C.E. Mutphy - Hands of Flame

Margrit huffed into her tea again. “No. Just wondering if you know of any…vulnerabilities.”

Chelsea’s eyes darkened to the color of old tea. “How seriously do you intend to disable him, Margrit?”

“Even if I could, I’m not after his life. I won’t go that far, not now, not ever. Not even for Tony.” She put the tea aside to drop her face into her hands. “Good to know I’ve still got boundaries.”

“Did you doubt it?”

Margrit looked up through her fingers. “More and more every day.”

“As long as it’s a matter for concern, you’re probably safe.” Chelsea studied her for long moments. “I have a piece of information that will help you, but it carries a tremendous price. You have undone the strictures that have held the Old Races in place for millennia. If you’re obliged—or willing—to use this, I cannot be sure what Eliseo Daisani will do in retaliation. It could very easily cost you your life.”

“Chelsea.” Margrit ducked her head again, fingers laced behind her neck, then craned it to look at the bookshop proprietor. “There’s part of me that’s kidding myself, okay? Part of me that says if I pull this off for Janx, it’s all going to be all right and I’m going to walk away with a happily-ever-after. I need that part to keep going. I need that part because it’s what’s letting me face this at all. I need it because without it, Tony’s going to die, and I can’t live with that. But the truth is, I’m not going to live through this. I’ll manage to orchestrate Eliseo’s fall or I won’t, but if I fail, Janx is going to have to go through me to get to Tony, and I have no doubt he will. If I succeed, Daisani’s not going to let me see another sunrise.” She gave a sharp laugh. “I wanted to change the world. I’m doing it. But I don’t see me being around to admire what the future looks like.”

“I haven’t heard you be that fatalistic before.”

“If I’m wrong, you can tease me for my melodrama. If I’m right, I’d like my tombstone to read, She changed the world. A lot. Either way, I have got to save Tony, and I’ll do whatever it takes. If you can help at all, Chelsea, please.”

Chelsea sat back, silent and contemplative once again before she nodded. “Very well. When the moment comes, Margrit Knight, ask Eliseo Daisani where the bodies are buried.”

“The bodies? What bodies? Come on, Chelsea! You can’t send me after Daisani with just the question! I have to know!”

“I would advise having Alban with you when you ask,” had been Chelsea’s implacable response. She’d invited Margrit to finish her tea, then dismissed her with steely pleasantry that was impossible to stand against. Margrit found herself on the street with an accelerated heartbeat and no answers to her questions.

Wherever the bodies were, whatever they were, asking Daisani a question like that seemed tantamount to suicide. Margrit shot a final glare at the bookstore and stomped away, uncertain of where she was going, but determined to leave Chelsea’s cryptic advice far behind.

Barely a few steps beyond the entryway, Cam’s phone rang, its ringtone so unfamiliar it took Margrit a moment to realize it was her own pocket. She picked up with, “Mom?” and heard Rebecca Knight’s mystified “I’m on the train into the city. What on earth is so important, Margrit? Are you all right?”

“I need financial advice.” The explanation, identical to what she’d left on voice mail earlier, still sounded pathetic. “I’ll explain at your office, okay?”

“Margrit, unless you’ve won the jackpot, I can’t imagine—”

“You really can’t, Mom. You really can’t. I’ll see you in what, about an hour?”

“Forty minutes,” Rebecca said with asperity. “I want a full explanation, Margrit Elizabeth.”

“I know.” Margrit hung up, all too aware she hadn’t promised that explanation. The cell phone told her it was a quarter to seven, and for a moment she considered rushing home to change clothes, as though a smarter outfit would make her mother take her more seriously. Being late, though, would be worse than being untidy, and Margrit sighed, breaking into a ground-eating jog toward the financial district.

She arrived well before Rebecca and paced in front of the office building until a security guard gave her a hard look. Margrit made her hands into fists and found a place to sit, watching the street for her mother’s approach.

Forty minutes from their phone conversation, Rebecca appeared down the street, looking fresh and put-together in a linen pantsuit that made her slim form more imposing. Margrit slumped, wishing anew she’d taken time to go home and change, then reluctantly got to her feet to wave a greeting.

Rebecca paused, purse-lipped, to consider Margrit’s running gear, then with a silence far more condemning than commentary, nodded a greeting to the security guard and key-carded herself into the building, gesturing for Margrit to follow. Feeling considerably more intimidated than she had by the Old Races in the past few days, Margrit shuffled along meekly.

Neither spoke as they took the elevator up to Rebecca’s pale, beautifully appointed office, but once ensconced within its walls, Rebecca turned to her with an arched eyebrow of inquiry that brooked no nonsense and very little leeway for whatever had brought her there, even if it was her own daughter.

Margrit pulled her ponytail out and let unruly curls cascade everywhere as she tried to find a place to begin. A moment’s silence led to blurting, “What I really need to know is if you can provide me with any financial vulnerabilities in Daisani’s empire, and some advice on how to exploit them.” Voiced aloud, the proposition sounded even worse than it had in her imagination. Margrit clenched her teeth, trying to smile, and knew it was a wince.

Rebecca’s brief stare ended in a disbelieving laugh. “Margrit, have you lost your mind?”

“I’m beginning to think that’s possible. Mom…” Margrit trailed off, the absurdity of her request vividly clear to her, and helpless to find another course. “It’s Tony. I—”

“Tony needs information on Eliseo Daisani’s financial weaknesses? I’ve told you before that Eliseo’s not the kind of man you put in jail. I understand Tony’s ambitious, but any pursuit of Eliseo or his corporation is going to end up an embarrassment at best and a dead end to his career at worst. You need to—”

“If I don’t find a way to cut Daisani’s purse strings Tony’s going to die.” Margrit’s voice sounded harsh and loud over her mother’s impassioned tirade. Rebecca went quiet, staring again, and Margrit closed her eyes against the weight of her mother’s regard. “Mom, you do not want to know the details. I’m not saying that because I think you shouldn’t know.”

She forced her eyes open again, meeting Rebecca’s gaze with no little challenge in her own. “I’m saying it because I’ve watched you with Eliseo. Because I’ve watched you shut away what you’re seeing, not because you don’t believe it, but because you don’t want to know. And you know what? That’s fine. I don’t get it, but I don’t have to. But I can promise you that I’ve got to find a way to do this, that you’re my best chance, and that you do not want to know the details.”

“Margrit.” Rebecca found nothing to say after the name, mother and daughter looking at one another across a distance that seemed impossibly vast to Margrit. Finally, full minutes later, Rebecca spoke again. “GBI handles a dozen of Eliseo’s largest accounts. You’re right that I could help you, but how could you have ever imagined that I would?” She lifted a hand sharply, cutting off anything Margrit might say. “I understand that you believe Tony’s life is at stake, but I very much doubt Eliseo is the sort to—”