When he saw the speaker, though, he silently cursed his inebriated state. Daphne Lang sat down beside him.
“I have nothing to say to you,” he said, wondering how quickly he could sober up. No time was ever a good time to be cornered by a reporter, but being trapped by one when you weren’t in full possession of your wits was probably the worst time. “And you should be ashamed of yourself for following me.”
“Relax,” she said, waving over the bartender. “This is a happy coincidence. I live around the corner and come here all the time. I admit, however, I was planning on speaking to you at some point.”
“The usual?” asked the bartender, earning a smile and a nod from her.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Justin when they were alone again. “Word has it Tessa’s done with you, and I’m not selling her out to give you some crap human interest story. Go scavenge somewhere else.”
“Do you really think I’d do that to her?” asked Daphne sweetly.
“I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that you just happened to be looking for an intern and then conveniently stumbled on my sweet provincial girl.” His hands itched to pick up his glass again, but he again remembered he needed restraint around her.
“It’s not a coincidence,” Daphne agreed. The bartender brought her drink, and she swiped her ego to pay. “I was already doing a lot of research when that intern posting so happily popped up. But she wasn’t the one I was looking into.”
Justin’s bourbon-addled brain made the connection a few beats later than he would have under normal circumstances. “Shit.”
Daphne looked momentarily surprised at his reaction. “Oh,” she said after a moment. “You think I’m talking about you?”
“Well, you’re talking to me,” he said, hoping he didn’t show how relieved he felt. Admittedly, he was puzzled as to who she meant.
“Figured maybe you were after a story about how a servitor expenses high bar bills.”
She smiled and paused to drink. Whatever expensive lipstick she used left no mark behind on her glass. “Maybe that can be my backup story. Don’t take it personally, but I’m afraid my real target was your friend and illustrious senator, Lucian Darling.”
Justin’s wariness immediately returned, but he laughed to cover it up. “You and every other reporter looking for dirt on him. Hang on . . . are you telling me you got involved with Tessa because of her very tenuous connection to him through me?”
Daphne shrugged. “I had to take what I could get. Someone like me doesn’t get in to see someone like him that easily.”
“So you used a poor provincial girl trying to better herself. And now that she’s not working out, you’re hoping I’ll get you that interview.” It was a comfort to know Lucian was the target, not Justin, but anyone who’d track down a one-off connection like Tessa and then try to use her still wasn’t to be trusted.
“Well, that would be nice, but no, I’ve actually come to you with a business arrangement . . . one that might further both of our careers.”
Daphne leaned closer, and Justin recognized the look of someone who thought she was going in for the kill. “What would you say if I told you that your friend and his political party were knee-deep in a secret religion—a religion that sees him as the divinely chosen leader for this country.”
Justin made sure his smile didn’t so much as twitch. “I’d say show me the proof.”
Daphne looked mildly chagrined. “I’m afraid that’s a little easier said than done . . . although I have it on very good authority from a source even you might believe. And one you might actually help me to convince to come forward with her story. Though we’d still need more to go on.”
“Considering you just used ‘might’ twice in the same breath, I’d say you still need more to go on. There’s no ‘we’ here.”
“But there could be.” She crossed her legs, making her skirt ride up. “Imagine what this could do for you. Your whole job is about uncovering dangerous religious undercurrents in our society... imagine finding them in the highest tiers of our government! You don’t think there’d be career rewards waiting for you if you revealed that our future consul thinks gods are returning to the world and that he’s a divinely chosen person called an elect?”
Justin’s heart nearly stopped. “A what?”
Daphne turned smug, thinking she’d one-upped him. “See there’s all kinds of things I know. That’s just one of them I’m kindly giving you the courtesy of learning about before I go public with this.”
She knows about the elect, Justin thought frantically. Or thinks she does. How could she know that?
Obviously from whatever sketchy sources she’s drawn from, said Horatio.
She doesn’t have proof, Justin told the ravens. Otherwise, she would’ve already exposed Lucian.
Do you care? Horatio asked.
Justin considered for a moment. Yes. Putting aside the fact that he is my friend, exposing him exposes the elect and the game being played.
SCI doesn’t want that. I don’t want that. The time isn’t right.
Will it ever be? asked Magnus curiously.
I don’t know, Justin admitted. But her selling out Lucian could ruin what we’re trying to do for Odin. Worse, it could eventually come back and expose me.
Justin took a deep breath and tried to summon that outgoing, magnetic persona that could allegedly talk people into anything. He leaned toward her. “You’re lying. You’re not going public without me.
You don’t have the evidence to or else you already would have. What you probably have is enough evidence to make yourself look even more ridiculous than you already do on North Prime and sink your career even further. Sure, sensational stuff like this always leaks out—especially during election season—and it’ll make a little noise. But do you seriously, seriously believe anyone’s going to see you as a legitimate journalist with a story about gods returning to the world?
That Lucian Darling is part of it? Fuck. Have you seen his ratings lately after Arcadia? That man is untouchable. There are people who want to take him down, sure, so you’ll get your five minutes . . . and be rolled in with all the other bottom feeders trying to dredge up equally scandalous stories about mistresses and discretionary spending.” Justin settled back in his chair and even felt brazen enough to sip the bourbon.
“Unless you’ve got a signed statement from him confessing to all of these theories of yours, you’ve got nothing.”
Daphne stayed silent and wasn’t nearly as good at hiding her feelings as he was. Indecision played over her as she considered her next move. He’d gotten to her, that much was obvious. She might balk at all his slights on her network, but she knew she and North Prime didn’t hold much credibility. What he’d told her hadn’t been entirely fabricated either. A story like this would gather attention on the edges of the news but make little progress beyond that without more proof.
People like him had been doing their jobs too long for the population to easily get on board with supernatural powers returning to the RUNA.
That being said, he still needed to find out what she actually knew. It was time for his master play, now that he’d made her doubt herself.
“I’ll tell you what, Daphne,” said Justin, deciding to act before she could. “I like you. I want to help you.”
“How very kind,” she said dryly.
“I’m going to give you the chance to tell me whatever crackpot theories you’ve got and if they could really hold water with SCI backing or not. I’m guessing not. But if you play your cards right, maybe I’ll hook you up with a story that actually will make your career.”
“Really?” she asked. “You just happen to have a career-making story in your pocket that you’ve been waiting to share with some lucky journalist?”
“Actually, my guess is that Lucian’s people were lining up lucky journalists from one of those news channels you so covet. But I’ll make it so that you’re the one his people line up to break the story.”
Her eyes lit up at Lucian’s name, but she was still wary, suspecting some trap. “What kind of story?”
Justin glanced around. “I can’t tell you here, but let’s put it this way. We weren’t just uncovering Arcadian spies intent on bringing down our way of life. There’s another story that’s going to emerge from our trip, one that’s going to—if possible—make Lucian even more goddamned popular and is full of the human interest and melodrama you love. Only, unlike your usual drivel, this is the kind of stuff that’ll make top headlines and launch you into the career you’ve been wanting.”
“And you have the power to give me this story?” She was intrigued but still not sold.
“Maybe. We’ll see how things go.”
Justin didn’t actually know for sure that he could get Daphne exclusive rights to the story about the Gemman girls liberated from Arcadia, but he had a feeling that once he talked to Lucian, the senator would be more than willing to use an independent journalist if it meant keeping other more clandestine affairs off in the shadows.
“Then sit back, and I’ll tell you what I know.” She was playing it cool, but her body language told him she really wasn’t confident in her story’s credibility. That was a good sign for him and for Lucian.
“No,” he said. No way was he going to invite a discussion of the elect in public. “Not here.” Triumphant, he stood up and gestured toward the door. “Let’s go talk about this somewhere quieter. You said you lived nearby?”
She stayed seated and looked him over from head to toe. “You know, I’ve looked into you too. You don’t think I know what it means when you invite yourself over to a woman’s place?”
“I think it means I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime,” he said cheerfully. “And a great chance for your career too. As for how it all unfolds . . . well, that’ll depend on you, Miss Lang. Are you coming or not?”
She hesitated a moment more before standing up and joining him.
“I’m coming.”
CHAPTER 28
Gods Who Deliver
Mae had thought she’d feel at home, once she was back in uniform and on assignment with other praetorians. Three months ago, she would have. She would’ve fallen in line with this group—a mix from the Maize and Azure cohorts—without a second thought, easily slipping into the roles given to them by their country. But even though she sat comfortably and made casual conversation with them in the base’s mess hall, she couldn’t shake the sense of “otherness” she now felt in their presence. She’d seen too many things and done too many things, things that went beyond even these super soldiers’ experience. She envied them in some ways. They still had the simplicity of their beliefs, that even in their dangerous assignments, their superiors still had everything under control and were making the correct decisions. Mae no longer believed that.
This is Justin’s fault, she thought.
Immediately, she knew that was unfair. In the past, she’d been able to lay any number of grievances at his feet, but not this new world view of hers. Having her eyes opened to the insidious forces lurking beneath the surface of her reality was the result of many factors, some of which had been in play since the time of her birth. Like her, he was simply trying to stay afloat in these treacherous waters. He’d even tried to help her, but she’d thrown it back in his face.
No . . . now she was being unfair to herself. She’d tried to help him. She’d come here to remove that temptation from him so that he could be free of divine entrapment. If she was gone, that god—whoever he was—could no longer use her as a bargaining chip against Justin.
She wished Justin could’ve seen it that way, but the pain in his face had suggested otherwise. It hadn’t helped matters that what she’d seen in him had pretty much been a mirror of what she felt inside of her.
He’ll get over me, she thought. He has to. He’s probably picking up someone in a bar as I sit here. He’s never been serious about anyone. Why should I think I’m special? Hopefully he’ll stick to women who have no involvement in the supernatural.
But as she thought about that last night, the things he’d said to her, the protective way he’d held her in sleep . . . Mae knew she was being unfair to him yet again. That made her own healing process that much harder. Far easier to believe that he didn’t care. And Mae had no interest in seeking quick distraction in the arms of another—though she’d had plenty of opportunities. A few guys had already made flirty passes at her, in that way praetorians had between active assignments.
She’d rebuffed them all politely—despite her internal fear and revulsion—wanting to keep things friendly with her new comrades but unable to imagine herself opening her body up to anyone anytime soon.
That encounter with the phantom-Justin had scarred her deeply, leaving a taint on her that she couldn’t shake.
“Going to Mexico soon, praetorian?”
An officer in the gray-and-maroon of the regular military sat down beside her at the table, which she hadn’t even realized had emptied of the other praetorians she’d eaten with. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts that time had slipped by. She’d been unable to muster much of an appetite, and an uncharacteristic headache was now coming on. She rubbed the back of her head, waiting for the implant to dull the pain.