A minute later a young woman walked in, followed by a rugged-looking man the same age. Even if Danev hadn’t been told she was Tara’s daughter, he would have instantly known. Her brown hair, amber eyes, and pale skin made his memories all the more vivid.
“You must be Evelyn,” he greeted, quickly composing himself and taking a half bow before her. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Danev,” she said politely. “This is my friend, Zach. I generally go by Eve.”
“A pleasure to meet both of you. Can I get you anything?”
“Nothing for me, thank you again.”
The young man was still gaping at the tapestries along the wall. “Are these Rethulo?”
Danev blinked. While he liked to do his best to make even the mundane decorations in here cater to a certain upscale clientele, he doubted more than a small handful could actually identify such an obscure artist. “Yes, actually.”
The young man nodded. “I was stationed in Sandratha for three months. There was actually a museum only a few kilometers from the base, and they liked to show off his work. These are much earlier pieces, though, and I think they’re better.”
“A fine eye,” Danev said, and meant it. He sat down and gestured for them to join him. “So I have to say, I’m a bit puzzled why you might be here, my dear. Were you on a romantic getaway and recalled your mother dropping my name?”
Her smile vanished, and Danev wondered if he might have embarrassed her. But as her eyes lowered and her hands clutched together, he understood it was worse. Much worse.
“She’s dead, Mr. Danev.”
Zach turned from the paintings. “She was murdered.”
“
Murdered
?” Danev stammered. A lump formed in his throat, and his stomach suddenly twisted into knots. “When was this?”
“Just over a week ago,” she told him softly. “A group of Dusties broke into the house and shot her. That’s what it looked like, anyway.”
“Goddess be merciful,” he breathed. “I am so very sorry, my dear.”
Danev was a glib man when he needed to be, but he’d long ago learned that sometimes the best thing to say was nothing. Words wouldn’t bring her consolation, so he let the silence linger for a minute while he leaned back in his chair and tried to work through it for himself.
“I never met your father, but your mother was a good friend.,” he said wistfully. “I’ve always regretted losing touch with her. You’re a spitting image of her back in the day.”
Eve nodded solemnly. He could tell she was doing her best to steel herself, and she was doing a commendable job for someone so young and obviously inexperienced at dealing with loss. But Danev was neither, and to him the tension in her face, hands, and even voice was obvious. She was barely keeping it together.
Zach placed a comforting hand on her shoulder then looked up to Danev. “The killers stole one of her books from the house, but they didn’t touch anything else. We were hoping you might know why.”
“Books? You mean spellbooks?” Danev asked, the hairs on the back of his neck abruptly standing up. No, that wasn’t what they were talking about and he knew it.
“Her journal,” Eve said. “The one where she wrote down her dreams.”
Danev nodded and did his best to keep his expression cool.
That
journal, the one that might have held more dangerous secrets than every presidential safe box combined…
He licked at his lips and suddenly found them parched. “Not to belabor the point, but why ask me?”
Eve took a deep breath. “Because she left me a note, Mr. Danev. She never delivered it, but I found it in her room. It said that if something happened to her, I needed to find you and give you her journal. She said you would know what to do with it.”
Danev sunk deeper into his chair as the stream of old memories washed over him. Tara had only been eighteen when they first met, but even then the instructors at Valmeri believed she was special. Some went even farther than that…
He’d been skeptical at first just like all of their friends. But after a few years with her all those doubts had been neatly swept away.
Then everything had changed. And judging by the look on Eve’s face, she had no idea how. Her mother must never have told her, which probably shouldn’t have surprised him. He knew how much Tara had regretted some of the decisions she’d made back then. If he’d ever had children of his own, he probably wouldn’t have told them about all the things he’d done back then, either.
But if Tara was dead and her journal had been taken…well, then maybe it was time to break that silence. Unfortunately, it meant her daughter’s life was about to get a lot more complicated.
“We need to talk, but not here,” Danev said. “Please, come on upstairs with me.”
***
Danev’s business was as fascinating as it was sleazy, Amaya Soroshi thought to herself as she settled into her “pampering room.” She’d been able to select from a wide range of options and décor in her personal suite, but she’d tried to keep it as tame and in-character as possible. Her cover was simple but passable: a Talami businesswoman on an overseas expedition to meet some of the up-and-coming new Industrialists. It had worked well enough so far, but she was still annoyed the ruse was necessary at all.
Their assassins on the train had failed. She never received a wire from them at Olastown, which probably meant they were dead. She wondered idly if DeShane’s mysterious protector had struck again, or if perhaps the young girl had fought them off herself. Ultimately it didn’t really matter. The moment Amaya had arrived in town yesterday she’d quickly gotten to work preparing their next ambush. Danev’s place of business seemed like the obvious place to start, and she’d already scouted the building and gotten a feel for the employees and their routines.
Amaya dropped her purse on the ridiculously plush mattress and smiled faintly. Last night had been an interesting experience, to say the least. As a trained
yohisha
, she had spent years cultivating various useful interpersonal skills from the art of conversation to the delicacy of dance…and some more intimate techniques that were occasionally useful. She had a hard time believing Danev or his associates possessed any comparable training, but she couldn’t argue with the quality of their service. The men in his illusions were quite effective, to put it mildly. They knew exactly what to say, how to move, and what to touch. It was almost impossible to believe they weren’t real—but then, that was the point. It wasn’t hard to see why this place was so popular.
The evening’s entertainment was scheduled to start soon, but this time she wasn’t going to be here to enjoy it. She slid off her bulky professional dress and corset, leaving only the tighter bodysuit she had underneath, and then slinked over to the door. Her prior scouting had revealed only one viable option for her to move about the building without interference, and it would be dangerous. She dropped into a combat stance by the door and waited.
Perhaps two minutes later a gentle knock wrapped against the wood, and an attendant slipped inside carrying a tray of food and beverages.
“Ms. Hashi, I have—”
Amaya dropped the other woman with a swift chop to the throat and even managed to catch the tray in the same motion. She set it down on a nearby dresser before hopping on top of the attendant and knocking her unconscious. Killing the hapless woman outright was an option, but it wasn’t necessary. Amaya preferred not to bloody her hands if at all possible. Sadly, that was becoming more difficult every day she worked for Chaval.
She pulled out one of the poisoned needles she kept in her hair and stabbed it into the attendant’s neck. It wasn’t lethal, but it would keep her unconscious for several hours, and that would be more than enough. Amaya set to stripping off the woman’s clothes and found that her visual estimates from yesterday had been about right—they were nearly the same size. The outfit was meant to be more elegant than revealing, which wasn’t surprising given the gender of the clientele. Like any truly great illusionist, Danev cultivated a certain image with the mundane as well as the magical.
Amaya got dressed and slipped into the hallway. The costume wouldn’t pass against any of the other employees, of course, but it really didn’t have to. Danev ran with a small, tightly-knit staff of other magi, which meant they were almost always dealing with a client or at the very least too busy to wander the halls looking for trouble. Amaya was more likely to run into a customer, and in that case her guise would pass just fine.
A few discreet inquiries around town had revealed that Danev ran his “other” businesses from an office on the top floor, and Deshane would end up there eventually. Amaya just needed to get into a position where she could overhear what they were saying. Chaval wanted information, and that’s exactly what he was going to get.
Once Amaya knew what they were up to specifically, then she could decide whether it was worth leaving any of them alive.
Chapter Five
In some ways, Gregori Danev was exactly the man Eve had expected. The very notion of a “brothel owner” conjured up some less-than-flattering images in her mind, and some of them definitely panned out with the man in front of her. He was heavyset, for one, and had a moustache thick enough to hide half a dozen small animals inside it. His coat, suit, and hat were all a gleaming, pristine white, which wasn’t fashionable anywhere in the world as far as she knew. He completed the ensemble with a fancy black cane that had to be purely cosmetic given how little weight he was putting on it.
But appearances aside, he seemed far too cultured for this line of work. Two minutes of conversation with the man had revealed that much. Eve just wondered what was so important that he wasn’t willing to speak about it downstairs. The entry foyer wasn’t exactly what she’d call private, but it hadn’t been crawling with people, either.
She and Zach followed Danev upstairs, and she couldn’t help but admire the subtle elegance of the whole establishment. The floors were a nicely polished wood, and the walls held a variety of art she imagined was expensive. Red was the color of choice, from the paint to the furniture.
Perhaps the most striking thing, though, was the smell—or rather, the lack thereof. She figured a brothel would reek of flesh and sex, but that wasn’t the case. She started to wonder what Danev actually did here, and Zach must have been thinking the same thing.
“Not to be rude, Mr. Danev,” he asked delicately, “but what kind of business is this, exactly?”
The man smiled as they walked down a long corridor on the third floor. “The
Pampered Goddess
provides erotic entertainment to exclusively female clientele.”
Zach blinked. “Entertainment? I don’t see any…”
“Whores?” Danev asked, eyebrow cocked. “There aren’t any. My staff prepares food, cleans the rooms, and weaves illusions, but they are definitely not prostitutes. We can provide almost any stimulation our clients desire.”
Zach glanced to Eve, then back to Danev. “So it isn’t real?”
“It’s as real as you want it to be, my boy. My clients can’t tell the difference, and that’s all that matters. Here there are no risks of disease, pregnancy, or judgments of any kind. I respect their privacy and their wishes, no matter what they happen to be fond of.”
“You know, if you advertised that more,” Zach said, shaking his head, “the Dusties might not hate the magi so much.”
Danev grunted as he reached down to open the door at the end of the hallway. “You might be right. Please, have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”
The room was much larger and the decorations more elaborate than downstairs. Six plush chairs and two couches rested at the center, and a full-size bar dominated the other side.
“But you only serve women, huh?” Zach asked. “Surely some of them ask for…well, other women.”
“They ask for all kinds of things. But before you ask, no, I don’t have any male clients, and you won’t be the first.” His eyes flicked over to Eve. “Besides, I’m not sure your friend would approve of that, anyway.”