Page 1 of The Hive Queen

mending bridges

- Pen -

I stare hardat the man sitting on the other side of my desk.

For several weeks, I avoided this meeting. But when I arrived at the office today, he’d been waiting in his sleek, black car and caught me before I could escape. Mr. Berdherst isn’t one to take no for an answer, it would seem.

At forty-five, he holds himself with a sense of authority groomed into him from birth. He still has a full head of thick, chestnut hair, with more silver at his temples than he had before he began his campaign to run for mayor of Clearhelm. Whether it comes from stress or an expensive dye job, it only adds to his image of trustworthiness.

Or so the headlines say.

I keep my hands loosely clasped on top of my desk. “If you have issues with our findings, Mr. Berdherst, you are welcome to hire a different company to investigate your daughter’s death.”

His lips tighten. “I’m aware that most groups who offer your specific skill set have links to your organization, Ms. Cay. I would only be hiring them to back up your claims.”

“We’re all independent contractors,” I murmur. “Don’t make it sound like I’m some kind of mafia don.”

“Aren’t you, though?” He studies me intently. “You’ve even worked your way in with the Joint Task Force of Paranormal Investigations, and you’ve taken over the Conservatory.”

“Are you going somewhere with all these accusations, Mr. Berdherst?” I ask in a calm tone.

“I’m going to be mayor, soon, and I can take Clearhelm in one of two directions, Ms. Cay.” He leans forward. “As ground zero for the revelation of the others, our city is on the cusp of change. I’m the perfect figurehead for advocacy for higher restrictions against Others. Demons kidnapped my daughter and killed her, after all.”

A smug smile curls his lips. “What bigger sign is there that these creatures are dangerous and should not be given the same rights as humans? Or, one of these dangerous creatures can miraculously save my daughter, and Clearhelm can become a bastion for Others. A shelter against the storm. Neutral ground.”

My stomach tightens. I don’t want a return to the time right after magic returned to the human plane, when Others were open game and killed before laws were put in place to protect them. We worked hard to get to where we are now in as short a time as possible in human history.

“I’m a simple woman, Mr. Berdherst,” I murmur. “I need things said plainly.”

He leans back in his chair. “I want my daughter returned to me.”

Six months ago, Mrs. Berdherst sat in the same chair her husband sits in now and hired us to exorcize the demon DNA out of her half-demon daughter, knowing full well that doing so would kill the child. She preferred to be a grieving mother over having it discovered that she cheated on her husband, making their pre-martial agreement null and void.

We did the job and got the kid to a safe place, covering up her disappearance by claiming she died in a demon raid.

At the time, it was the easiest solution to remove the child from a dangerous situation. Since tears started opening in the veil, demon-raiding parties aren’t unheard of. Children aren’t a part of demon evolution, but they’re possible with the addition of witchblood.

Groups of demons sometimes sneak over to the human plane and kidnap women they think have witchblood. Sometimes they take children, too, either because the long-lived races have a hard time understanding age or because they want to experience what it’s like to be parents.

But pinning the death of a child on a random group of demons may have been a bad call on our part.

I lean back in my chair. “Why?”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you want your daughter back so much?” I elaborate. “By all accounts, you were a neglectful father, and your wife only pulled your daughter out to dress her up for photo ops.”

“Soon to be ex-wife,” he says tightly.

I dip my head in acknowledgment. “Nevertheless, you didn’t care about your daughter before. What’s changed?”

“I care about her.” Anger flushes his cheeks. “I might have gotten too involved in politics, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love my child.”

“You’re diving even deeper into politics,” I point out. “Nothing has changed there.”

“I know she’s not mine,” he says tightly. “Not biologically. Not on the DNA level. But I raised her, I read her stories at night, I kissed her skinned knees. She’s my daughter.”

“Nannies raised her, and your wife isn’t the only one who had affairs.” I open a drawer in my desk and leaf through the file before pulling one out. “We do thorough investigations on everyone involved in cases we run, especially when there’s a child involved. Would you like to see our findings?”

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