Page 28 of Lux

As a lamp flickers on, the woman shuffles to a desk piled high with paperwork. This room is small and square, with no windows. The desk alone takes up most of the space, and the woman has to squeeze behind it just to claim a leather seat. Then, she sighs again, more loudly. “What is it this time?”

“Oh, just a minor little arrangement between the two of us.” Altaris gestures to me. “My friend needs to amend his contract.”

As she looks over me, the woman scoffs. In her gaze, however, I don’t find surprise. Her lips press together into a thin line. Recognition? “Bollocks,” she hisses, “I know of this one. Tons of unpaid fees and debt to his name. So very many expired visas. Yet he isn’t one of yours.” Her dark eyes continue to probe at mine, like buzzing flies seeking a way in.

“No, this one is a special case,” Altaris says, folding his hands together. “He will need all the required immigration work, as well as his little friend—we shall discuss her case later. Right now, all we need to do is draft a little repayment contract. A few pesky arun. Caspian here has agreed to work it off. There also is a matter of rent for my other home across the city. We can charge him the usual rate, my darling. If I could pester you to expedite?—”

“I can have it for you in three days.” The woman grabs a pair of spectacles from her desk and balances them on the bridge of her nose. Instantly, her eyes are three times their size. She is much more than a buzzing fly, but a patient, hungry frog. “No more no less.”

“Tonight, I am afraid,” Altaris insists in a pleasant tone. “I will reward you handsomely, as you know.”

“Blast you to hell, Altaris! I am busy.” She makes a show of rustling her papers and prodding her glasses.

All for show.

It is all just for show.

She’s had a contract ready with my name on it long before this moment. For years, even. The ink on the parchment is decades old and bone dry. I somehow know it before she pulls it from a desk drawer, safely coiled, sealed with red string.

I’ve seen it before.

Signed it before.

Many, many, many times.

“Mill about for a minute and let me work,” the woman harrumphs before pouring over the document. As if it isn’t ready.

As if she hasn’t already prepared every single detail.

This is how they work, the two of them. Herding wayward sheep into traps already rigged to be sprung. They think me stupid and gullible like the rest.

I laugh. Then I march to that desk and snatch away the contract.

It’s as expected, but the name is all wrong. Not Caspian. Two letters. C.W.

C.W.

C.W.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Altaris wrestles the document away as if it is made from gold. He cradles it to his chest and strokes the parchment with soothing fingers. “No need to wrinkle the damned thing. Just sign your name on the dotted line, darling. So, to speak. There isn’t a line. Just scribble your name at the very bottom.”

I look at him. Then I smile and chuckle. Or growl. Nothing like Niamh's pretty fucking noises.

“You think I am an idiot?” I ask him. “I am not. You are a liar. A fucking liar.” I feel it in my gut—in the pit of my very soul. Even though the details aren't clear to me, deep down a feeling of betrayal stirs inside me whenever I look at him.

I think I’m meant to hate him almost as much asshedid.

Until he blinks. Sorrow floods those cat-like, green eyes and he nods. Just once. “I know,” he says. “You are right. But there is a deal to be struck. So please sign.”

“No.” I storm off to another corner of the room. I want to rant and rave and break. There is nothing valuable here to smash, however. Just pages upon pages shoved into filing cabinets and wooden drawers. So many fucking contracts he owns. The bastard must own the goddamn city.

Yet…

He isn't gloating over his possessions and triumphant over them. As he sighs, he sounds exhausted by the burden. A strange thought.

“You are toying with me,” I tell him. “I don’t know how, but you are playing me like a puppet.”

He’s silent. Then, “Please, Caspian, darling?—”

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