Last night’s negotiations came back to Justin, and all of this began to make more sense. He had to admit, they’d really come through when he’d requested nice accommodations for her. And they hadn’t wasted any time. “What’s wrong with it? This place is great. Don’t tell me you were living anywhere like this in Anchorage. You were still in Anchorage, right?”
Cynthia put her hands on her hips. “A group of soldiers came and abducted me from work! No warning. No time to get ready. They just said I had to come with them. Do you know how humiliating that was?”
It echoed too closely to what Justin had experienced when he’d been exiled. He gave Mae a curious glance. “What happened?”
She leaned against the counter, perfectly at ease. “You said you wanted her here immediately.”
“So they took me literally?”
“How else were they supposed to take you?”
Cynthia glanced back and forth between them, her eyes widening when she noticed Tessa. “Who are these people?”
“This is Prætorian Mae Koskinen,” he said. Cynthia didn’t even have time to be shocked by that before he really played his trump card. “And this is Tessa Cruz. She’s from Panama.”
“Panama?” Judging from Cynthia’s face, Justin might as well have said Tessa was from the moon.
“That’s where I’ve been,” he explained, like he’d been on an extended vacation. “I brought Tessa back to study here.”
Cynthia frowned as she took it all in, and then a look of horror crossed her face. “You guys aren’t—”
“No,” he said in exasperation. From Tessa’s innocent expression, she thankfully hadn’t picked up on the insinuation. “Why does everyone keep thinking that?”
“Probably because they know how you are,” Cynthia retorted.
“I’ve got limits,” he grumbled, trying to ignore Mae’s I told you so look. “Tessa’s father is a friend of mine, and I’m helping them out. She’s going to stay here with you.”
Cynthia’s face went still. “I see. And I don’t suppose you thought to check with me first? Just like you didn’t bother to check when you had me degraded in front of my coworkers?”
“What the fuck is the problem?” This reunion wasn’t going at all like he’d expected. “You should be grateful. This place is like a palace.”
“Grateful? Grateful?” Justin worried Cynthia might slap him again, and if past events were any indication, his great protector was just going to keep leaning against the counter. “Justin, I was on the verge of a post-prime grant to go back to school. My interview was today!”
He relaxed a little. “So? You don’t need the grant now. I’ll cover it. The universities are better here anyway.”
Some of the anger faded out of Cynthia. She looked tired, and just a little sad. “You really don’t get it, do you? You’re the same as ever, still heavy-handed and so goddamned sure that—” She stopped as her eyes focused on something behind Justin. He turned and saw a boy standing in the kitchen’s doorway.
“Quentin,” said Justin, surprised at how much his nephew had grown. What was he now? Eight. “Do you remember me?”
Quentin’s face said he didn’t. “This is your uncle Justin,” Cynthia explained.
Recognition lit the boy’s features. “The arrogant bastard who ran out on us.”
“That’s the one,” she said. She looked quite proud of her son’s excellent memory.
Justin scoffed. “No question that you’re part of this family, huh?”
Really, though, Quentin’s features said more than enough about which family he belonged to. He looked just like Cynthia, from the high cheekbones to the almond-shaped eyes. They were hazel flecked with green, an unusual recessive variation. His hair was all plebeian, though: the dark, almost black shade of brown that Justin, Cynthia, and their mother all shared.
“I should go,” said Mae. “It looks like you’ve got a few things to sort out.” She managed to keep a straight face as she delivered that understatement.
“When will I hear from you?” he asked.
She straightened up, displaying that exquisite posture she’d acquired in her caste or the military, or maybe some mix of both. “Whenever SCI gets things started. It was very nice to meet you. All of you.”
Mae had taken two steps toward the door when Justin realized something. “Wait. Where am I staying?”
Mae’s face was perfectly neutral. “Here, I suppose. This was the only address they gave me.”
“Here?” He looked around, feeling like he was seeing it for the first time. “This is Cynthia’s place. Cornelia promised me a place of my own.”
“Hey, don’t look at me. I didn’t set this up.” Mae turned pensive as she mulled things over. “You asked for a nice place. And you asked for a nice place for your sister. You didn’t specify that they be different.”
She’s right, said Horatio. And that’s an interpretation Cornelia would love exploiting.
Justin couldn’t formulate a response right away. “But I…no! I can’t live with my sister. Do you know how not cool that is? I can’t live in the suburbs. I’m supposed to have a place in the city.”
Mae wasn’t sympathetic at all, and despite having her poker face back, he was pretty sure she was laughing at him on the inside. “You should’ve been clearer. Besides, it’s an easy commute on the purple line.”
“You should be grateful. This place is like a palace,” said Cynthia, mimicking him from earlier. Judging from her look of glee, she actually liked this turn of events far more than his actual return. After a week of living together, she’d probably have a very different opinion.
“Talk to someone in Internal Security when you’re back up and running,” Mae told him. “I’m sure you can be persistent enough to get this fixed.”
Justin nodded in acceptance, knowing there was nothing she could do anyway. He could lay other grievances at her feet, but not this one. Maybe it was just as well that this hiccup had occurred. He could choose his own place instead of having some administrative assistant do it. Without further complaint, he gave Mae a reluctant thank-you and let her leave. He watched her walk away and then quickly turned when he realized he was admiring her legs.
“I kind of like her,” said Cynthia after they heard the front door close.
“She’s castal,” he said, knowing Cynthia wouldn’t like that. He glanced over and saw Tessa practically swaying. “Oh, sweetie.” He put an arm around her. “She’s got to get to bed, Cyn.” An alarming thought occurred to him. “Is this place furnished?” The living room they’d passed seemed to be, but after the other zany events surrounding his accommodations, he couldn’t presume anything.
“To the smallest detail,” Cynthia said. Her expression turned kind as she regarded Tessa. She could be brash and uncouth at times, but Cynthia had been a mother for eight years, and that nature permeated a lot of her actions. She picked up Tessa’s suitcase. “Come on, I’ve got the perfect room for you.” To Justin, she said sharply, “Don’t go anywhere.” Like he had a choice.
“I’ll check on you once you’re settled,” he told Tessa.
The two women disappeared, leaving Justin awkwardly alone with Quentin. “There’s wine in that cupboard by the pantry,” Quentin said.
“What makes you think I want it?” Justin asked. In truth, it sounded like a great idea, and he headed right to the door.
“Because when Mom was opening all the cupboards, she saw it and said, ‘Well, I guess we’re prepared if any of the family drunks stop by.’”
Justin pulled out a bottle at random. It was a Syrah. “Your mom’s a classy lady.”
“Why do I have a feeling ‘classy’ wasn’t the first word that came to mind?” Cynthia said as she returned to the kitchen and promptly found him a glass and corkscrew.
“Because everyone in our family is brilliant and astute.” Justin filled the glass up as far as he could. “That was fast.”
A smile twisted Cynthia’s lips. “Poor kid
just went straight to the bed and fell asleep.” She nodded to Quentin. “Go to your room. I need to talk to your uncle.” He looked reluctant to miss the unfolding family drama, but a sharper command sent him scurrying.
Justin held up the wine bottle. “Want some?”
“Wouldn’t want to deprive you.” She rested her elbows on the kitchen’s island and leaned forward. “I’m glad you’re back, you know. I almost missed you. But I’m still mad at you.”
“I know,” he said. “I missed you too.” Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how true those words were. Cynthia infuriated him sometimes, but she always kept him honest. She’d been his first, best friend, and being away from her for so long had left a hole inside him. He set the wine down and wrapped his arms around her, finally allowing himself a moment of vulnerability. Too much had happened between them for him to put up his usual façade. “And I’m sorry. I know what a bad position you were left in.”
She rested her head against his chest. “I should be used to that by now. But, Justin…why did you go? Why on earth were you in Panama? Do you know how weird it is for you to show up after four years with a prætorian and a provincial girl?”
“Yeah,” he said, finally releasing her. “Believe me, I’m fully aware of how weird it is.”
“You didn’t answer my question about why you left.”
“Because I can’t tell you, Cyn.” He could guess her next question. “I’m serious—it’s a security thing. And I can’t tell you why I’m back. But I’m going to get things in order right away. Your name’s going to go on everything I’ve got, all my accounts. You won’t be screwed over again.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “Are you leaving again?”
Justin wished he knew. Francis certainly seemed to think the RUNA couldn’t get on without Justin, but Magnus had been right about Justin’s value possibly decreasing if he found the video’s modification. And of course, if he didn’t find anything in four weeks, it would all be for nothing. Nonetheless, Justin mustered a smile for his sister and topped off his glass. “Of course not.”
Inside his head, he heard Horatio tsk. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.
CHAPTER 9
THE DEADLY WARRIORS THAT KEEP US SAFE
Prætorians didn’t sleep, but Mae felt mentally exhausted as she rode the train back into the city. Her brief visit to the March household had been both comical and heartbreaking, and she couldn’t even imagine what else would unfold there tonight.
Their family drama was squashed by the much larger issue weighing on Mae: Justin himself. Her stomach still sank each time she thought of that terrible moment when she’d walked into Cornelia’s hotel suite and realized her breathtaking, exotic lover was a guy who got inside other people’s heads for a living and made an art of seducing women. It had taken every bit of self-control she possessed to stay calm and pay attention to the briefing.
She’d almost hoped he might convince her that last night had meant something, but all he’d done at the ministry was reaffirm everything Cornelia had said about his arrogance and callous treatment of women. Mae wanted to think she’d transcended her Nordic upbringing, but she knew she hadn’t entirely shaken that sense of superiority her family had instilled. She’d been adored and led to believe she was special. She knew now that it wasn’t true, that it was just patrician arrogance. But enough men still fawned over her that she’d grown used to it and was therefore blindsided at being used by one of them. Too many people had tried to use her for various reasons in her life, and she thought she’d learned to spot them. Apparently not.
He was so convincing, she thought wistfully. Underneath all his charms, she’d been so sure she’d seen pain in him and even a legitimate sense of understanding for her own melancholy. But was it legitimate? Or was it an act? Mae no longer knew. All she knew was that her pride had been hurt and that it had felt good putting on the façade of a haughty Nordic debutante to hurt him back. And yet, even in the middle of arguing with him, her body had been so, so aware of his. Anger could flip to passion in a heartbeat.
It was a weakness. The best course now was to write him and that night off. She had an assignment—an unorthodox, bizarre assignment far from the field of battle—that they both needed to focus on now.
There was certainly more to the murders than the sensational news coverage had led her to believe. And she couldn’t ignore the feeling that there was more to it still. There’d been something big and unspoken hovering between Justin, Cornelia, and Francis. But what else could there be? Strange or not, the facts of the mission itself had been cut-and-dried. The potentially ritualistic nature of the murders required intervention from the servitors’ office, which would be able to examine things with a more global and religious-focused lens. And if there was a zealous murderer running around, increased security was absolutely necessary, thus explaining her presence.
They certainly seemed to have a high opinion of Justin’s skills—well, Francis Kyle did, at least. The guy had looked like he’d wanted Justin’s autograph. She almost couldn’t blame him. Justin’s reaction to the video and his analysis of the murder stats had been fascinating. There’d been no womanizing addict there. He’d been so intent, so completely consumed by just this brief introduction to the case, that she’d found it easy to believe he was the star servitor Francis and even reluctant Cornelia had claimed.
Mae’s ruminations were interrupted when she reached her stop in the theater district. Here, the night was brilliant and alive, a far cry from sedated suburbia. Streetlamps and bright screens painted everything with flickering, colored light outside, chasing away the evening’s darkness. Even on a weeknight, this area stayed busy with theatergoers and those seeking nightlife in the many restaurants and clubs. Mae navigated through the crowds and crossed the street on a sky bridge a few blocks away, which led her to a bar whose window screen proclaimed that lavender martinis were on special tonight.
She had tried to act like she was conducting important business on her ego earlier, but really, she’d been arranging a bar meet-up. Her eyes easily adjusted as she entered the dark establishment, which had no overhead lights. All the illumination came from purple neon underneath the tables and bar’s edge. It cast a ghostly glow on the trendy customers as they sat at high glass-topped tables, chatting among themselves while also scoping out newcomers. It was one of those see-and-be-seen places. Watching the bartenders scurry and make drinks reminded her of Panama and the antiquated drink machine. They’d been popular in the RUNA once, but “real people” were in vogue now.
Val and Dag were already there, having taken over a table by the front window. They were in casual mode, jeans and T-shirts, which earned them a couple of disapproving looks from the more elegantly dressed patrons. At least they hadn’t worn their uniforms—which they did on occasion, simply to create a scene and disconcert those around them. The last time they’d done it, their waitress had been so intimidated that she’d dropped a tray of drinks—twice. Mae had felt obligated to leave a generous tip by way of apology.
Dag whistled when he saw her. “Look at you,” he said. “Going to the country club?”
“They wear dresses to country clubs,” chastised Val, as though she were some kind of expert. “Our girl looks more like she’s been giving boardroom presentations.”
“You’re both wrong.” Mae sat down and immediately brought up the table’s touch-screen menu and ordered a mojito without even checking out anything else.
“Well?” asked Val. Both she and Dag were watching Mae expectantly. They hadn’t seen her since the funeral. “Where have you been? Not in detainment, obviously. We thought maybe they’d lent you out to the police. Or had you giving tours of the military museum.”
“Well, that may be yet to come,” Mae said. “But this week I’ve been in the provinces.”
Her friends looked impressed. “You were in action already?” asked Dag.
Mae decided beating up those backwoods thugs didn’t really cou
nt as action. “I was, uh, running an errand in Panama.”
A waiter came by with her mojito, as well as another round for Val and Dag. They were only social drinking tonight, or else they would’ve had at least ten drinks in front of them. If you could take down several drinks within a couple of minutes, you could briefly keep ahead of the implant’s quick ability to metabolize alcohol. It achieved a very, very short-lived buzz that was usually over in ten minutes. Prætorians called it “slamming the implant.”
Justin and Tessa’s presence in the RUNA wasn’t something that could be kept secret, so Mae gave them a quick—and extremely edited—rundown of her Panamanian adventures and glossed over the murders, simply saying she was working as Justin’s bodyguard. Judging from her friends’ faces, Mae wasn’t the only one who found those events bizarre.
“What the fuck did he do that was bad enough to get exiled?” asked Dag.
Val traced the rim of her glass, dark eyes lost in thought. “And yet apparently wasn’t bad enough to keep him from coming back.”
“They don’t tell me stuff like that,” Mae said, trying to act like it didn’t bother her. “I’m just the messenger.”
Dag brightened. “Still, a lot more exciting than monument duty. Not as honorable, of course.”
That caught Mae by surprise. “Monument duty? What are you watching?”
“The National Gardens,” Val said. She knocked back half her drink. Maybe she wasn’t slamming the implant, but she wasn’t really holding back either. Mae was tempted herself, after drinking that Panamanian swill.
“Both of you are in the gardens?” she asked. Her friends nodded together.
“There are a bunch of Scarlets there right now.” Val ticked them off on her fingers. “Whitetree, Mason, Chow, Makarova…”
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