Page 72 of Sinful Palace

15

Logan

Q’s meetingplace was poorly illuminated, with just a handful of flaming torches and candles lighting the space. I recognized the room anyway. I’d passed by it several times over the last few years, because it was on the way to the Order’s main ceremonial chamber.

It was enormous with a high rock ceiling dotted with spiky stalactites, and it contained multiple statues, fountains, and urns, along with tinkling water features. Tall plants were scattered around the edges of the rocky space, making it look like a giant rainforest cave. From memory, I knew fairy lights were usually hung around the place, but today they’d been switched off in favor of the torches and candles, presumably to set me on edge with all the darkness and shadows.

Too bad that shit didn’t work on me. I was amped and ready for anything.

A short man wearing a dark robe and a black and red mask had brought me into the room after meeting me in the Order Hall foyer ten minutes ago, and he was currently waving a black wand-like device over my clothes to check for any hidden cameras or recording devices.

“Weird place for a meeting, huh?” I said, looking over the guy’s shoulder as the flickering flames made shadows dance on the walls.

He raised his masked head for a few seconds. “It’s Q’s favorite room,” he said stiffly.

“You know him pretty well, huh?”

“Nice try, buddy,” he muttered. He slipped the bug-checker back in his robe pocket and took a step back. “You’re good to go. Stand by the table, please. I’ll let them know you’re here.”

He jerked a gloved thumb toward a narrow mahogany table on our right. Two chairs inlaid with gold sat on either side of it.

I went and stood at the closest end of the table as the man muttered into some sort of radio. A moment later, there was a heavy grinding sound from the other side of the room. It was too dark to see what was happening at first, but when a faint shaft of light slipped through, I realized there was another door on that side.

Another masked man in long dark robes stepped through. Q was right behind him, followed by two more masked men. I watched with fascination, half-expecting a rhythmic drumbeat and braying trumpet to start up as they crossed the room.

Q looked like a fucking beast. He towered over his companions, standing at least six foot four. He was dressed in thick black floor-skimming robes like the others, but he didn’t have his cloak pulled up over his head. Instead, he wore an elaborate red, black and gold carnival mask with twisted features and enormous curling horns sticking out from the top.

As he drew closer, I realized he wasn’t actually that tall after all. The soaring horns made him seem much larger than everyone else, but in reality, he was an average-sized man. Somewhere around five-ten, maybe five-eleven.

My father was exactly five-eleven.

The masked guards hung back as Q stepped up to the table. He clasped his gloved hands in front of his torso and dipped his head. “Thank you for your patience, Logan. It’s wonderful to finally meet Chuck’s son in person.”

His voice was unnaturally deep and completely unrecognizable. The huge mask must’ve had some sort of distortion device built into it near the mouth area.

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” I replied, lowering my head in deference. “I’m glad you—” I stopped abruptly and coughed like mad for several seconds. “Sorry,” I eventually muttered in a raspy voice. “My throat is really itchy.”

Q lifted a hand. “Not your fault. It’s the air in these rooms,” he said, briefly tilting his head to glance upward. “It gets very dry and stale this far underground. Not to mention all the dust from the tunnels outside. It’s the one thing I don’t like about this place.”

I coughed again. “That makes sense.”

He waved a hand at one of his masked guards. “Go and get us some water from the bar in the party room,” he said. “Make sure there are straws.” He turned his attention back to me. “It isn’t easy to drink with this thing on,” he explained, gesturing to his mask.

“I understand.”

He nodded and held out a hand. “Please, take a seat.”

I did as he said, and he lowered himself into the chair opposite me.

“So, Logan,” he began in a grave tone, setting his hands on the table. “Your father has informed me that you have some serious concerns about recent events.”

“Yes,” I replied, steeling my jaw. “Mostly in regard to the corpse that was dropped on the presidential parade five days ago.”

He didn’t balk at my mention of the incident at all. “What would you like to know about that?” he asked, voice preternaturally calm.

“It’s more about what I’d like you to know,” I said. “I know it was you, and I don’t appreciate you threatening Willow like that. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Q remained stock-still. “I have to say, I admire your courage. It takes real guts to talk to me like that,” he said. Even though I couldn’t see him behind the mask, I could tell from his tone that he was slightly amused.

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