The Festival of the Moon (Girls Wearing Black: Book Two) (17 page)

That very night it began.

“I know people who will fly out tonight if we ask them to,” Dominic said.

“How much money will we get for them?”

“For this first batch, a lot,” said Dominic. “I’m treating this as a buy-in opportunity for a handful of the wealthiest humans on earth. If they pay what I ask for this time, they will get first crack at future shipments as well.”

“Future shipments,” Melissa said quietly, allowing the implication to set in. This wasn’t going to be a one-time sale to make up for their lost cash. Dominic intended for this to continue, for them to live in secret defiance of their queen.

The risk made both their lives more interesting, and the sales made them exceptionally rich. As the business grew, they found there weren’t enough defective slaves to keep up with the demand, so they started using fresh meat as well. They kept an entire wing of one dormitory on the Farm off the books, dedicating ten of their most fertile mothers, or “heffers” as they called them, specifically to the business. Melissa reorganized the operations of the Farm, turning over more of the routine tasks to others so she and Dominic had more time to focus on their business, and to ensure they were always hiding their tracks.

They started buying property all over the world as a way to disperse the enormous sums of cash they generated.
 
Dominic used those properties to further expand the business, allowing the wealthiest humans, ever envious of the immortals, to get the “full immortal experience” on lavish fantasy weekend retreats in Kazakhstan, Kenya, Laos, and Nicaragua.

Melissa found these retreats simultaneously repulsive and amusing, the humans who attended them pathetically trying to experience a life they could never appreciate or understand. The retreats began in a mansion, where fully trained slaves took care of the guests’ every need, then ended in the forest, with the guests given the opportunity to hunt down their slaves for sport.

Melissa watched Aiden, with his golden hair and sour stench, lead the others onto an armored truck. After the last slave was inside, Melissa closed the door. She pulled her phone from her pocket to check the time. 11:58. Merv’s headlights would appear on the road any minute now.

Merv Tremblay had been their best client right from the start. Not only did he buy more than twice as many slaves as anyone else, but he also policed their client pool for people who couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Every few years, Merv would find someone who spoke with too many people about the business, or who was careless in hiding his tracks. “Loose lips” is what Merv called these people, and he loved to bring them to Melissa’s doorstep so they could be killed in the seclusion of the Florida swamp.

On this night, Merv was bringing one of the newer clients to the Farm for execution.
 
Merv had invited the man, a beefy silver-haired kingpin of a Mexican drug cartel, to come out to Florida for a hunt on Melissa’s private land.

As the clock struck midnight, the fog lights of Merv’s jeep crested the hill. Melissa used her phone to open the gate and let the jeep into the compound. She flashed a friendly smile at both men when they got out of the car, each of them carrying a rifle in his hands.

She greeted Merv first, giving him a quick and business-like handshake. Then she moved on to the kingpin, Juan Feliciano, whom she greeted with a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“So, so good to see you,” Juan said. “I am honored to be in your presence and humbled that you have allowed me to come here.”

“Nice to see you too, Juan,” Melissa said.

She tossed the keys for the armored truck at Merv, who caught them with left hand while holding the rifle in his right.

“They’re programmed to run like hell as soon as you open the doors,” Melissa said. “Take them out to the open field on the east side of the property and have fun.”

Merv smiled big.

“Thank you Melissa,” he said.

“You’re welcome.”

“Yes, thank you so much,” said Juan, who started walking to the passenger side of the van, thinking he would get to join Merv on this turkey shoot.

“Hang on a second Juan,” Melissa said.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Let me see your gun.”

Juan looked confused at this request, maybe even a bit nervous.

“Come on now, let me see it,” Melissa said.

Juan stepped closer.

“Of course,” he said. Respectfully, like an apprentice before his master, Juan bowed his head and handed over his rifle. Melissa took it in both hands and started inspecting it.

“A beautiful instrument,” she said.

“It belonged to my enemy,” said Juan. “Don Carlos Castillo. A worthy adversary. Every year on the feast of San Cristobal, I say a Hail Mary for Don Carlos. I had to kill him and his son, but I try to carry on his legacy. Tonight I bring his gun because he would have loved nothing more than to come on a hunt like this.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Melissa.

Juan smiled. “I beg your pardon? Did you know Don Carlos?”

“Of course I didn’t know Don Carlos. Why would I waste my time getting to know another plant pusher? No Juan, I’ve heard the story about how you’re bringing his gun to my hunt because you’re telling it to people.”

“Miss Mayhew…I…”

“Shut up Juan. You talk too much.”

Juan stood in place, silent. He knew. Melissa saw it in his eyes. He was preparing himself to die.

She put her hand on his cheek. “You know, I’m always glad when I get to meet a tough guy. I dated a tough guy once. He was bad to me. And when I became immortal, I was bad to him. But I still feel like I owe him something. I feel like it’s my job to put tough guys in their place.”

She turned away from Juan, and, facing the swamp, she heaved his gun like a javelin. It soared hundreds of yards across the sky before coming down and landing somewhere in the trees far away.

“Here’s the game, Juan. I’ll give you a thirty minute head start. If you find your gun before I find you, I take you to Merv and let you continue the hunt. We’ll pretend none of this ever happened and I’ll trust that you’ve learned your lesson. But if I find you and the gun isn’t in your hands, you’ll be joining Don Carlos in hell. I’ll be sure to say a Hail Mary for you once in a while.”

Juan was frozen in place. He looked like he was going to pee his pants.

“Go!” Melissa shouted, and Juan was off, his belly bouncing over his belt with every step.

Melissa checked the time. She’d promised Juan thirty minutes, but she might give him more. He could have all week and he wouldn’t find that gun in the swamp. It was fun to imagine him stumbling around in the muck, getting eaten alive by bloodsuckers in the air and the water, maybe encountering an alligator or a python.

She strolled back into the compound and found Dominic in his room, painting a picture of the moon. From behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled herself close.

“How is your evening, My Love?” Dominic said.

“Just taking care of a little business,” said Melissa. “Merv arrived with our little chatty pants from Mexico. He’s out in the swamp now. I’ll go take care of him later.”

Laughing, Dominic put down his paint brush and turned towards her. They gazed in each other’s eyes for a moment, then he kissed her, softly.

“I was just on the phone with Seth back in Washington,” Dominic said.

“Seth and Martin, our two little eyes on the street,” Melissa said with a smile. “What did Seth have to report?”

 
“Since we left, Nicky has visited Art Tremblay’s house, and been visited by Jill Wentworth and Annika Fleming. Jill and Annika are her closest associates. Nicky has visited with one or both of them every day this week.”

“Interesting,” Melissa said. “I don’t know Annika Fleming or her family, but the Wentworths…”

“I was thinking the same thing,” said Dominic. “It would be out of character for them to be involved with Falkon’s plot.”

“Maybe it isn’t
them
,” said Melissa. “Maybe it’s just her.”

“She is the only child of two parents who are exceptionally committed to the clan,” Dominic said.

“Don’t we all go through a phase where we rebel against our parents?” said Melissa.

Dominic nodded in agreement. “Don’t we all,” he said.

“Now that Merv and Juan are taken care of, we have no further appointments for a few days,” Melissa said. “I’ll go to Washington for Brawl in the Fall. I will check on Annika and Jill and see what’s in their minds, and perhaps I’ll pay a personal visit to my little pet and ask her for an update myself.”

“May I come with you?” Dominic asked.

“Sorry, Love. One of us must tend to the Farm.”

She saw the disappointment in his eyes. It was so much more fun to go snooping in Washington than to stay on the Farm and raise the slaves.

 
“If you’d like, I’ll let you have the human who’s roaming around in the swamp as we speak,” said Melissa. “He isn’t terribly fast or clever, but he’ll be a fun one to hunt nonetheless. He’s accustomed to being the predator, not the prey.”

Dominic smiled. “Sounds like a pleasant enough way to spend an evening.”

“Have a good time. Bring me back his head when you’re done, will you? I’d like to send it in the mail to his family. I fear there may be a few of them who know too much about us, and need some incentive to keep quiet.”

Chapter 16

Vince Weir stepped through the glass doors of The Tumbler at a quarter past noon. He immediately felt out of place.

The Tumbler was neither restaurant nor bar, but instead was a
club
, as in, “My rotary group is meeting tomorrow at the supper club,” or, “Let’s talk about it over lunch at the club.”

Clubs like this were for the blue blazer crowd, not for Vince, and as he emerged from the lobby and into the club proper, he could sense the eyes of a hundred pencil-necks turning his way, judging him, dismissing him. Even though he was a senior at Thorndike from a family who had direct ties to the immortals, even though he had a net worth that was one zero larger than the posers who lunched at “the club,” they still sneered at him when he wasn’t looking. To these people, Vince was a bumpkin and a dumb jock, and all the money on earth couldn’t change that.

A man with blonde hair and skin that looked puffy and soft greeted Vince at the front counter.

“Table for one?” the man said. He wore a black vest that squeezed his torso like sausage meat and, combined with the bulging of his eyes, gave the impression that he was about to burst.

“No, I’m meeting someone in the Yellow Room,” Vince said.

“Ahh….very good. Come with me.”

The Tumbler’s many private dining rooms made it a hot spot for DC paper pushers, or “Puffed-up Pastries” as Vince’s dad would call them. It seemed patently unfair that so many rich people were like these pastries, what with their fat asses and jowly cheeks, their girly haircuts, their whiney voices. Where Vince came from, you didn’t sit on your ass at some posh lunch spot and finagle your way to wealth. You stood up and took what was yours.

A couple years at Thorndike had taught him that Washington didn’t work that way. Most of the families at this school had slid into the big money on a greasy layer of lawyers. Vince had always assumed his family’s methods were superior. He had walked around campus with a chip on his shoulder, convinced that when the time came for him to be an adult, when push came to shove, he would crush all these Washington fruitcakes with ease.

As sausage-man opened the door to the Yellow Room, and Vince saw his hostess sitting there waiting for him, he wasn’t so sure anymore. This girl wasn’t about to let anyone crush her.

“Hello Vince, glad you could make it.”

He stepped inside. The door slid shut behind him and he approached the table, slowly.

“Hello, Kim.”

He took a seat and opened the menu.

“I’ve already ordered for us,” Kim said. “We’ll be getting a sampler of the chef’s finest dishes this afternoon. I hope you’re hungry.”

He wasn’t hungry at all, but he didn’t tell her that. He reached for a glass of water and took a long drink. When he put it down again, he realized he’d probably grabbed the wrong glass. Why did they put so many waters on a table when only two people would be eating?

“You know where I’ve always wanted to go, Vince?”

Vince shook his head.

“Australia.”

The word hung in the air for a bit and Vince wondered if he was supposed to say something, if this was some kind of test he was already failing.

“Australia, eh?” He put his hand around his water glass and spun it gently with his fingers.

“Yes. I’d start in Sydney, staying at a resort on the beach. I’d go snorkeling and parasailing, do some rock climbing.”

“I didn’t know you were into all that outdoorsy stuff,” Vince said.

“Oh, I’d go to the opera house too,” said Kim. “I’d put on my best evening attire—did you know my family owns a diamond necklace worth over a million dollars?”