Mercenary

by Jennifer Blackstream

  “Good morning,” Ian said as I approached the table. “I see you’ve managed to survive despite your less than encouraging start to this endeavor.”

  “You don’t bother with niceties, do you?” I muttered.

  “I saved your life,” he pointed out. “If you don’t consider that nice, then perhaps your standards are a bit high?”

  I bit back the urge to say he hadn’t saved my life. He’d agreed to an exchange, however paltry, and he couldn’t demand anything more now. I paused and considered my seating options.

  Ian’s early arrival meant he’d taken the coveted corner seat. I had to sit beside him in easy arm’s reach, or sit across from him with my back to the door. I didn’t like either option, but I opted to sit opposite him. Peasblossom would tell me if someone came inside.

  I sat down, trying not to notice that Ian had pulled both sets of silverware in front of him. I didn’t remember Goodfellows including knives in their rolled silverware.

  Ian watched me settle in, then sat forward. “I know about your contract with Flint.”

  I froze. “I’m sorry?”

  He folded his hands on the table, and met my eyes. “I’ve known Barbara and Roger for over ten years. You understand why, given the circumstances, I felt an obligation to make certain your interest in…helping Roger was not unduly influenced.”

  “So you investigated me to make sure I’m not the threat Barbara thinks I am?” I asked.

  Ian narrowed his eyes. “Because of you, Roger is in danger of being killed by the magic that holds him. You can hardly blame Barbara for her ire toward you, even if she is mistaken about exactly how you put her husband in the hospital.”

  “I tried to stop him,” I said evenly. “He kept talking. Whoever put that binding spell on him is the one responsible for his current state, not me.”

  “I can see why you’d like to believe that. But whatever you choose to believe, the fact remains that you are no longer welcome at the Temple residence. In fact, I would advise you stay out of Barbara’s way. And perhaps invest in a bullet proof vest.”

  I stared at him. “You think she’ll try to shoot me again.”

  Ian tilted his head. “You sound surprised. Make no mistake, Barbara is not just Roger’s wife. And she is not his secretary as some would have you believe. Barbara is his partner, and what’s more, if she wanted to, she could perform Roger’s duties without him. And when Roger’s situation is resolved, either by his death or by his recovery, Barbara will return her attention to you. It would be best if you do not give her a reason to believe you are a threat. So I’ll tell you again, walk away, Ms. Renard. Walk away from this case, these people, and don’t look back.”

  “What do you mean she could do it without him? You mean she can substitute while he’s…unavailable, or do you mean she could replace him permanently?”

  “I have no doubt she could replace him if she were so inclined.” Ian nodded. “Barbara is a strong, smart woman. In some ways, I think Roger’s temporary absence will be a boon to her in the long run. For now, she’s running the show behind the scenes, protecting Roger and his reputation in anticipation of his return to full health—mental and physical. But eventually, people will discover the truth, they always do. And those who made the mistake of underestimating her will see how wrong they were.”

  Great, so now there was someone else with an interest in seeing me dead. A human, how refreshing. I grabbed one of the sets of silverware and put it deliberately in front of me. “Putting Barbara’s dislike for me aside, I’d like to know why you raised the subject of my situation with Flint.”

  “I want you to know that you are not the only one to whom Flint has made himself a nuisance.” Genuine annoyance crept into his tone and he grabbed his water. “The man is the bad penny of the court. He turns up—uninvited—to every social function worth mentioning. He’s inserted himself into countless situations that don’t concern him, and is generally considered a pest by most of the court.”

  He took a sip of his water. “If he put you on this case to attempt to frame me, then you should know I will have no choice but to defend myself. Whatever that entails.”

  “Why would he want to frame you?” I asked suspiciously.

  Before Ian could answer, Alexandra approached the table, a bowl of honey already in her hand. Peasblossom leapt off my shoulder and glided to the lip of the bowl.

  “Blood and bones, let her put it down first,” I said, exasperated.

  Alexandra just smiled. “Can I get you some tea, Shade?”

  “Yes, please, lemon and honey.”

  “And you, sir?”

  “I will have some tea, thank you. Just milk and a single sugar cube, please.”

  “Very good.”

  I looked at Ian after Alexandra left. “So you believe Flint wants me to frame you for what happened to Roger?”

  “I had considered the possibility.” He met my eyes. “Did he?”

  “No one has told me what the outcome of this case should be,” I said firmly. “And as far as I’m concerned, if Flint asked me to frame anyone, that would be a violation of my honor.”

  A lock of brown hair slid across Ian’s forehead as he tilted his head to study me. “Yes, I’ve heard of your negotiations with the bad penny. The contracts you sign with your FBI partner, giving your word to your familiar. The way you weave your little web to protect yourself from the worst he would have you do is the talk of the court.”

  I didn’t like that. Not at all. There was no world, no plane of existence where I wanted to be the talk of a sidhe court.

  Ian leaned closer, and his eyes brightened with a glimmer of emerald green light. “I don’t know why, but your relationship with Flint is causing tongues to wag. Tongues that have been silent for many, many years.” He sat back in his seat, studying me now. “I don’t know why this particular contract has caused such a stir, but believe me when I say, everything Flint is doing right now is for a reason. And if he’s letting you get away with your tricks and manipulations, then there’s a reason for that. Everything you think and feel right now is exactly what he wants you to think and feel. Remember that.”

  “Stasya is dead.”

  The words exploded from my mouth, cast out as more of an attempt to ward off the paranoia threatening to wash over me than any sort of strategy. Ian’s features froze, the emotion draining from his face as if he’d turned to a statue before my eyes.

  “She’s dead?”

  I’d expected him to play dumb, to act as though he didn’t know who Stasya was. My eyebrows rose, and I nodded slowly.

  Ian picked up his silverware, squeezed it, then set it down again. “You’re certain it’s Stasya?”

  “I got the DNA test results back this morning.”

  Ian closed his eyes, then immediately forced them open. “You are a witch, not a scientist. Is it possible your test was wrong? Compromised?”

  “I didn’t run the test myself.” I sat up straighter, perturbed by his reaction. “The test was run by a qualified technician, in a forensics lab.”

  “Who?”

  “Does it matter?” I frowned. “Did you know Stasya?”

  Ian rubbed the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “This is my fault. I knew something was wrong when she didn’t show up at the rendezvous.”

  “Rendezvous?” I leaned forward, trying to make him look me in the eye. “How did you know Stasya?”

  Alexandra arrived with our tea. She met my eyes and held them as she set my cup down, and it wasn’t until then that I realized how wound up the conversation about Flint had gotten me. I released my grip on the table and smiled at her, trying to look as reassuring as I could with all the questions parading around my brain.

  My smile seemed to be all Alexandra needed to reassure herself I was okay, and she put Ian’s tea down and left.

  “Roger made a mistake when he put Scoria Security in a position to qualify for government work.” He freed his spoon from the napkin and paper rin
g and stirred his tea, the silver striking the sides of the cup in sharp staccato clinks. “Aaban has tried to get a government contract for years, but for this reason and that, he’s never been successful. With Roger’s help, that could change.”

  “You make it sound like something bad is going to happen.”

  Ian’s face grew more serious. “I don’t shy away from competition, Ms. Renard. But Aaban believes that if he could be the one in charge of the work the government does in his homeland, that he could somehow accomplish what needed to be done without the collateral damage. I understand his goals, and I even applaud his vision. But war, real war, is not like that. There are always casualties.”

  “I think Aaban is uniquely aware of those casualties,” I pointed out. “An ifrit’s purpose in life is to avenge the atrocities that result from war.”

  “Exactly,” Ian said grimly. “An ifrit’s job is to punish. It is their nature. So tell me, what do you suppose will happen if Aaban gets a government contract? Private military companies are not armies. We are not there to fight—in fact we are not permitted to fight, only to defend ourselves. Do you think Aaban could perform his job, see the chaos around him, and not participate? Not step in and punish the wicked he sees?”

  “I see your point,” I admitted. “It is hard to believe Aaban would be able to concentrate on repairing a pipeline if he saw people dying in the village around him. But Aaban knows what he’s signing up for, he obviously believes he’s capable.”

  “And how many people do you know who can be completely honest with themselves about their own ability when it comes to not doing something they desperately want to do?” Ian asked quietly. “Aaban believes he’s found a way to save lives, instead of coming in at the end when all that’s left to him is to punish the ones who took those lives. I don’t blame him for his desire to make a difference. But I do not believe it will work out the way he thinks it will.”

  “Would it make a difference to your thinking if I told you Aaban’s company employs a wide variety of people, not just ifrits?” I asked. “If he does not intend to go on the missions himself, if he’s merely orchestrating the job from afar, then he would not be tempted as you fear he would.”

  “I’m aware he has broad hiring practices,” Ian admitted. “As do I. It’s a sound strategy for making certain you can rise to any occasion.”

  I stirred my tea and tried to keep my voice casual. “Still, it seems a little risky to hire baobhan sidhe. Bloodlust can be a definitive disadvantage in a war zone.”

  Ian paused with his lips on the edge of his tea cup. His green eyes met mine, and he stared at me for a second as if trying to read the meaning behind what I’d said.

  “Baobhan sidhe. Was that a random example, or do you have a specific reason for asking about my bloodthirsty kin?”

  “Why do you ask?” I responded evenly.

  Ian sat up straight and pushed his tea away, all trace of good humor gone from his face. “Ms. Renard, please. I need to know why you asked about baobhan sidhe. Do they have something to do with Stasya?”

  “Baobhan sidhe blood was found outside the building where I found Stasya’s remains,” I said slowly.

  Peasblossom paused with a honey-covered fist hovering in front of her sticky mouth. She met my eyes, waiting for me to tell Ian about what she’d said, about the baobhan getting shot. I looked away, silently telling her not to say anything yet.

  Ian stared into space, not seeing me anymore. “Then I suppose the joke is on me, isn’t it?” He laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound. “Well done, Charbel.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “One of my employees went missing around the night Roger had his incident. I’d thought it a coincidence. Hoped it was a coincidence. But we’d quarreled recently. I knew he was angry with me, but I never thought…”

  “What happened?” I asked, my tone harder this time. “Where do you think they are?”

  “I believe Aaban convinced one of my employees to switch sides.” He pressed his fingertips to his temples and shook his head. “I should have seen this coming. Nathan was restless, he was the perfect target for a demon who shared his bloodlust.”

  “You think Aaban hired a baobhan sidhe from your company to kill Stasya?” I shook my head. “Aaban had no reason to want her dead.”

  “I gave him a reason,” Ian said tiredly. He groped for his tea and pulled it closer, but made no move to drink it. “You asked what my relationship was with Stasya.” He shook his head again, then met my eyes. “I was her new boss.”

  Chapter 14

  “Her new boss?” I put my cup down on the table, ignoring the way some of my tea sloshed over the side to coat the mug and table with tacky, honey-laden liquid.

  Ian closed his hands around his tea cup, staring at the pale milky liquid as if it held answers to questions he hadn’t asked yet.

  “I don’t understand.” I unwrapped my silverware and used the napkin to mop up what I could of my tea from the table and the outside of my mug. “Stasya was brought over here specifically for the mission Roger assigned them. I can’t believe they would have brought over someone they didn’t trust implicitly. How did you convince her to leave?”

  “It wasn’t as difficult as you might think.” Ian took a sip of his tea. “Romantic entanglements often compromise otherwise solid relationships.”

  I dropped my napkin. “Stasya was romantically involved with Aaban Nassir?”

  Ian shook his head. “Not Aaban. His brother, Charbel.”

  Beside me, Peasblossom quit shoveling honey into her mouth long enough to gape at Ian. “He was dating a centaur?”

  “So you saw an opportunity to drive a wedge between them,” I accused.

  Ian ran a hand through his hair, shoving the errant curl back into place. “I realize it must sound sordid, but it truly wasn’t. Aaban didn’t like the relationship developing between his brother and his employee, and he made no secret of that fact. It put a great deal of stress on both Charbel and Stasya, and Stasya was growing increasingly resentful.”

  I slumped back in my seat, trying to remember Charbel’s reaction at Arianne’s when we talked about the missing centaur. He hadn’t batted an eye. Who was he hiding his reaction from? Me or his brother? “How did you know about the relationship?” I asked.

  “Fight clubs are notorious for gossip.” He paused and looked at me as he picked up his cup again. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of the fight club—”

  “The one at Fortuna’s Stables?” I interrupted pointedly. “Yes, I’ve heard of it.”

  Ian inclined his head. “Then perhaps you are not as terrible at your job as first appearances would suggest.”

  I bristled, but he continued before I could respond.

  “Stasya was a frequent visitor to the fight club. I believe she went there to work out her frustrations.”

  “I’m surprised you frequent that sort of place,” I muttered. “Have some frustrations to work out, do you?”

  His eyes glittered. “I don’t go there myself. But there is a powerful wizard there who does work for me on occasion, and he can be quite chatty.”

  If what Ian was saying was true, then I’d been wrong before. The ifrits did have a reason to want Stasya dead. But if it was the ifrits, then why had my attacker last night tried to make it look like he was an ifrit when he wasn’t?

  “You’re frowning. Is something wrong?”

  “Last night I was attacked by a fire elemental and a stone giant. The fire elemental was wearing a fireproof suit that covered everything but his eyes and hands. It seemed like he wanted to look like an ifrit.” I drummed my fingernails on my tea cup. “If you’re right, and Aaban and Charbel are behind Stasya’s death, then why the suit? Why not let me see it was a fire elemental, someone that could have been hired by your company?”

  “Let me be clear, I never said I thought Charbel was involved,” Ian said firmly. “I believe he truly cared about Stasya. And Aaban car
ed for her to, albeit in a platonic, employer-employee manner.” Tension drew lines out from Ian’s green eyes, creasing his pale skin. “But if Aaban found out Stasya was talking to me, he would not have hesitated to act. It took him a long time to convince Roger to give him a chance, and he needed the job to go well. If he thought Stasya revealed compromising information, he would have done whatever he had to do to find out exactly what she told me.”

  I thought of the demons, and how quickly their temperaments had changed. It wasn’t that difficult to imagine what Ian was saying might be true. If Aaban believed Stasya had betrayed him…

  “You think Aaban killed his brother’s girlfriend without his brother’s knowledge?” I asked.

  “I believe if Charbel had known his brother’s intentions, he would have stopped him. However, as to whether he knew after the fact, that I cannot say. If he did, he would have used his considerable skills to make sure no one ever found out.”

  I sat up straighter. “You said ‘Well done, Charbel,’ earlier, when we were talking about the baobhan sidhe. And you said the baobhan sidhe—Nathan, you called him—worked for you.”

  “I have no proof, but I am considering the possibility that Charbel beat me at my own game. I stole Stasya from Scoria Security, and they stole Nathan from me. Nathan was almost as fond of the fight club as Stasya, and given how often Aaban and Charbel went there to retrieve her, it is more than possible they had contact with Nathan.”

  “Is it common for people to switch sides like this?” A seed of doubt crept into my voice, growing the more I thought about it. “Stasya betrays Aaban, Nathan betrays you. I would have expected more loyalty.”

  “A nice sentiment, but you must remember, we are not armies,” Ian pointed out. “The people who work with me do not do so because they like me, or even because they believe in the work we’re doing. We have no unifying cause to become passionate over. This is a job, no different from any other job. And the nature of our work attracts… Let’s call them ‘practically minded’ individuals. As it is true for Underhill, so is it true for Scoria Security.”