Firebug (25 page)

“They are,” he said. “But we know they're weak, right? And we're pretty sure at least one of them has been bought off by Venus, yeah?”

“Yes,” I said, still unsure where he was going with this.

“Well, what better way to draw Venus out? I mean, it's not like we can call her up and say, ‘Meet us here at high noon.' She calls the shots at the moment, and she knows it. Eventually she'd drive us back into her territory, so we'd start off at a disadvantage. But if we go to the Council and ask them for help and, I don't know, let it slip where we're going to be at a certain time…”

“Then we can make her come to us at a place of our choosing. She'll think it's a sneak attack when really it's an ambush.”

“Exactly!” I could hear the excited giddiness in his voice.

“Lock, that's brilliant.”

“No need to sound so surprised.”

“I'm not—it's just—I could kiss you right now.” The air between us flooded with tension, and Lock took a split second too long to respond.

“Psh, I see how you are. First you tell me to be a gentleman, then you offer up your affections. Way to send mixed signals, Aves.”

I punched his shoulder. “Its an expression, you ass.” And just like that, things felt back to normal.

“Is it, Ava? I mean really?” His voice was teasing, pure Lock. And yet there was a tone in there I couldn't quite identify.

“You're a jerk,” I said. “You're like an entire fiesta of assness. Why are we friends again?”

“Because I'm the only one who'll put up with you, that's why.”

“Did I say fiesta? More like spring break. You're the Miami Beach of jackass behavior.”

“Sure, you say that now, but I'm going to wake up with you smelling my hair, I just know it.”

I couldn't dignify that with a response, so I settled for hitting him with my pillow. It was much more satisfying than throwing it at the door.

12

M
EETINGS
AND
P
OORLY
E
XECUTED
I
MPROMPTU
B
ARBECUES

SUNLIGHT POURED
into the room, but I held my eyelids shut in firm denial. Then my stomach, the traitor, growled and I knew it was no use. I had to get up and face the world.

Ezra was still burrowed into his blankets, but Lock was already up and gone, so I grabbed my clothes and went to join him. Things would look better after food and coffee, surely.

Duncan seemed less than enthusiastic about our Portsmouth Council plan when we told him about it over breakfast. But he couldn't think of anything better, either. After some discussion and hashing out of details, it was decided that we would indeed go to Portsmouth, but Ikka and Sid would go with us and drive us there in the van. Duncan would call ahead and pull some strings to set up the meeting.

Les handed me a bag of food for the trip. It was enormous. “Um, we're only going to be gone for, like, five hours or so. You know that, right?”

He shrugged. “We eat a lot. And Duncan says that with your … uh … condition, you probably need to eat a lot too.”

“When you say it like that, it sounds like I'm pregnant.”

Duncan came up and patted my shoulder kind of awkwardly. “You sure about this?”

Staring down at the bag of food, I wondered if he really needed me to answer that question. I decided it was rhetorical, or at least it should have been, so I just handed the food off to Sid.

“We'll keep looking for Cade,” Les said. At the look on my face, he added, “I'll get someone to buzz by the cabin. A few times. If he shows up anywhere in a fifty-mile radius, we'll find him.”

I looked around at the assembled were-hares, a term I still couldn't think without mentally giggling a little, and was surprised to see them all smiling, all … happy.

“This really isn't your fight,” I said, “even if your moving here has set some of it into motion. You've known me less than twenty-four hours. I'm not sure if you're helping me for Duncan or what, but I'm more concerned with why you all seem so excited about it.”

Duncan snorted. “Thing you need to know about were-hares—they're always spoiling for a fight.”

 

 

THE FIRST
hour of the trip was uneventful. Sid drove, Lock played with the radio, Ikka read. Ezra and I tried to think of what we were going to say to the Council, but then we gave up and started playing the alphabet game. After about an hour, though, a high-pitched but firm little voice piped up from the back.

“When are we going to stop? I have to pee.”

Ikka smacked the back of Sid's headrest. “See? I told you I smelled Olive!”

He scowled at the road. “And I told you she was crawling all over the place before we drove off. Even I thought Olive was too smart to stow away in the van.”

Olive leaned on the back of the seat, between Ikka and me. “I am smart. I waited until we were too far away for you to drive me home, didn't I?”

Ikka twisted in her seat. “You realize you're going to get the worst chore duties for at least a month, right? Not to mention a tongue lashing from Les.”

“And you realize that I'm already
on
latrine duty, dish duty, and diaper duty?”

Sid snickered. Ikka sighed. “You're snickering because she said ‘duty' aren't you? Never mind—don't answer that.” She returned her attention to Olive. “I didn't know you were on diaper patrol.”

When I raised an eyebrow, Olive said, “It means I have to gather and wash all the cloth diapers for the drove—and we have a ton of leverets right now.” At my blank look she said, “Baby hares.”

“Well, you're going to be on it forever now,” Ikka said.

Olive just shrugged. “So? Washing diapers ain't no big deal. Don't see why people bitch about it all the time.”

Ikka rubbed her face with one hand. “Don't say ‘ain't,' and watch your mouth. And buckle up.” Olive climbed over the seat and buckled up between us while Ikka pulled out her cell and texted someone to let them know we had Olive. “You're just lucky we're somewhere with cell service,” she muttered.

 

 

THE ADDRESS
the Council gave Duncan took us to a yacht club in New Castle. We parked in a lot behind a church. Our van would be hidden from the road by trees and the back of the building—I didn't want to park at the yacht club and let the Council see us coming. If they planned to follow the van afterward, they were going to have to follow on foot first, which would make them easier to spot.

We had to take Olive with us. It wasn't safe to leave her in the van—for her or the van. Olive struck me as the kind of kid who knew how to hotwire.

We walked to the boathouse, curving around the yacht club and trying to get down to the water. At the docks, there was a speedboat waiting for us among all the beautiful sailboats. A man leaned against its polished aerodynamic glory, his face a tribute to boredom. Without a word he ushered us on. When I asked if this would take us to the Council—just to make sure—he merely nodded and unhitched the mooring lines.

The boat cut through the water like a welding torch through cotton candy. Like it was nothing. It might have been a really enjoyable trip if I hadn't been a bundle of nerves. Once we were out in the harbor, we pulled up to a yacht. You know the kind you always see rappers on in music videos, usually accompanied by scantily clad models who could really use a sandwich? This yacht made those look like something you'd play with in a bathtub.
Opulent
wasn't even a big enough word for it.

We climbed a rope ladder up onto the dock before being led into the cabin by a butler. Do you still call them butlers when they're on a ship? Because he looked like a nautical butler. The cabin smelled subtly of fresh flowers, which were everywhere, and I got an overwhelming impression of delicate but uncomfortable furniture. A big basket of fruit rested in the middle of the table, and a group of rather bored-looking people posed around the room.

There were seven total, all of them lounging in such a way that I expected a boy with palm fronds and a linen tunic to jump out from a closet and start fanning people at any moment.

A voluptuous woman off to my left sat by the window and drank a martini. Her red dress barely contained her curves—the fabric had to be magic to keep from straining, I swear, and she managed to look sultry while sipping her drink. I guessed that she was some manner of succubus. She stared at Ezra in open admiration. Close by, a wraithlike couple perched on stools while they drank from brandy snifters. With long limbs and gaunt faces, they looked like they'd crawled out of some deep sea crevice.

A humongous man in a rumpled L.L. Bean flannel and stained Carhartt pants leaned against the wall, an air of hopelessness about him. I couldn't say what it was, but something about him just seemed … I don't know,
broken.
He stared at us. I had to look away.

A petite—and slightly green—woman sat on a couch next to a guy who looked more like a longshoreman than anything else. The small woman smiled at me when she noticed my gaze resting on her, and I caught a glimpse of some very pointy little teeth. I shuddered. She was the only one who struck me as openly frightening.

A man in an overstuffed armchair addressed us. He didn't look like he should be part of the Council. He looked like he should be at a Harvard mixer or trying out for a crew team. Someone who would do a lot of glad handing but not a great deal of actual work. “You must be Duncan's people.”

“We are,” I said.

“All right,” he said. “You've dragged us away from important matters, so get on with it.” No one else spoke—a few of them didn't even look up from their drinks. Apparently they were content to let the yuppie god do all the talking.

“You're scowling,” Lock whispered.

Immediately I let my face relax. “Thank you for taking time out of your … busy schedules. I've come to make you an offer.”

“Indeed?” Yuppie said with a mocking smile. “And what could you possibly have to offer us?”

“The Coterie off your doorstep.” That got the attention of everyone in the room. I explained what I needed and why—and I kept it simple, giving them only the barest bones of things.

“These are grave charges,” Yuppie said, steepling his fingers. “Kidnapping, murder, extortion.”

“Do you have proof?” the green woman asked, but she was already waving me away with her hand. “You do not. I know this. There is no proof to have. The Inferno is a nightclub, nothing more. For whatever reason you wish to sling the mud at your boss, eh? With your fanciful tales of the money washing and the extortion. More like she denied you a raise, yes? Yes. You go away now.”

“It's money laundering, poppet, not washing,” the longshoremen said to her, amusement in his tone. Clearly he found her charming. Ew.

I shook my head. Had I not gotten rid of my phone, I would've been able to show them the many, many texts I'd sent Venus to let them know I'd finished a job. Not that those would paint me in a great light either. “No proof. Just my word.”

“Yes, the word of a stranger. Very convincing. Alistair,” the green woman said to the yuppie god, “this is ridiculous. Make them leave.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Alistair's face. “No one asked you, Martinique.” He eyed us levelly. “She has a point, though. You are strangers to us, and you make serious accusations.” He held up a hand when he saw Lock about to protest. “Duncan vouches for you, but that goes only so far. You must see that we can't just go charging in there based solely on your testimony. His face was unreadable as he stared at us. “Naturally, we will investigate, but these things do take time. You can't come waltzing in here and expect us to drop everything and come running.”

I wanted to choke him with his own Windsor knot. Come running was exactly what he should have done.

One of the gaunt people spoke then, though I wasn't sure which one. They weren't facing me. The voice was dry and quiet, like the rubbing together of insect legs. “There are others in front of you—people who have approached us using proper channels. Not cutting ahead because of important friends. Naturally, they should be helped first, before we start investigating your claims.”

I nodded. “I see.”

Alistair rose, his trim frame unwinding from the chair. His light brown hair remained fixed in place, even when he moved to show us out. “I'm sorry you had to come so far to hear this—my apologies. Should you ever have proof, feel free to call on us again, during normal meeting hours, of course.” He grinned, and I was reminded of Venus's predatory smile. “We are here to serve our people.”

“Yeah, up on a platter,” I mumbled.

Lock coughed and gave me a look, reminding me to watch it. I handed over a piece of paper with my temporary cell phone number and my address, since that was where we had chosen to direct Venus for our little showdown. “Just in case you change your mind,” I said. “I'll be there.”

 

 

WE DIDN'T
say anything until we got back to the parking lot. A drive and a boat ride—all that time wasted.

“Ugh, what a colossal time suck,” Olive said, her words echoing my thoughts. She glared at me accusingly. “Why didn't you burn the yacht?”

“Do you think that would have been very smart—you know, what with us being on board at the time?” I asked. “They did exactly what we wanted them to do.” Olive gave me a look that said she clearly didn't believe me.

“We knew they wouldn't help us,” Ikka explained quietly, her mouth tucked in close to Olive's ear. If I hadn't been right next to them, I wouldn't have been able to hear any of it. “The important thing is, they know where Ava will be now. That means whoever is working for Venus will pass on the information.”