The Unmaking (The Last Days of Tian Di, #2)
Catherine Egan
for
Meredith Egan & Lucy Liberato
as they come into their own powers
Chapter
1
Abimbola Broom was worried. He rarely had cause to worry and was finding it most uncomfortable. He looked out the window of the car at the dark, wet streets flashing by. It had been raining for days now and the weather matched his mood. His driver, Miles, took the corner hard, turning onto Victory Avenue, and the long black car roared up the hill to Abimbola’s estate. Only when the car pulled up at his front door did Abimbola stir from his anxious reverie. Neglecting to say goodbye to Miles, who was standing in the downpour to open the car door for him, he trotted up the front steps holding his briefcase over his head to keep off the rain.
Abimbola fumbled with his keys and opened the front door. Most of the house was dark but there was a light coming from the Visitor’s Parlor. There, Abimbola’s wife, Nekane, was sitting in the most comfortable chair and reading a book. This irritated him unduly. It seemed all she ever did lately was read romances and he didn’t see why she had to do it in the most elegant room in the house. Nekane got up to greet him. As always he was struck by how beautiful she was. Having her at his side had been one of his greatest joys once, and it had been easy in those days to delight her with expensive gifts and exotic vacations. She had seemed to admire him then, to enjoy having a powerful and influential man as her husband. But over the years she had grown cool, indifferent. The kiss she placed on his cheek was dry and perfunctory. He despised the groveling unhappiness her disinterest caused him and this made him treat her cruelly.
“Are the girls asleep?” he asked, glancing disapprovingly at the book she had left open on her chair.
“Yes,” she answered, adding pointedly, “It’s late.”
It was an invitation to quarrel but he was too beset by other anxieties to engage with her tonight. Without another word, he turned and went up the broad, carpeted stairs to his study. He had forgotten to eat supper and was quite hungry. He would call the maid and have her bring him a drink and something to eat.
Abimbola’s study overlooked the city of Kalla, the great capital of Central Di Shang. Tonight it was a maze of lights hunched against the November rain. He used to look out over the city in triumph, a self-made king in this kingless republic. But the more you have, Abimbola thought glumly, the more you have to lose. Abimbola’s father had become wildly rich in the early years of the long war, selling fake charms supposed to protect the wearer against Magic. “One man’s tragedy is another man’s opportunity,” his father had been wont to say. The lesson was not lost on young Abimbola, who started up a newspaper, peddling horrifying, apocalyptic stories of the havoc wreaked by the Xia Sorceress, her inhuman allies and the treacherous Scarpathians. He outsold all his competitors easily. Within a decade, he owned most of the major news outlets and TV stations in the Republic, as well as stock in a great many other businesses. His finances and multiple businesses were run by people who were eminently competent and, more importantly, terrified of him. Abimbola inflicted anxiety and fear on others as a matter of course. He was not used to experiencing them himself.
Another peculiar feature of great wealth, Abimbola thought, was that the more one had, the more one seemed to need. The things Abimbola considered necessities expanded as fast as his tabloid empire – the estate with its swimming pool and tennis courts, the extravagant parties and vacations, the fleet of sleek, aggressive cars, the private jet, his second and third homes on the coast and the 100-foot yacht he never used. For Abimbola, there was no such thing as enough. He depended heavily on his investments but did not like to gamble. He liked to know exactly what he could expect. He liked to know things that no one else knew. To the rest of the world, Abimbola’s financial decisions seemed prescient. He was lauded for unerring instinct. But it was not instinct that told himwhen to buy or sell stock. It was the Cra.
For obvious reasons, the Cra were among the most hated of the beings that had ever crossed over from Tian Xia. While many of them remained in Tian Xia feeding off small animals, the bolder among them refused to be denied their natural prey, the human infant. They came to Di Shang and raided hospitals, orphanages, undefended villages. Since the end of the war, however, the military had become increasingly skilled at hunting them down. The situation became desperate for the Cra.
Though neither their Magic nor their physical strength was very great, the Cra did have particular skills that were useful to Abimbola. They could fly. They were swift and stealthy. They were adept in basic spells, particularly the enchantment of objects and hypnotism. In other words, they were ideal spies and thieves. The exchange of services was simple. Abimbola controlled information. To a certain extent, the news in the Republic was what he said it was. If an attack by the Cra was not in the news, there was no public outrage, hence no government funding, hence no military counter-strike. He kept the Cra out of the news as much as possible and funded several fake orphanages and a fraudulent adoption service in Huir-Kosta, through which he provided the Cra with a relatively steady supply of unwanted babies.
The Cra repaid him royally. They soared, dark shadows down gleaming hallways, enchanting sophisticated alarm systems, charming open locks and safes, hypnotizing guards. They brought Abimbola the most secret information of the most powerful companies in the Republic. He knew where to invest, when to sell. If the company was corrupt, bribery was a simple matter. For years it had been the perfect partnership and Abimbola had come to depend on it absolutely. Doing honest business was no longer possible. But now something was going wrong. Something or someone was decimating the Cra.