Redemption Song (Daniel Faust #2)(7)

“I’m between jobs right now,” I told him. “The economy being what it is.”

“I hear you, I hear you. Hey, you don’t have any financial background, do you?”

“I robbed a bank once,” I said, and Caitlin kicked my shin under the table. To their credit, Emma and Ben favored me with polite chuckles. Melanie smirked. I liked the kid.

“Daniel is too modest,” Caitlin said. “He’s helping me with a side project. Hound business.”

The courts of hell had been at each other’s throats for centuries, a bottomless nest of backstabbing and intrigue that made the Cold War look like a playground slap fight. Our particular chunk of Earth was claimed by a chess-playing hard case named Prince Sitri. According to Caitlin, he’d been on the throne since Hannibal discovered elephants, and he was so slippery he would orchestrate assassination plots against himself when he got bored, just to keep his wits sharp.

Caitlin was his hound. In other words, enforcer, sheriff, diplomat, and executioner when she had to be. Thankless job, if you ask me, but she was scary-good at it.

“Ooh, sounds secret,” Emma teased.

“Need-to-know basis,” Caitlin said.

A waiter glided over and set a tray down in front of me. Freshly cooked prawns glistened on a bed of greens and tickled my nose with a rich, spicy swirl of aromas.

“You were late,” Caitlin said, “so I ordered for you. Tiger prawns in wasabi aioli sauce. Careful, it’s hot.”

“I hate it when you do that,” I said, though I couldn’t point out a single time when her habit of ordering for me in restaurants had resulted in a bad meal.

“She did it to us, too,” Melanie muttered.

Ben studied a forkful of steaming rice. “But it’s really good.”

“I know what people like,” Caitlin said. “It’s a gift. So, Emma. Where are we on the ranch project?”

“We’re signing tomorrow. Things couldn’t be running any more smoothly.”

“Ranch project?” I asked.

Emma beamed at me. “It’s a coup.”





Four

“What kind of coup, exactly?” I asked, though part of me thought I might be happier not knowing. Damn my curiosity.

“The metaphorical kind,” Caitlin said, “but brilliant nonetheless.”

“Thank you, dear heart,” Emma turned back to me. “I’m sure you know that our prince has a more liberal policy on the cambion than some of our closest neighbors. Well, things have escalated. The Court of Night-Blooming Flowers issued an…order.”

She cast a hesitant glance at Melanie. The teenager sighed.

“I know what a pogrom is, Mom. You can say it. They’re killing everybody who’s a halfblood. Like me.”

Emma’s smile faded. I wondered how many miles away marked the line where her daughter would be murdered on sight. I wondered what I’d do, if I were in her shoes and saw that line creeping closer by the day.

“Prince Sitri,” Caitlin said, “in his eternal benevolence, has opened his arms. Any cambion who can reach our declared borders under their own power has a promise of haven. We won’t help them escape the Flowers’ territory—that would be an act of war—but we won’t turn anyone away.”

“We received fifteen new arrivals last week,” Emma said. “Half of them hadn’t eaten or slept in days. I expect another fifteen or twenty before this is all over. We needed a solution, especially for the…borderline ferals. Someplace they could work, be rehabilitated, and serve the court’s interests in peace.”

She tapped her iPhone and showed me the screen. An aerial photograph looked down over a sprawling, dusty desert ranch. I half expected to see a tumbleweed rolling down the main thoroughfare, or maybe a couple of cowboys out for a high noon showdown.

“The Silk Ranch. Four hundred miles into the desert. No neighbors until you hit Carson City.”

I squinted at the photograph. “Wait, isn’t that a brothel?”

Emma nodded. “An extremely profitable one. The current owner’s absolutely desperate to sell, though, and he’s giving it to us for a song.”

“Oh?” I said. “How’d you manage that?”

She favored me with a sly, indulgent smile, like a cat who’d stumbled upon a saucer of cream. “We of the Choir of Envy are consummate negotiators, Daniel. When we see something we want, we take it.”

Her hand tightened on Ben’s shoulder.

“We’ll find work for suitable candidates on the grounds,” she said. “It’s not all sex work, of course. Any business of that size needs support and grounds staff—”

“Gee, Mom.” Melanie’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Can I get a summer job there? I’ll be the best jizz-mopper ever!”

“Melanie!” Emma snapped. I quickly shoved a forkful of prawn in my mouth, trying to keep myself from laughing, but I couldn’t hold a straight face. Melanie grinned at me, sensing a kindred spirit at the table.

“Language,” Caitlin told Melanie, then looked sidelong at me and muttered, “Don’t encourage her.”

“The end result,” Emma said, still glaring at her daughter, “will be a sleek, efficient machine: dependable cash flow for our regional operations, a safe haven for our new refugees, and extra space on the grounds for special projects. The current staff will be replaced or made use of, depending on their potential.”