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“You ready?” Jericho asks as he parks the car.
“Let’s get this over with.” We climb out and make our way to the front entrance of the Councilor’s home. We ring the doorbell and a man in uniform, a butler I suppose, opens the door.
“We’re here to see Councilor Augustus. Jericho and Ezekiel St. James.”
“Yes, the Councilor is expecting you.” He steps aside for us to enter, and we follow him through the house. I take in the large living spaces, the opulence of them. When we pass the dining room, I notice the table being set for three. I hope he isn’t expecting us to stay for dinner.
I arch an eyebrow at Jericho as the butler opens the French doors onto a generous patio. We’re invited to sit down. “What can I bring you to drink?”
“Whiskey,” I say and Jericho nods for the same.
Water glints aquamarine in the fading sun and a dozen lounge chairs are placed just so around the large pool. Umbrellas are open, one between every two chairs, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s using any of them.
As the butler returns with our drinks, Jericho and I watch a car drive from the smaller house at the back of the property toward the gates. We exchange a glance and sip our drinks, neither of us speaking. For all we know, this entire evening will be recorded.
“Gentlemen,” Councilor Augustus says as he steps out onto the patio. He’s holding onto an elegant black cane with a gold lion’s head but it’s just for show. He doesn’t need it to walk.
Jericho and I stand to greet him, all of us with practiced smiles on our faces. “Councilor,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Good to see you,” Jericho says as they shake.
“Sit, sit. Reeves,” he says, turning to the butler and Jericho and I exchange a look. Reeves? Really? “I’ll have a whiskey too.”
“Yes, sir. Right away.”
The Councilor, ever polite, waves us back into our seats and takes one across from ours. He smiles as he openly studies us, his light blue eyes keen. He folds one leg over the other, setting his cane to the side, and I take note of the expensive suit and shoes. His blond hair is streaked with gray, and I wonder if that’s natural. I can imagine a man like him sitting for highlights, actually. He seems vain enough. Reeves brings his drink, and when he takes it from the silver tray, I notice the ring with an insignia I can’t quite make out from here. It all screams money and privilege. He is Society through and through.
The silence stretches on. I can see Jericho in my periphery, face set in stone, as the Councilor takes him in before moving his gaze to me. I can imagine what it must feel like for any man or woman standing before The Tribunal, facing not only one but all three Councilors.
“How is your wife, Jericho? I heard she broke her arm in a car accident following the charity event. How unfortunate for her.”
“Isabelle is fine. Thanks for asking.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear that. And your children? There are how many now? I can’t seem to keep track.”
“Four.”
“Yes, that’s correct. Including the Bishop boy.”
Jericho stretches his lips into what I believe is meant to be a smile.
“You were generous to adopt him, considering. But I suppose you had your motivations. Men like us always do, don’t we?”
Jericho doesn’t answer. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like being put into the same category of human being as this man.
“My wife and I were never blessed with children, sadly,” the Councilor continues, sipping from his drink. I note the civility of the act, the refinement of the man. I try to picture him holding a branding iron to his young bride’s neck and, as if reading my thoughts, Councilor Augustus turns his icy gaze on me.
“And Ezekiel. Younger brother. Twin. Zoë was taken from us too soon.”
I grit my teeth, my hand clenching so tight around my glass that ice clinks against crystal.
“Your date,” he continues. “With the…” he makes a movement with his hand at his hair. “Blue hair. Did she enjoy the event?”
“Loved it.”
“I didn’t recognize her as Society, but she stood out, stunning woman. You met at The Cat House? Blue Masterson, I believe Craven said her name was.”
I nod tightly.
