Chapter 16
Softly squealing brakes and a gently rocking truck woke her. Purplecoats marched by the truck, staccatoed chuckles piercing the morning air. Teenagers trudged toward the library, kicking up mud as they began another day. Half a dozen white-robed women gathered in front of the admin building, waiting for an SUV to drive them to the temple, their slippers crinkling on the gravel path underfoot. When the vehicle parked, the group hopped in.
Lila jumped as the doors slammed, her head aching.
Wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she pulled the door release and hopped from Dixon’s truck. They’d left soon after she returned to the apartment. While Tristan and Dixon had jogged downstairs to help canvass the area, Lila had retired to the bathroom.
Unfortunately, cleaning herself up had turned into something different.
After washing up and disinfecting the scratches on her forehead, she’d poked through Tristan’s cabinets for some bit of his DNA, glad that her attack had happened so near the shop.
The next time someone came for her, she knew it wouldn’t, and she might not survive. She’d probably live in some apartment alone, with no blackcoats to protect her and neighbors who didn’t care about her welfare.
She’d die helpless and alone.
Her thoughts had turned to the baby after that, to the fact that she had no money for rent, for diapers, for formula, for heat.
Her heart had pounded faster.
Her temperature had fluctuated.
She had another spell, another “heart attack,” another bout of stomach issues.
Luckily, it had passed before Dixon returned. She’d cleaned up and gathered her things, waiting for him to return.
Hoping she wouldn’t get sick again.
“I found something last night,” Lila had said when he reentered the apartment. “Connell’s prepping one of the mercs for us.”
Tell me what happened in the garage again, he’d written, squinting at the scratches upon her forehead, the slash of pink across her mouth where the tape had been.
She’d only given Dixon the quick version of the attack while he packed, more worried about her heart problems than the masked assailant. Dixon’s fingers had tapped across his palm when she finished, messaging Shirley to come in early and fix her car, warning Dr. McCrae that she’d have a patient as soon as they returned to the compound.
Then he’d slipped his arms around her, holding her tightly.
She’d clung to him, not realizing how much she’d needed it.
After a few moments, she’d pushed him away, finally explaining what she’d found the night before. They’d left for the oracle’s compound soon after, taking her laptop and luggage and the files from the tablets. Somehow they’d managed to avoid Tristan and Katia.
Dixon left them a note, though, avoiding yet another conversation.
Lila had hoped it would be the last time she saw the shop, but she knew she’d have to go back one last time. She still needed a DNA sample. She hadn’t been able to grab Tristan’s toothbrush, for three had hung in the holder. She’d tried to snag his hairbrush, but after a quick search, she recalled that he kept it in his bedside table.
Next to a still-sleeping Katia.
Dixon whistled, catching her attention. She could always use Dixon’s DNA. He’d do a cheek swab if she asked.
He’d want to know why, though.
She wasn’t ready for that conversation, not when she didn’t know if she’d keep the baby.
Perhaps she could take something of his without him knowing.
Lila grabbed her satchel and lifted the strap over her head, starting for their cabin. “We’re supposed to meet the oracle at ten. We have twenty minutes.”
Dr. McCrae.
“I’m fine, Dixon. We’ll see her later.”
He patted his belly.
“Breakfast first?”
He nodded as the pair entered the cabin. After dropping off his bag, he broke for the kitchen, keen to explore the stocked shelves he’d likely pilfered from the day before.
She heard a rattle as she laid her satchel on the table. Dixon lifted two boxes of cereal and looked at her expectantly.
“Cereal? I’ve never actually eaten that before. Chef would have killed me and then herself before letting me have any.”
So you want to try them both?
“Yes, please.” Lila left her laptop behind as she dug through the kitchen cabinets, looking for bowls. “When I was a kid, I begged her to let me have some. It never worked, though.”
Dixon grabbed a jug of milk from the refrigerator. Lila fetched spoons and bowls and joined him at the dining room table. Cereal plinked into her bowl as she shook out the pastel marshmallows and toasted oat pieces. She then added milk, which sloshed over the rim.
Lila scooped up a large bite, ready to fulfill every childhood breakfast dream she’d ever had.
But all she tasted was really crunchy sugar. Lots and lots of sugar.
The oat pieces scratched unpleasantly at her mouth.
“What’s this even called?” she asked.
Dixon pointed to the box. An artist had drawn Rain Snaps in large letters, along with bursts of marshmallows falling from warring umbrellas.
Drink the milk before you try the other.
“Why?”
The two shall not mix. Bad things happen when they do.
Lila took his word for it, watching him tilt his bowl like a child in a commercial. If her mother could have seen it, she would have been horrified, but Lila would have to get used to acting like a workborn.
Lila tilted her bowl and sipped the milk.
Then nearly spat it out again.
“What the heck was I just eating?”
Dixon pointed to two words on the back of the box.
Artificial flavors.
“What does that even mean? Fairy dust and mermaid tears?” Lila dumped the rest of her milk in the kitchen sink, rinsed her bowl out, and timidly tried the next cereal. Fruit Flair covered the top of the box. A cartoon apple, orange, kiwi, banana, and strawberry danced across the front.
She ate two crunchy bites and one chewy mouthful.
The rest turned into soggy slush.
“My whole childhood has been a lie. Are there any granola bars?”
Dixon pointed over his shoulder. She retrieved the entire box, then grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl.
“You know, our welcome decorations notwithstanding, I could see staying here for a while, couldn’t you? Everyone seems to care about one another. When Blair didn’t want to be in the family business, they let her do what she wanted. They didn’t pressure her. They seem to take the same approach with their children.”
It beats the highborn approach.
“That’s a rather low bar, don’t you think?”
I miss it, though. We should start our own highborn family.
Lila raised a brow. It was the second time he’d said such a thing.
She closed one of the cereal boxes and laid it flat, then snatched up her granola bar and banged it against the cardboard like a gavel. “Honorable matrons and primes,” she said, clearing her throat and speaking to an imaginary crowd seated at the table. “We are here today at this emergency meeting of the High Council of Judges to hear a petition from Dixon Leclair. He wishes to become the thirteenth house of the New Bristol highborn, and the first chairman in the history of the Allied Lands.”
Dixon sat up. A smile played about his lips.
“What can you, Mr. Leclair, offer the good matrons of New Bristol? Why should we allow you to become a judge?”
Every henhouse needs a cock.
Lila patted his cheek. “And what a lovely little cock you have.”
BIG COCK!!!
“Ah, my mistake. I do believe your reasoning is growing on me. It’ll be rather hard for us to counter.”
Dixon rolled his eyes.
“You’re right, as always. The High Council of Judges could always do with a bit more cock.” Lila looked around the room. “All who agree that the matrons need more cock, please raise your hands.”
She pointed, counting all the imaginary hands in the room.
“I count twenty.”
Everyone raised both hands?
“No, both legs.” She winked and struck the cereal box once more. “Mr. Leclair, please tell us what color you’ve chosen for your family.”
She eyed him up and down, then put her hand upon his notepad before he could write.
“On second thought, never mind. I’m guessing you pick all of them, you greedy little shit.”
Dixon burst out into laughter.
His dimples reappeared.
“Now for your coat of arms. What animal have you chosen to represent your house?”
He pointed to his forehead.
“A unicorn?”
Dixon sighed and turned to his notepad.
“Why not unicorns—they poop rainbows, don’t they?”
Dixon considered her reasoning and offered a stiff nod.
“Mr. Leclair allows it. With the power invested in me as the only intelligent member of the New Bristol High Council of Judges, Dixon Leclair is now the newest highborn chairman in New Bristol. However, you are hereby sworn to secrecy over your new position. Unicorns are too tacky. We could never acknowledge you openly. Can you live with these terms?”
Chuckling, he nodded.
“Excellent.”
Be my chief?
“I thought you’d never ask.” Lila leaned across the table and kissed him noisily on the cheek.
A knock sounded upon the door.
Connell offered a small bow as Lila answered it. “Good after— What happened to your face?”
Lila touched her scraped forehead, her eyes flickering to Dixon.
She recounted the attack while Dixon cleaned up their breakfast dishes.
Connell punched out a message on his palm. “I’ll inform Dr. McCrae. I want her to take a look at you. In the meantime, you’ll need a new palm. Kara will have one ready for you by lunch. Any idea who could have been behind the attack?”
Lila did not want to share her thoughts until she had evidence of her suspicions. Someone had wanted to search her car and her palm, perhaps taking her out once they had finished. They’d hunted her, knowing exactly where she would be.
Only a few people knew that she had an appointment with Helen that morning.
Only Connell, Kenna, and a passed-out oracle had heard her mention it.
To Nico.
“Let’s get you to your translator.” Connell frowned when she said nothing more. “Dr. McCrae will meet us there. I’ll have her check you out before we start.”
“No. After. I want answers.”
Lila gathered up her tablet and satchel. The group left the cabin and trudged across the compound, stopping before a squat, one-story brick building, with four wings extending a hundred meters in each direction like a plus sign.
Connell approached a door at the end of a wing and slid a plastic card through a reader.
Their boots clicked against the tile in the entryway as they ducked inside. They found themselves in the middle of a lounge. A few screens and couches had been piled on one side. A pool table sat on the other. A mixed group of off-duty militia and office workers argued around it, sticks in hand. A hundred credits sat in the corner underneath a lump of chalk.
Connell nodded as they greeted him, the game forgotten as they peered at the outsiders.
The chief did not explain himself. He led Lila and Dixon down the hall, a strip of fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, highlighting the pure white walls and a corridor filled with doors.
“So, this is your security office.” Lila peeked through the windows cut into each door. Beds and furniture gave way to desks and office equipment as they moved closer to the center.
“I suppose you could call it that. We prefer our militia to stay with their own families, but some of our younger members like to have their own places when they come of age. Other times, people just need a few days away from home so that their loved ones remain their loved ones. We have communal lounges on the end of each wing and break areas. It all helps with security, especially when we have prisoners. No one can enter or leave this building without going past several pairs of eyes.”
“You arrest your own, then? I’d always heard differently.”
“We use the old ways to deal with rule breakers: communal labor, counseling, and a great deal of time volunteering with our elderly. Most people just need someone to listen. Others need to learn to wisdom and patience. Offenders need to compensate those they’ve wronged, not scrub pans as a slave. They don’t need a chip in their neck as a leash, either.”
“It’s funny you should say that. The slavery system was predicated on the old ways, compensation chief among them. The only difference is that we outsource that compensation to other families now.”
“We never sold anyone in the tribe, nor made slaves of them. Only outsiders. Granted, ‘outsiders’ had a different connotation then. You people have bastardized the concepts of slavery and compensation over the centuries.”
“So what happens when your rule breakers don’t learn their lessons? What happens when they reoffend?”
“If they reoffend, then we erred in releasing them too early. They repeat their sentence until they learn their lesson. Sometimes they’re taken to other compounds for a fresh start.”
“Sounds easy.”
“How many monsters do you know, Lila? Everyone has reasons for doing the things they do, even if it’s boredom. I’ve only known two people in my entire life who could never be made right, no matter how much time and effort you put into them. We had to deal with them in a different way.”
“How?”
“They’re downstairs in the basement.”
“With our translator?”
“Security is tight. There are no exits in the center of the building. Anyone who breaks out has to go through quite a few cameras and security personnel to escape. Every room in this place has a button that can sound the alarm for a lockdown. It’s all routed to the monitoring station.”
“Even the cells?”
“Yes. We need to know if there’s an emergency. We do prepare them for the consequences of that decision.”
“Which is?”
“If it’s not a medical emergency, they get a dose of truth serum. If they meant well, all is fine. If they didn’t, they eat a bullet.”
The group reached an empty rotunda in the center of the building, the pattern in the marble floor arranged into the oracle’s coat of arms. Connell marched to one side of the circular wall and slid his key through another reader, punching in a code on a panel. A section of the floor slid open, revealing a staircase that led into shadows.
“How often do you change your code?”
“Every few months.”
“You do realize it would take me less than a minute to hack that security panel? That’s assuming I didn’t steal your key card and type in the code I just memorized.”
“You’d still have to get past my people and the cameras.”
“Cameras are easy, and you can always get past people if you’re patient enough.”
The group’s footsteps echoed against the cement walls as they jogged downstairs. As soon as they reached the last step, Connell slid his card through another reader and punched in his code. Above their heads, the rotunda panel closed.
“There’s a delay of sixty seconds before we can continue,” Connell explained. “A signal has gone off in monitoring, forcing them to confirm our presence visually.”
“So you can trap someone who shouldn’t be here?”
“That’s the idea.” He jutted his chin toward a few vents in the walls. “If it’s a prisoner, we fill the room with lion’s kiss.”
“Lion’s kiss? The sleeping draught? I didn’t know you could buy it in gas form.”
“We do have our own chemists, Lila.”
The door opened with a hollow snick, and the group emerged in a break room. Four purplecoats sat at a table, playing a card game. Two more read quietly in a corner.
The group hopped to their feet, standing straight as their chief strode past.
“As you were.”
The group relaxed as he punched in a code to the next room.
The door closed behind them, sounding like the snapping of a coffin lid. A long corridor stretched for at least a hundred meters. A dozen purplecoats paced the halls, tranqs in hand.
“You’ll only find tranqs here. We don’t want a prisoner getting hold of live ammo and going on a shooting spree.”
“How many militia are stationed down here?”
“Usually six. I upped the number to eighteen after the mercs joined us. They take thirty-minute breaks after every hour. I don’t want them tired and bored. When they come off break, they count the prisoners before starting their next patrol through the halls.”
“Have you ever had a prisoner escape?”
Connell shook his head. “No. Alarms go off occasionally for no reason, like the one on Thursday, but we haven’t had an escape since we built the place thirty years ago.”
Lila peeked into each window as they passed. Each room had been painted in bright colors and contained a bed, a toilet, a sink, and a shelf with a row of books. The people inside hunched over their breakfast trays, eating waffles and dipping them into syrup. They’d also been given bananas and a boiled egg. Everything could be eaten without utensils.
The Italian mercs were still alive, all right, but she couldn’t say much more than that. They’d all lost weight. “Do they get exercise?”
“The room is big enough for running in place and push-ups. They have a pamphlet in their room, explaining different exercises they can do without equipment. We give them a different one every week, and we take each prisoner out every few days to see the sun.”
Lila opened her mouth, unsure what to say.
“Don’t act like we’re cruel when we’re not. They drugged our children and put them in dog cages. This is far more humane than that, and it’s far better than how their government treats its prisoners.”
“You don’t like it.”
“If it were up to me, they’d have been tried, shot, and buried already. Mòr wishes to keep them around, though. She claims they’ll be useful. I guess she’s already proven me right.”
A female purplecoat approached, her dark hair swept back into a ponytail. “Chief, I took the prisoner in cell eight to the interrogation room. He’s been under the serum for approximately half an hour.”
“Did he tell you anything interesting?”
“He’s fond of my breasts, sir. My ass too, but he’s mostly a breast man. He also hasn’t gotten laid in a year. His last time sucked. He couldn’t keep it up.”
“You do ask the important questions, don’t you, captain?”
The rest of his people averted their eyes, stifling chuckles.
“He also told me that he’s been planning to make a noose out of his bedsheets. After you question him, Dr. Patterson should take a turn.”
“Send a volunteer to fetch her.”
The woman nodded.
Lila noticed a sudden interest in most of the people around them. They all wanted a break from the drudgery of the basement. Even brightly painted concrete was still concrete.
Lila and Dixon followed Connell toward a door at the end of the hall. “We have room for thirty prisoners, not that we thought we’d get close to using every cell. These Italians have taxed our capacity. It’s a good thing you killed so many.”
Lila bit the sides of her cheeks. That was the last thing she wanted to think about.
They entered a room, trudging past two purplecoats who guarded the door. In the center, a lanky man had been restrained to a metal chair, bound by chains. He wore no shirt, and a deep scar ran from his right shoulder to his left hip. Bright tattoos covered his arms and his chest, mostly sprites and naked women.
Dr. McCrae sat before him in purple scrubs and a purple medical coat. She pressed her fingers into the prisoner’s wrist and typed a number into her palm. “Today is a good day,” she said to Connell. “Your lover has not called for me.”
“Let’s hope the trend continues. I’d like for you to take a look at our guest when we’re done.”
The doctor’s eyes strayed to Lila’s face. “She looks like she needs it. So does the prisoner. Did Fiona tell you to fetch Dr. Patterson?”
“They’re fetching her. She’ll see him when we’re done.”
“She should probably schedule a chat with the others too, just to be safe.” Dr. McCrae jutted her chin toward the prisoner. “His vitals are okay. He’s lost twelve pounds since his arrival. Mostly muscle.”
“That’s a lot,” Lila said.
“That’s on purpose,” the doctor explained. “We feed them enough so they won’t starve, but keep the protein low. We don’t want to fight against bears if they try to escape.”
“Badgers can be pretty nasty too. Especially if they’re hungry.”
“True. I suggest we up their calories a touch, chief. We want them to burn through muscle, not commit suicide. Some of them are too low, like this one here. I’d like to do some blood work as well.”
“As you wish,” Connell said. “I’ll leave it to your professional discretion. In the meantime, take a break. You’ve earned it.”
“I’d feel better if I monitored the prisoner.”
“I’d feel better if I could take him out back and shoot him. It looks like neither of us will get our wish today.”
The doctor gathered up her tools in a black leather bag and left the room. The purplecoats frowned when Connell asked them to do the same.
Once they were alone, Lila called up the first file on her tablet and sat on Dr. McCrae’s rolling stool. Dixon pulled another from the near the wall and sat beside her. He opened a laptop, opening a transcription program that would transcribe every word the Italian said. Dixon’s fingers hovered over the keys, ready to make corrections if needed.
Lila hoped he wouldn’t need to do much. She’d asked for a translator with no accent for that very reason.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Anastasio.”
“Okay, Anastasio. You’re going to take an English test. I’m going to hold up a tablet with some Italian text, and you’re going to tell me what it means in English. Do you understand the task?”
“Yes. I’m good at translation.” Anastasio’s gaze traveled southward. “You have nice breasts. Can I touch them?”
“No.” Lila peeked back at Dixon. She held up her tablet after his slight nod. “This sentence says something about nursing a snake. Is that code?”
The merc squinted at the screen. “No.”
“Translate it.”
“It wouldn’t make sense to you. Can I grab your ass, just for—”
“I’m going to grab my tranq gun if you don’t shut up about my body,” Lila grunted. “Why?”
“Because you’re a bitch?”
“I meant the sentence. Why wouldn’t it make sense to me?”
“Because you don’t speak Italian. It’s an idiom.”
“Explain it, then.”
“The sentence means that someone has begun to trust the writer. The writer is saying they will betray them in the end.”
Lila eyed Connell. “This is the first message sent. It was dated over two years ago.”
“Someone’s been inside our compound for two years?”
“At least.”
“Do you know how much information could have been sent in that time? I thought you were crazy when you went back more than six months.”
“These people are proof of how much was passed along.” Lila turned back to the prisoner. “What about this message?”
She brought up the second file.
The prisoner squinted once more. “Not stepping longer than your leg… The writer is saying that he isn’t going to bite off more than he can chew. That’s how you say it, yes?”
“He?”
“He? She? Who cares?” The prisoner shrugged. His chains rattled.
“He mentions entering a citadel. What does that mean?”
“He’s settled in somewhere and isn’t prepared to do anything more for a while. He’s boasting that he’s inside.”
Lila flipped to the next message. “This one is pure nonsense. It says something about boiling in a pot. I don’t even know what the rest means.”
“Yes, boiling in a pot. It means he’s up to something.” The man scanned through the rest of the message. “The gibberish that follows is just a list of novels.”
“What sort of novels?”
“I don’t know. The sort of boring crap teachers make you read in school.”
“So, it’s just junk to confuse my programs?” Lila snorted. “Luckily mine don’t work like that. What about the next file?”
“Same idiom. Different books.”
The mole has nothing new to report. He’s merely checking in, Dixon wrote.
“Seems like it.”
Several more messages possessed similar content.
Anastasio laughed suddenly at the next one, dated several months after the first message. “No idioms this time. This isn’t a test at all. Someone got inside your little compound, purple man. I might have been blindfolded when I came through, but I’ve seen the plans.”
“‘A hundred log houses mixed with communal buildings,’” Lila read aloud. “‘The oracle’s cabin is the biggest and oldest structure. It has a green roof. The oracle sleeps in the’—”
Connell lifted his gun at the prisoner’s head.
“That won’t help,” Lila said gently.
“I don’t care,” he replied through clenched teeth. “They know where she sleeps.”
“They know where you both sleep. I doubt they’ll get past you easily.”
Connell lowered his gun and stood up straighter. “You’re damn right they won’t. I’ll tear them to bits and eat their heart, none of this putting the bastards in cages. I’m moving her tonight. I don’t like them knowing where she is.”
“I think I know what she’ll say to that.”
“You and me both.”
Lila moved to the next file.
“Novels. Nothing of consequence,” Anastasio said, squinting at the next message. “He’s gone back to information. This one details the Star Gazer.”
“It says she might be turned like a glove,” Lila said.
“He thinks she might be easily manipulated.”
Connell snorted. “Blair would have to look up from her telescope for that.”
Dixon smiled slowly.
The group kept going through the files, with Dixon taking notes on Anastasio’s translations. Soon a pattern emerged. Some messages resorted to idioms. Others spoke in plain terms. Sometimes the writer had no problem giving out concrete information, like the militia’s patrol routes and the names of future oracles who had visited from compounds nearby. Other times, the writer clammed up, calling the oracles “the prophets of the stars.” The oracles were real, the writer claimed. The mission should be abandoned.
After several hours, they finished up the last message.
When Dr. McCrae arrived to check on the patient and Lila’s wounds, Dixon saved Anastasio’s translations and the audio file from their meeting. Lila winced as the doctor pressed too hard on her cheek.
“She’s going to be fine,” Dr. McCrae assured Connell.
The little group passed Dr. Patterson as they returned to the rotunda.
Nico stopped when he spied them in the corridor. He’d shaved again, and ironed his uniform. “I invited myself to dinner tonight, chief. I’m making something special.”
“We’ll be spoiled if you keep it up.”
“I live to serve the oracles.” Nico’s gaze flicked to Lila’s wounds. “Are those new?”
“Yes, but I’m fine.”
Lila wondered if he’d put them on her face.
“I heard you’d come back to the compound this morning,” Nico said. “I’m making plenty of food. Will you be at dinner?”
“She’ll attend if the food is worth it,” Connell answered for her.
“Oh, it’ll be worth it. You’ll knock on cabin twenty-four tonight.”
After Nico left the rotunda, Connell led Lila and Dixon from the security building, not stopping until he’d reached their porch.
“It’s funny how Nico keeps showing up exactly where we are,” Lila said.
“He probably paid someone at the gate to call him the moment you returned,” Connell replied. “Listen, I’ll be back for lunch if you need me. I need to head over to the temple and give Mòr an update.”
“Are you going to tell her what I think you’re going to tell her?”
Connell nodded. “We don’t have a mole. We have two.”
“And both seem to have different agendas.”