Chapter 19
Dixon stood beside the truck in the dark, his boots shuffling upon the gravel. He looked uncertainly at the structure in the middle of the woods, a doll’s house carved from steel and encased in wall-sized panels of bulletproof glass. Lights burned in nearly every room: in the library, in the kitchen, in the billiard room, in the study, in the little nooks above the glass staircases. Max’s workborn servant, a man Lila knew to be more than a mere butler, strode through the parlor with a duster, his golden coat and black breeches still ironed and crisp so late in the evening.
His eyes never lifted from his wristwatch, a wristwatch that likely wasn’t a watch at all.
Lila scanned the trees, wondering where the cameras had been hidden this week.
Are you sure Max Earlwell lives here? Dixon wrote.
Lila nodded, understanding his confusion. If you knew the right people, then you’d heard whispers about Max Earlwell, the best spy in Saxony. Few knew the location of his strange house, though. Fewer still dared to get close. Max would see those people long before they saw him, launching a few spies to learn all they could.
Even if someone did sneak close, they’d only find disappointment. Max lived a very boring life, if you didn’t know where to look. A master architect had hidden secret rooms on each level, employing space and optical illusions to great advantage. He’d also dug below ground, cutting into the limestone at great expense. Lila knew it was there, but she had never asked to see any of it. Max valued his privacy.
Dixon tucked his notepad into his back pocket and marched up the drive. Lila hitched her satchel further on her shoulder, a satchel with all her work on the oracle’s case. She and Dixon had not thought it wise to leave it in the cabin, and leaving it in the truck would only invite one of Max’s spies to investigate.
She rapped on the knocker, a roaring lion crafted in silver, and cast a glance at Dixon. His curiosity had outrun his cautiousness, but he tucked his purple scarf more snugly around his neck, knotting it tightly so it would not reveal his scars.
Lila knew it wouldn’t help.
Max’s butler opened the front door, offering a bow. Not a speck of surprise infected his gaze. “Madam.”
“We’re here to see Max. He sent me a message.”
“And who might I say is accompanying you?” He cast a wary eye toward Dixon.
“A friend. A trusted friend.”
“My master’s friend or yours?”
“Mine.”
The butler’s eyes flicked toward his wristwatch and away again. It may as well have been an earpiece, with Max whispering his instructions while watching the entire interaction from his office. Lila wondered where he’d stashed the cameras. If she ever had to go head to head against Max Earlwell on security, she’d lose. Everyone would.
“Come in, madam.” The butler led them into the parlor, bowing himself out after they turned down tea and hot chocolate. “I’ll let my master know that you’re here.”
Lila gazed at the puffed blue furniture, the marble sculptures, and the paintings fixed to the steel beams that bordered each glass panel.
Dixon pointed to the water line outside, lapping fifteen meters beyond a wooden porch.
“Before the draught, it came even closer. I used to worry that it would swallow the whole house if it rained hard enough.”
Dixon whistled his awe.
“My sentiments exactly,” Max called out through the open parlor door, his voice muted by the glass panels. He descended from the glass staircase and entered the parlor. He wore a gray sweater and plain black trousers cut from expensive cloth. His boots had been cobbled to imitate the plain and generic fashion of the workborn. A hiding prince might have commissioned them, all to stride among his subjects in anonymity and comfort.
His face might have been sculpted by the gods to hide as well. His hazel eyes and brown hair, as well as his bland resting expression, ensured no one would remember him five seconds after ignoring him on the street. He dyed his hair for just such a purpose.
And the neutral expression? It was as false as his hair color.
Max covered the parlor in three long strides and snatched up Lila, twirling her around before putting her back on her feet. “How have you been, you little minx?”
“Better.”
“Who have you brought into my home?”
“Dixon Leclair.”
Max peered at his visitor. He shook Dixon’s hand, their grips warring on the downswing. “He’s a highborn from his bearing, a slave in his past, and now he’s nothing at all. He employs himself dangerously and has been shot or stabbed recently in the leg. He spends time around cars, likely a garage, though he doesn’t work there. I’m guessing an apartment over one, though he doesn’t stay there lately because he’s been spending a lot of time with you. Dixon is not his real name. He’s mute.”
Dixon snatched his hand away abruptly.
“You bought him that scarf. He wears it often. He likes it almost as much as he likes you.”
“Stop playing.”
Max didn’t take his eyes from Dixon. “A friend of Lila’s is a friend of mine, until the friend is not a friend any longer.”
“You said—”
“Yes, I said that it has been a horrible shame you have not visited lately. Come to the kitchen. We’ll have Sangre and talk. It has been ages, and I’ve missed you.”
Lila allowed herself to be led into the kitchen.
Dixon followed uncertainly.
Max dropped her hand once they arrived in the kitchen, ushering them to a little nook in the corner. Four burnished steel chairs sat around a glass table. Max fetched a bottle of Sangre on the counter and snatched up a wine opener. After uncorking it with a hollow pop, he poured the wine into three glasses and carried them to the table. His chair squeaked against the floor as he sat between the two, facing the glass so he could stare out into the night, like a king surveying his property.
He shoved a glass to her and another to Dixon, watching their faces.
Lila eyed the wine. She didn’t dare refuse. A man like Max would latch on to her reluctance instantly, peppering her with questions and languid stares.
“You nearly got thrown into a holding cell,” Max said. “I bugged the room myself. I know how close it came.”
“Bugged?”
“Yes, before you threw it out. I wasn’t the only one, either. It seems your new friends took an interest. I’d ask what that’s about, but I don’t believe you’d tell me. Besides, there are things I want to know about more.”
“Like?”
“Like you left the Closing Ball with Senator Dorian La Roux last month. I know of him, and what I know of him doesn’t paint the brightest of pictures. You disappeared from New Bristol before we could have a chat about that.”
“What’s there to talk about?”
“Plenty. Out of all the senators in that room, why did you choose him?”
“Why not him? I picked a senator for the season. It turned out to be a very short season indeed.”
“I don’t believe you.” Max turned to Dixon. “Lila likes her little jokes, but when something is really bothering her, she can’t joke about it at all. She just made a joke, therefore I can only assume she had no feelings for the man at all. I’m glad for that.”
“I barely knew him, and it’s been a month.”
“Yes, you barely knew him because he died the next night. I read it was a car accident, but I’ve heard all sorts of whispers.”
“You always hear whispers. Not all of them turn out to be true.”
“Not all, but I have more than one spy in Bullstow. It seems his father, the elder Senator La Roux, took ill the day after his son died. He didn’t even go to the funeral. The man won’t talk about his son and gets bristly whenever he’s mentioned.”
Dixon fixed his gaze upon her.
“People grieve in many ways,” Lila said.
“Not the senator. He lost a dog and grieved more.”
“Perhaps he liked the dog better than the son.”
The corner of Max’s mouth twisted. “That’s not what my sources say. He was beloved. Charming and a bit cocky, as are many men of Bullstow.”
“I barely knew him, but I know that calling him a bit cocky is an understatement.”
“I bet you know a great deal more than you’re letting on, but then, you usually do.”
Lila faked a small sip of her wine. She licked the taste of blackberry from her lips and set the glass down once more.
Reluctantly.
Max folded his hands in his lap. “Fine. Tell me something else instead. You’ve either been exiled or you’ve left your mother’s estate by choice. The information my people have gleaned is fuzzy at best.”
“Perhaps it’s a little from column A and a little from column B.”
“And much more from column C, I’d wager. You can always stay with me, you know. You’ll always have a room in my home whenever you need it, no matter what. I have one below stairs that might suit you. No one will see you.”
Lila nodded, touched by his offer. “I can’t, Max. I’m surprised no one came to search your home when I disappeared last month.”
“They tried. My lawyer sent them all away, including one of your mother’s spies. One came as recently as last night. She doesn’t know where you are right now, but she’s looking.”
Lila brought her glass up to her lips. “You knew where I was.”
“Yes. I’m glad you’re out of danger.”
Lila had known Max a very long time. She recognized what lay beneath his words, like a workborn cut hiding expensive silk. “I suspect you had a hand in countering that danger.”
“You’re damn right I did. I knew they’d call for Dr. Vargas, and we had a very long chat before the trial.”
“You can’t interfere in a criminal trial, Max.”
“Yes, I can. They wanted to hang you, Lila. I’ll not apologize for doing what I could to keep you alive.”
“It was risky.”
“It was less risky to turn one rather than five, not that it matters. I know plenty of secrets those senators wouldn’t want released. They never would have put you in a noose. Not while I live.”
Lila put down her glass.
Another puppeteer.
She could never seem to get away from them.
“Mr. Shaw fell on the knife, anyway. They wouldn’t even let him box up his own office afterward. They sent his commander to do it, then named someone else as acting chief that very evening. Commander Petit drove from New Orleans in eight hours. He poured coffee in Mr. Shaw’s favorite mug and marched through the building at change of shift, just to let the militia know who was in charge. I’m surprised he didn’t piss on Mr. Shaw’s chair by the end.”
“And?”
“After measuring the windows for new drapes, he began clearing out the office. He’s spent the last few days digging through every drawer and shelf. He found Mr. Shaw’s classified records this morning. His paper records.”
Lila took a sip of Sangre, forgetting for the moment why she should not.
“What have they done with those records?” she asked casually.
“He handed them off to the disciplinary committee. The group cleared their docket, postponing all trials for the next three days. The four senators from Low House have been given a vacation.” Max sobered, and he held her hand. “The militia fetched your father from Falcon Home two hours ago.”
Lila put down her glass.
“I’ve triple-checked the information. It’s why it took so long for me to fetch you. Unfortunately, I haven’t had any updates since they went into the courtroom. All the bugs I had inside have been destroyed. I only know of one person’s snoop programs who could have found them. You gave them to your father, didn’t you?”
Lila swallowed hard. “Thank you for the drink, Max, but I really must go.” Her voice sounded uninterested and flat even to her own ears. She snatched up her satchel and sprinted down the hall, forgetting that she had no car keys. She only knew that she had to get Bullstow and explain everything to the senate. She had to make them understand, to make it all go away. If she couldn’t do that, then she’d pluck her father from that place and hide him some place safe.
“Lila, wait!” Max called out, Dixon on his heels.
Lila stopped at the front door as they caught up, remembering her manners. “You’ve been very helpful as always, Max. I owe you dearly for this.”
“Don’t do anything stupid, Lila. He wouldn’t want that.”
“I don’t care what he wants.”
“You should.” His gaze passed to Dixon. “I don’t know what you are to her, a friend, a shadow, a chauffeur, but see that she does not do anything rash. If harm comes to her tonight, I will hunt you down and end you.”
Dixon ignored him. He took Lila’s hand and ran to the truck.
Lila didn’t bother searching for bugs before climbing inside. She slammed the door behind her, the echo bouncing off the trees. Dixon did the same, pulling out immediately to sped down Max’s drive. He barely kept the truck under the speed limit as they raced to Bullstow.
Dixon pushed the truck as quickly as it would go, as quickly as they could go and not get pulled over for speeding. Few people drove around them. It was too late for dinner and too early to party and dance downtown. Dixon threaded through as many as he dared.
The brakes squealed softly as they stopped at the Bullstow gate. A blackcoat ambled toward them, his palm in his hand, waiting to take down their information.
Dixon rolled down his window.
Lila leaned over him. “I’m Elizabeth Randolph, and I’m here to see my father.”
The blackcoat turned to the gatehouse. “The prime minister’s daughter wants inside.”
Lila’s heart sank. Even the militia knew her father was unavailable.
A burly man inside the booth grabbed a radio and murmured into it, but neither she nor Dixon was close enough to understand him or the reply.
Lila knew from his face what the answer would be.
The sergeant slipped from the gatehouse and shuffled over, his boots echoing on the street. “Your father is in a meeting right now, madam. Come back tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll wait in his suite.”
“Madam, the meeting is expected to run quite late. I’ve been instructed to tell you to come back tomorrow.”
“I want to see Chief Shaw.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Mr. Shaw?”
“Yes. He’s no longer your chief, but he’s not a prisoner. Surely he can accept a visitor.”
The man scratched at his beard. “Madam, Mr. Shaw is attending the same meeting. You’ll just have to come back tomorrow.” He turned away and returned to the gatehouse.
The gates did not open.
Lila turned away, her eyes straying toward the protest. She noticed a woman far removed from the crowd, sitting in a nondescript Cruz sedan, very similar to the one Lila owned.
But Lila’s car had not come with a telephoto lens.
The mole had followed her again.
Her frustration passed from the guard to the Cruz sedan and its driver.
Lila tapped Dixon on the leg and jutted her chin toward the car.
She slipped out of the truck and marched down Leclerc Street, walking away from the protestors, their signs chewed up, bent, and covered in footprints so late in the evening.
As expected, the woman in the car pulled out and followed after Lila.
Dixon parked his truck on the street and followed behind, keeping to the shadows while Lila stopped outside a law office. When she peered into the windows, the car stopped. A street lamp reflected off the lens of the woman’s camera.
Lila heard a puff of air nearby.
Someone whistled.
Lila turned around. Dixon had climbed into the passenger seat of the woman’s car, sliding it into park.
The engine died.
Lila slipped into the back, eyeing the well-placed tranq in the woman’s neck. The pair searched the car, digging through every bag and compartment they came to. “I don’t have my DNA wand. Do you see anything with a name?”
Lila withdrew the woman’s palm from her pocket.
Dixon craned his neck as Lila dug through the data. When she spied a familiar name, Lila dropped the palm onto the floorboards. “Damn it!”
Is it the mole?
Lila shook her head. “No, she’s just one of my mother’s spies.”