credit.” The idea of taking money from Nikola rubs me the wrong way.

  On the one hand, he’s my childhood friend, and money should never be borrowed from friends. He’s also in line to be my secretary, which makes him my staff. Someone else I should never borrow money from. Then there’s the whole issue of owing him. With my personal reserves gone, I don’t know when I’ll be able to reimburse him.

  He lifts his brows. “Would it make you feel better to pretend you’re borrowing devices I planned to purchase anyway?”

  I puff out my cheeks in annoyance. “Not when you word it like that.”

  “As much as you hate the idea of relying on me for credits, I hate the idea of helping you lie to yourself.” He plucks his palm-port from his inner jacket pocket. “How about a loan? The same as you would take from a bank. To be paid in full within five years.”

  “That’s quite a generous term,” I say dryly.

  He ignores me as he taps away on his screen. After a moment, he passes the palm-port to me.

  I skim over the contract and scowl. “Where’s the interest?”

  He gives me an incredulous look. “Really?”

  “If this is the same as a bank, then yes.” I pass the device back to him. “Put in the interest.”

  With a resigned sigh, he taps at the screen for a few minutes, then glances up. “Is five percent acceptable?”

  Unsure, I run a quick search on my palm-port on the going rate of a luxury loan, then factor out the average. “Eleven percent.”

  Lips tight, he makes the adjustment, then returns the contract.

  I read it over once more from beginning to end. While I trust Nikola, I was also taught to never sign anything without full knowledge, and he waits patiently, expecting nothing less. Finally, I press my left thumb over the screen, wait while it scans my fingerprint, then sign my name at the bottom. Nikola does the same, neither of us speaking about the need to use our less-dominate hand. It wouldn’t be much of a contract if the lender and the recipient had the same prints.

  When it’s done, Nikola bumps his palm-port against mine, and the document appears on my screen, binding us together. Even if I end up rejecting Nikola as my secretary, this contract will hang over me until it’s fulfilled. Not that I plan to take five years to reimburse him. The school closes during the summer, and I assume I’ll return to Lonette
Manor at that point. I’ll simply withdrawal the funds then. Father won’t even question such a small amount.

  With the problem of how to buy the new folding-port and palm-ports decided, I turn a bleak stare on Nikola. “Even after we determine how Arrington House was poisoned, how do we link it back to Mr. Blue?”

  “We follow the trail.” Nikola shifts, and his knee brushes against mine. “The current Mr. Blue wasn’t actually the one who should have been nominated based on statistics. He’s too young, and his career in the Blue Guard is underwhelming. I can name a dozen other people who should have taken office, and he’s nowhere near the list.”

  Skittles had said the same thing, so I shouldn’t be surprised Nikola looked into our new city official, too. But I stare at him anyway. “Are you sure they didn’t mod your brain? How do you retain all this information?”

  With a small smile, he reaches for the plate of food and the clear, long-handled spoons. “I’m sure. My brain is as normal as yours.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” I take one of the spoons and delicately scoop off the pointed top of the rice cone closest to me. “There’s no way I could keep track of everything you do.”

  He holds the plate steady between us without effort. “What kind of converter coil did the original, four-wheeled disc-bike use for energy output?”

  I pause, spoon halfway to my mouth. “A Markham 255. It was the size of my hand and weighed down the overall bike. Why?”

  “I didn’t know that.” He takes a bite and chews. “I know how to ride a disc-bike, but I don’t care about how it works. There’s nothing about its components that can change our political structure.”

  A sense of victory shoots through me. “You’re wrong about that.”

  Interest sparks in his eyes. “Then enlighten me.”

  Gilded

  We stay at The Muse until our meetup time with Skittles draws near, then head over to Leton Main Financial where Nikola withdrawals funds without any issue. He takes out more than I originally planned to, and for a moment, I worry we’ll fight over how much he gives me, but he only transfers our agreed-upon amount.