Disreputable Allies (Fates of the Bound Book 1)

by Wren Weston

  He laughed. Yes, fuck. If you can’t stand him, then why are you blushing? Why do you look?

  Lila ignored his question.

  Dixon doodled on the side of the page for a few minutes before scrawling. He always lets me have what I want even when he wants it more.

  “Why?”

  Slave’s habit? Because he loves me? Sometimes he should love himself more, don’t you think?

  Lila rested her cheek on Dixon’s shoulder, not knowing what to say. He squeezed her closer, and they looked up at the stars for a time. She nearly drifted away to dreams despite the cold. It was then that Lila understood why she enjoyed being around Dixon so very much.

  He calmed her. He quieted the whirring and clinking in her mind. His silence and the silence it created within soothed her like a warm fire on a cold night. He had always been difficult to turn away from.

  Tristan flicked the switch, made it spin in double time. He tired her out.

  “You’re impossible, Dixon.”

  No, just improbable. Don’t think well of me. I wanted bragging rights. I won’t ever let him forget that I kissed you first. Not ever.

  Lila poked his ribs, and Dixon squirmed and laughed. In the alley below, Samantha looked up from her patrol.

  “I have to go, Dixon,” she said, hiding her face. “Thanks for taking care of my clothes.”

  No problem. Tristan and the others are proud. It meant more than laundry to him. Try to remember that.

  Lila nodded and ducked back through the window.

  Chapter 18

  Lila slipped on her fluffy white robe and flopped down on the edge of the wet tub, applying ointment and a few bandages to her heels. Her stomach churned at the smell. She had stayed up all night digging into the second Liberté account, an account owned by Sun Leasing Company, a company in name only. It possessed no ties to any highborn or lowborn companies in the commonwealth, not even in the empire as far as she could tell, and there was no trace of an owner or receptionist. Even the company’s address had been a lie, for it belonged to a small museum up north, a museum devoted to a long-dead composer.

  While the account holder had been careful, the people sending money or receiving it might have been sloppy. Lila soon turned her attention to them, hoping for a break. Natalie Holguín, along with scores of others, had been making regular payments to the company on the first of every month. Lila might have dismissed the payments as rent, but the amounts were too high. Why had a leasing company paid off two blackcoats, anyway? Why had it paid off Slack & Roberts? They were lawyers who specialized in criminal law, not real estate.

  Why did several of the accounts seem so damn familiar?

  It hadn’t been until she received the sixth alert on her palm that she realized where she’d seen them before.

  The BIRD job.

  She’d pulled up the folder on her desktop computer immediately, nearly kicking herself for not realizing the connection at Chaucer’s Ghost. The folder contained all the information her father had sent her for the BIRD job. Lila had done extensive research on every highborn that had been bribed. She’d then made a list of their bank account numbers, looking for patterns.

  It didn’t take her long to track down the two familiar accounts. One belonged to Bo Park, a distant cousin of Suji Park. Chairwoman Weberly’s niece owned the other.

  Natalie Holguín also graced the list.

  The three names and accounts could not be a coincidence.

  Sun Leasing belonged to Zephyr.

  That meant that Muller and Davies also worked for the snoop, just like Slack & Roberts.

  When the seventh alert hit her palm, she hadn’t let it fluster her. She just needed a bit more time. Zephyr might be racing through the layers of her fake identity, but the snoop still had to put together those small inconsistencies, the bits she did not have the access to change, like a photograph torn into pieces must be reassembled to glimpse the whole.

  This photograph would not reveal a person, though; it would only reveal an amalgam of personalities. Pieces that could never quite fit together, slightly jagged and mismatched, shreds of different portraits of different people.

  The finished photograph would give Prolix away in the end.

  But that wouldn’t happen until Zephyr tried to put it together and recognized something was wrong with the data. It wouldn’t be possible, shouldn’t be possible, until all the layers had been stripped away.

  Only five remained.

  But Lila had found Zephyr’s trail at last.

  Unfortunately, she still had a day job. A day job that required more attention than she could give it at the moment, and required several cups of coffee to attempt. She dressed and returned to her office on a nearly healed ankle, handling the most urgent reports first, letting the rest of her paperwork pile higher and higher.

  Luckily, Commander Sutton picked up the slack, becoming concerned when Lila did not rush down to the cafeteria at breakfast. Lila only skipped waffles or pancakes when she was sick or stressed or busy.

  To her credit, Sutton didn’t ask for an explanation. She slipped a plate of food on Lila’s desk and took a stack of reports, asking if she might have the pleasure of handling the ten o’clock commanders’ meeting.

  Then she’d kicked Lila out of her office before noon, shooing her back to the great house for lunch.

  Lila didn’t complain; she’d intended to return all along.

  She strolled back into the great house five minutes before noon and wiped her boots on the front mat, declining to surrender her blackcoat to Isabel. The workborn had been cleaning a vase when she entered. Isabel bowed nervously as Lila padded deeper into the house and closer to the worst sort of racket. The noise emanating from the kitchen rivaled the most petulant teenager’s room. A pop-punk tune blared through the speakers, each verse sung in French while the chorus blurred by in rapid-fire Spanish. Chef bobbed at the counter, tilting a large metal bowl, and whisked its contents in time to the beat. A bag of chocolate chips perched precariously on the edge of the counter.

  Lila frowned, a bit annoyed that she had pressing business on the Wilson compound. One never missed Chef’s cookies.

  Not ever.

  Alex paused mid-chuckle from her perch on a barstool and turned down the music to a dull throb. “Chef’s making cookies.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Her cookies are so much better than Chef Louisa’s.” Alex’s fingers darted toward the bag for a chocolate chip.

  “You can compliment me all you want. You’re still a vulture.” Chef smacked Alex’s knuckles with her whisk. Chunks of dough sprayed the counter.

  “I stopped trying things like that when I was seven,” Lila said, and kissed Chef’s cheek. “Apparently you’re a slow learner, Alex. Chef’s sweet as sugar, but one does not steal nibbles from her.”

  Alex slumped on her barstool and rubbed the back of her hand. “I take it back. Your cooking is horrible.”

  “I wouldn’t say things you don’t mean. Chef has an annoyingly long memory.”

  Chef measured out a space between her hands, then kept extending it and extending it.

  “Yes, yes, I get it! Smartasses. Both of you.”

  “I like our side better.” Lila grinned at Chef, peeking at the dough.

  “I think Chef should open her own restaurant, don’t you, Lila? Then I could just buy her cookies no matter what I’ve said or done. She’d make twice the credits she makes now, maybe more.”

  “I don’t have the money to go into business for myself.”

  “I’ve told you a million times that I’d invest,” Lila reminded her, hopping up on the counter. “I’d even let you buy me out later as long as I get to eat free for the rest of my life.”

  Chef fixed her with a glare, and Lila quickly abandoned the counter for a barstool. “Just say the word, and we’
ll go look at properties.”

  “Why on earth would I do that? If I went bankrupt, I’d lose my mark.”

  “So? Mother would buy you back in a heartbeat. She increased your salary by fifty percent after Chairwoman Holguín offered you a contract. There’s no way she’d let you go to someone else no matter how much anyone bid. You’d just have to stay with us for the rest of your life as a slave. How is that any different than now?”

  “All I’d have would be pocket money from my slave’s stipend and no mark. I couldn’t even leave the compound or use a palm without permission. Owning a business is overrated. It’s a fool’s game, and I’m too old to play it.” Chef tossed a few handfuls of chocolate chips into the bowl and began to stir them into the dough.

  “What if the Slave Bill passes?”

  “What if it does? I’m happy where I am. My servant’s contract is exceedingly generous.”

  “Yeah, but you’d be the boss,” Alex said. “No one would be able to tell you what to do or where to—”

  “Except for every customer who comes through the door, complaining that their soup is too hot or too cold, that their entrée is too salty or not salty enough, that the cookies don’t have enough chocolate chips or that they have too many.”

  “Blasphemy,” Lila interjected.

  “Right now, I cook for the most influential family in all of Saxony, and not a one of them complains unless I cook liver.”

  “Jewel complains all the time,” Alex pointed out.

  “That’s President Randolph to you, young lady,” Chef corrected her sternly. “And she doesn’t count. When someone complains all the time, no one listens. What’s in a business for me, anyway? What’s the point if I’ll only chase my tail every hour of every day? My kids are grown. If they want to want to be lowborn, they’ll have to earn it on their own.”

  Lila knew Chef’s children, had played with them as a kid, even though both of them were slightly older. One had become a nurse, the other a phlebotomist, both acquiring jobs at Randolph General. It had only taken a whisper into the right ear to ensure they were hired. Chef suspected. Her children did not.

  Both had been affected by their elder sister’s illness and death, prompting them to enter the medical field. Lila would do anything to keep that sort of talent and motivation at Randolph General.

  Besides, they’d earned their place.

  “Just say the word, Chef. If you ever change your mind, I’ll help make it happen.”

  “You’re a good kid when you aren’t being a bossy, sarcastic little grouch,” Chef said, patting her cheek.

  Lila’s lips crooked in a smile. “You forgot sneaky.” She held up a handful of chocolate chips and backed out of reach of Chef’s whisk. She popped them in her mouth and sighed theatrically. “Come on, Alex. I’ll take you to Violet’s. We’ll get some proper chocolate.”

  “Really?”

  “You won’t get any cookies today after such slights, and neither will I.”

  “I’d give you a cookie, but only one. I’m sure there’s a clause in my contract about it. You’re vultures, both of you.”

  Alex had stopped listening. She was too intent on Lila’s face. She hopped off her barstool and followed Lila, stopping only to collect her coat.

  After the pair reached the garage, Alex leaned against Lila’s silver Adessi roadster and refused to go any farther. “You didn’t ask me to come with you for chocolate. You want something. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “I didn’t try to hide it.”

  “I know. Out with it.”

  Lila slid her fingers over the glossy paint of the antique car, stalling. “Yesterday we talked about you visiting your mother.”

  “I remember. I was there.” Alex stiffened. “My answer is the same as yesterday. I have nothing to say to that woman.”

  “I remember. Unfortunately, I have to ask you again.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I need a ticket into your mother’s office.”

  Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why you asked me yesterday?”

  “No. I did that because Simon wanted me to, but late last night some information came into my possession. That information has led me to your mother. I need to see her, and I need a way to do it without stirring up tensions between the Wilsons and the Randolphs. You’re the only way I can think of, not unless I want to wait until the season starts. That’s more than a month away, though. It might be too late then.”

  “Why do you need to see her?”

  “I have a few questions.”

  “You’re talking like she’s some suspect you’ve found trespassing on Randolph property. What is this about, Lila?”

  “You already know what it’s about.”

  Alex studied Lila’s face. It took several moments for her face to lighten. “Simon? This is about my brother?”

  “Of course. What else would it be about?”

  “You won’t convince my mother to budge on Simon. She’s too hardheaded.”

  “I’m not going there to convince her. If I’m right, then the end result of this meeting could result in Simon’s freedom.”

  “Oh,” Alex said, mulling over the implications. “It’s bad, isn’t it? What she’s done?”

  Lila nodded. “I’m not going to bullshit you. If I’m right, your mother is involved in something serious. She’ll go to trial, and she’ll likely be hanged. You’ll be part of what tied the noose around her neck. You don’t have to be a part of this. It’s a heavy burden.”

  “It’s also a heavy prize. Maybe she deserves it. Maybe I want to be involved.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “What if I do? Do you think you were the only one who played games with her matron? Some of us weren’t so lucky. Some of us would still be playing if…” Alex brushed a bit of flour from her skirt. “What makes you think that she’ll even see me?”

  “She’ll do it to save face. The season is coming. There’s no telling what I might say if I’m annoyed with her, no telling what rumors I might spread and who I might spread them to. She’ll want our business long concluded before the season starts. She needs willing senators if she’s going to have an heir.”

  Alex rubbed the little scar on her neck, the healed over imprint of her slave’s chip. Healed, but marked and not forgotten. “I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m highborn,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height. “Daughter of Senator Elias Hardwicke-Craft and prime to the Wilson Empire. Becoming a slave hasn’t dulled or rusted my mettle. I might not walk among you any longer, but my nature hasn’t changed.”

  Lila took down a set of keys from a peg near the door, unlocking the Adessi. While Alex buckled up, Lila connected her palm to the vehicle’s port. One of her programs came up immediately, allowing her to disengage the GPS system. She then used the palm to locate and toss out all bugs she found hidden inside the roadster.

  Lila patted her pocket, which contained the bug stolen from her motorcycle. She had played with it after dinner while waiting for Tristan’s call the night before. It only responded to her and her receiver now. She had learned well from her mother and her commander.

  Lila pulled out of the garage and passed by the gatehouse, waving to Sergeant Hill and his rookie. The radio in the Adessi had been tuned to opera, and neither woman reached out to change it. Not even Alex, who loathed such music. She remained quiet as they drove through the city, head cocked to one side, eyes roaming the streets, the buildings, the cars, the signs. She studied life outside the compound hungrily, as it was something she rarely saw unless Lila had time to take her out. Her hands sat in her lap, thumb tapping, betraying her thoughts.

  Too soon, they reached the crumbling Wilson estate. A battering ram or a semi might have bent the front gate, given the large dent in the ce
nter. Engineers had replaced a bolt in one of the bottom hinges with a thick beam of steel the size of an infant’s arm. Dark smudges marred the Wilson coat of arms on the gate, two intertwined serpents ready to strike. Someone had welded it back together after a bad break. Make Your Own Good Fortune peeked beneath the weld. Wires flowed out of the instrument panel in the guard post beside them, some taped together with worn duct tape.

  The gate’s electronic lock sparked suddenly, arcing into the sky in a sizzling blue light.

  Alex’s brows rose. “You’ve been sparing my feelings, haven’t you?”

  “What good would it have done you?”

  “I’m an adult, Lila, not a child.”

  A guard knocked on the car window—a sergeant, by the stars on his collar.

  “Name?” he asked when Lila rolled down the window. His voice was bored and hoarse, as though he had been yelling all night. He clicked the tip of a pen and started writing the time on his clipboard.

  Lila rested her elbow on the window. “Elizabeth Victoria Lemaire-Randolph and Alexandra Craft-Wilson, here to see the chairwoman.”

  The guard dropped his clipboard to his thigh and stared back and forth between the two women. “Do you have an appointment?” he asked, face paling, voice rising.

  “No.”

  “Please state your business.”

  “My business is none of yours. Tell Chairwoman Wilson that I am here to escort her daughter into the compound. See that she accepts a meeting, or I’ll remember you when my family takes over, sergeant.”

  The blackcoat wheeled around and sprinted back into the guard post. He yanked an earpiece from the wall and shouted into it, gesturing into the air.

  Soon after, the gate opened.

  The sergeant did not return.

  Lila drove into the compound. A Wilson militia cruiser sat on the other side, waiting to follow them in.

  Her initial amusement faded quickly, for the inside of the estate was much worse than she could have imagined. Chairwoman Wilson had shuttered half the buildings, chained the entrances, boarded up the windows, then left them for the elements and scurrying beasts to claim. The broken roofs had been ignored, as had the crumbling bricks and splintered doors. Wilson’s disgruntled family had done the rest, tagging them with more graffiti than a workborn slum. The word waiting crept up frequently, written in block letters, as did existing with a giant question mark. Here and there, a red phoenix had been stenciled, no larger than Lila’s palm.