The Living End (Daniel Faust #3)(20)

“Hey,” I said, “Naavarasi.”

Both women looked my way. I raised my glass.

“You got us, fair and square. It was a good trick. Respect.”

She blinked, uncertain at first, like I might be mocking her, but then she started to smile.

“You were both completely safe,” she said, “the entire time. I wouldn’t have let anything bad happen to you.”

It was another lie-without-lying. Nothing bad from her point of view would have happened. I let that slide without comment. The important thing was that she felt safe admitting she’d tried to con us. We weren’t enemies now; we were coconspirators.

Caitlin caught my angle, like I knew she would. Her gaze flitted from me to the rakshasi as a faint smile played on her lips.

“My prince is fond of cleverness. Prince Malphas, from what I understand…not so much.”

“He is fond of nothing but profit,” Naavarasi said. “Paper. So much passion to be reaped in this world, so much joy and terror, and he obsesses over paper.”

“Choir of Greed,” Caitlin told me with a what-can-you-do? shrug. She sipped her sparkling water and looked back to Naavarasi. “I understand he annexed your old realm, is that right?”

“Annexed? He ruined—” Naavarasi started to say, then caught herself. She wanted to let it all out. I could feel her aching to talk, but she also knew that the enemy of her enemy wasn’t necessarily her friend. She was still accountable to Prince Malphas. For now.

“…my realm is no longer what it was,” she said, sullen. “But they gave me a title, and a seat on a council I’ve never bothered attending, and twenty acres of land in hell. I’m told it’s nice.”

Caitlin stood, smoothed her skirt, and said, “Could you excuse us just a moment?”

She tapped my shoulder. I followed her out of the conference room. She shut the door behind us.

“You found the key to her lock,” Caitlin said.

I shrugged. “You can’t treat Naavarasi like she’s part of the courts. You heard her—she hates what Malphas did to her, and she doesn’t want to assimilate. Honors and awards from your people just insult her. Imagine if somebody gave you a trophy for ‘making such a great effort to be a real human being.’ You’d be pissed.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Praise her on her own terms, and show she’s valued for what she is: a rakshasi queen. She’s starving for that. We know she’s plotting against Malphas. All she wants is a little understanding. Give it to her and she’ll play right into Sitri’s hands.”

“And is that wise?” Caitlin said. “Given her designs on you, to clasp a poisonous snake to our breast?”

“Would you rather she be out in the wild, plotting and planning who knows what? Or someplace close where we can keep an eye on her? Of course we can’t trust her, that’s her nature. We don’t need to trust her if we can see her coming in advance. Besides, if she thinks there’s a chance she’ll get Sitri’s full support when she makes her move against Malphas, she has less reason to try to snare me again.”

Caitlin broke into a smile and pulled me into her arms.

“You,” she murmured into my ear as her fingernails played through my hair, “are learning to think like one of us.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

“I need to have a private chat with Naavarasi before she heads back to Denver,” Caitlin mused as she pulled away. “Feel her out. Seduce her a bit.”

“Can I at least get pictures?” I said, wriggling my eyebrows like Groucho Marx.

She swatted my arm. “If it was that kind of seduction, I might invite you to join in. Maybe. Come over tomorrow? Swing by around ten and we’ll go surprise Melanie.”

“Will do,” I said, then paused. I pointed down a random hallway and gave her a questioning look. Caitlin took my hand and pushed it until my finger aimed down a totally different corridor.

“That way,” she said. “First left, next left, then second right.”

I repeated the directions in my head, all the way to the stairs.

? ? ?

I wanted a drink, but not here. Winter wasn’t my kind of place. I was about one demographic too old, one decade out of fashion, and two tax brackets too poor to hang with this crowd. The Tiger’s Garden was more my scene and had the added bonus of exclusivity. If you weren’t a bona fide magician, you didn’t get in the door. Or find the door.

Still, I lingered on the edge of the dance floor a bit, taking in the vibe and nodding my head to the spine-throbbing beat. Then I looked over toward the bar and my teeth clenched.

She’d layered on a raccoon mask of makeup and her little black dress was shorter than my temper, but I’d recognize that mop of neon blue hair from a mile away. I cut through the crowd like a shark spotting a manatee, moved up behind her, and snatched the drink from her hand.

“Hey!” Melanie shouted, turning—then she saw my face and froze. “Oh. Oh, hey.”

I sipped her drink. Some kind of fruity strawberry thing with enough rum to knock out a mule.

“Hey, Melanie. Think you’re a little young for this, by about three years.”

“That’s not what my ID says.”