Page 62 of Lux

“Three days?” Marin slams her fist on the table, making it lurch across the floor. “You arrogant prick, vampire! You think you run this city just because you have more money than God and the scruples to match. Hell no. If we can’t question her tonight, then I’ll throw her in lockup until Mr. Applebydecidesto arrive.”

“Temper, temper, Marin.” Altaris wags an admonishing finger. “It’s the lys that does it, you know. That sweet, rich powder induces calm and happiness, with a lingering aftereffect of uncontrolled rage and irritation?—”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Marin hisses. She turns toward the doorway and yells out, “Jack!”

“Jack and I have already discussed these details,” Altaris says sweetly to Marin’s immense aggravation. The redder she turns, the more pleased he seems. “It’s all settled. However there is one matter you can assist with. The body. It seems your new medical examiner may not be as well-versed in mundane lore as most. I have arranged for Ginni to assist her down at my clinic?—”

“You mean your chop shop?” Marin hisses. “It isn’t like we don’t know what you do down there. You and that creepy, demented, little vamryre. Selling body parts. Draining them of blood to feed your fucked up brood. If I had my way, you would have been shut down ages ago--”

“Ginni has kindly offered her assistance in this despicable matter,” Altaris says over her. “I would suggest you not insult her, or my ‘brood,’ in front of me.”

Marin swallows hard, heeding the warning. “I’ll have Aleska find you on your way out. As for Niamh. We’ll need a booking photo, fingerprints, a blood sample, and her visa paperwork.”

“We will arrange for everything but the blood work,” Altaris says. “It’s a fae thing. A cultural exemption, you understand.”

Marin hisses. “And let me guess, you cleared that with Jack too? If she’s the one that envoy was here about, even you won’t be able to sweet talk your way out of this.”

“Oh, Jack was very understanding. And you are right, seeing as how the council will be after her, a simple visa will not be necessary?—”

Caspian whirls on him. “What?”

My heart stops. At the thought of going back, I can’t breathe. Can’t think. I need to run. My back prickles and the pain distracts me enough from what Altaris says next.

I only know that he holds up his hand, stopping Caspian in his tracks.

“Calm down, both of you,” he warns, his tone stern. “Allow me to explain the particularly complicated status of Niamh’s immigration. She will be applying for full citizenship, given that her heritage is part mundane.”

I blink.

Caspian flinches.

“Really?” Marin scoffs, an eyebrow raised. “You want me to believe that she—” she looks me head to toe and laughs, “Is part mundane?”

“Yes, Ellarika Willtze is drawing up her application as we speak. Given the circumstances, she is not eligible for extradition or free travel between the realms. Therefore, she is completely suitable to be released upon her own recognizance. If you are having trouble understanding, my dear, Jack may be able to fill you in.”

“Oh, I bet he can. One day, I hope you rot in hell, Altaris,” Marin hisses.

Laughing, he waves his hand at our surroundings. “My darling, where do you think we are? Honestly.”

He chuckles as she storms from the room, but the second she’s gone, he falls silent. “I know you have questions,” he says, though I’m not sure if he’s speaking to me or Caspian. “But now isn’t the time. That was a powerful creature you may have killed, my darling. Very powerful indeed. You must trust that I know best. Keep your mouth shut in boney halls. We will discuss the finer points later. For now, be patient.”

I nod.

So does Caspian.

An odd tension permeates the air. Something is wrong, and it goes far beyond what happened at the circus. Caspian feels it too. As he approaches, he takes hold of my hand.

Some of the feeling goes away, just enough to breathe normally again.

Marin returns with a folder that she hurls onto the table. “Just one more thing. Then I suppose we’re done here.”

“I suppose we shall be,” Altaris remarks in a smug tone.

“This girl.” Marin opens the folder and slams an index finger against a glistening square. “Do you recognize her?”

I do. With far more detail, the image is as colorful as a painting. A photograph, Caspian remarks. He knows the term but doesn’t remember how. Whatever it is, the person depicted, with shorter black hair is unmistakable.

“Minchae,” I say. In retrospect, I recall Altaris' advice, but when I look at him, his expression is unreadable. So I tentatively add, “She worked at the Circus, as a performer.”

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