The heart-wrenching despondency in his words took me aback. I’d focused exclusively on the handful of recent abductions related to Rhyzkahl. Yet Sonny had been at this for a dozen years. How many more had he taken for reasons other than to be given to the qaztahl? Men and women wanted by Farouche for any number of nefarious purposes. “Sonny. I’m so sorry. No more.”
He looked back to me, face and eyes haunted. “I couldn’t even kill myself to make it stop,” he said, voice thick. “I tried. I tried, but Mr. Farouche . . .” He shook his head.
Though I hadn’t thought it possible, my loathing of Farouche ratcheted up another notch. Sonny paid for his crimes with his soul every waking moment, and I was willing to bet his dreams weren’t full of rainbows and unicorns. Let’s hope suicide isn’t still on Sonny’s agenda, I thought grimly.
Sonny returned his focus to me. “What happened to the ones who went with Mega-Fabio?”
“Most likely used for sex,” I told him frankly, doing my best to keep my voice level even though the topic induced white-hot rage in me. I forced calm and sifted back through my memory of snippets of information and conversations that made more sense now. “They’d be traded to other lords for favors, I’d imagine.” I angled a look at him. “If it helps, I believe that most of the lords would treat a woman well.” I grimaced sourly. “Even Rhyzkahl would take good care of a woman he desired.” I highly doubted Amkir would, and I didn’t think Jesral would be the picture of loving kindness either. And Kadir seemed pretty damn asexual. He got those men, I thought. And not for sex.
Sonny looked relieved. “I pretty much knew sex would be the purpose. Rhyzkahl seemed to like Janice a lot. He said he’d chosen her to live with him. It’s good to hear they’ll be okay.”
I clamped down hard on the No, they won’t be okay! response that leapt to my lips. This was human trafficking, plain and simple. But saying that wouldn’t accomplish anything and would only distress Sonny more. He knew what he’d done, and right now he scrambled for any shred of comfort he could find. Now wasn’t the time to yank that away from him.
“What’s your usual routine with a new acquisition?” I asked in a sharp change of subject. “I don’t want anyone wondering what’s going on if you’re supposed to be somewhere else.”
He shook his head. “With the women, I usually spend some time to get them comfortable, anything up to an hour or so, depending on what they need.” Guilt clawed across his face again.
“You did your best for them,” I said gently. “You weren’t simply taking care of the merchandise. You did everything you could to make a horrible situation a little less horrible. And the very fact that you came back here to help us proves you’re a decent person and a fucking brave one at that.”
“It has to stop. Not only for me. For everyone.”
“We’ll stop it,” I promised, then bared my teeth in a hard smile. “It will rain fire, and we’ll kick all the ass.”
He let out a dry laugh, then glanced at his watch. “Let’s do this. Carter will be on the desk. I’ll walk you in as if I’m taking you to see the boss. I’ll get you inside, then I’ll get him away to give you time to get into the server room.”
“Got it.” I went to the mirror, adjusted the wig to make certain no stray brown hairs poked out, and dabbed away a bit of smeared makeup under my eyes. Amaryllis had pretty eyes. My reflection gave a shy smile—
I jerked my eyes from the mirror. “Paul,” I muttered.
Somehow he knew. “Kara,” he replied, firm and certain. “You’re Kara.”
Kara. I’m Kara. I moved to the kitchen area and filled a tumbler with water, gulped half of it down through a mouth dry as sand. Kara.
“Kara,” Paul echoed.
I focused on deep and regular breaths until I felt like myself again. “Thanks, Paul,” I said quietly. “Y’all ready?”
“Ready,” Paul replied.
I turned and gave Sonny a nod. “Let’s go.”
He took my elbow. “Last time I’ll ever lead a woman into that house.”
“Last time anyone will.”
Chapter 38
Sonny didn’t put the hood back on me, probably because once a “permanent” abductee was here, it didn’t matter what they saw. He kept hold of my arm and walked me along a curving brick sidewalk toward the lovely three-story Farouche Plantation house.
Farouche. A self-serving southern gentleman crime boss allied with demonic lords while masquerading as a philanthropic businessman. Too weird.
Numerous graceful wrought iron lamps cast soft, warm light on the grounds and brought out the color in gorgeous well-tended flower beds. To my left a small lake glimmered, and I picked out a dock with a flatboat moored to it. Off to my right stood several larger buildings, all either converted from original plantation structures or built in the same style. I remembered them from the satellite photo as the gym, pool, and shooting range.
I noted the barest shift in the shadowy leaves of an oak by the lake; Eilahn, letting me know she was in place. Paul continued to say my name into my ear about once every minute. Props to him for remembering my implanted rakkuhr virus on top of everything else he was tracking.
As we continued on, I marveled at the lovely gazebo that stood between the lake and the main house. Tiny white fairy lights wrapped pale marble columns and created the illusion of a star field on the underside of its domed slate roof. A ripple like a mirage distorted the lights for a fraction of a second.
I blinked. Had I actually seen it ripple? Then I felt it, an arcane touch like the whisper of silk against my skin. I tugged Sonny toward the gazebo, but he tugged right back.
“Can’t go there,” he told me, voice low. “It would draw instant attention.”
I pursed my lips. “Surely no rule about fixing my shoe.” I bent and pretended to adjust a strap while I snuck a better look at the gazebo with othersight. Blues and greens coiled sluggishly in the center of the marble platform, arcane vapor rising and falling above it like the breath of a giant. No mistaking that.
“Paul, the node is at the gazebo,” I muttered. The latitude and longitude from Tracy Gordon’s journal had only narrowed the location of the node to the back lawn of the plantation. “And it’s, uh, breathing.”
“Okay. Got it, Kara,” Paul replied. “I’ll let Mzatal know.”
I counted columns, then quickly counted again. Shit. “Tell him it has eleven columns. He’ll understand.”
“We need to move,” Sonny said with an edge of anxiety in his voice.
I stood and made a show of testing the shoe, then continued toward the house. “Sorry,” I said quietly. “I had to check that out. We didn’t know exactly where it was.”
The more I saw of the house and grounds, the more the place felt like a pleasant resort. Yet I knew that not far from my room, a building designed for torture and murder hunkered beyond a screen of shrubbery and a security fence. Some resort.
A whisper of droplets pattered briefly across the walkway. Far off to the west, lightning lit clouds in a soundless dance. We’d have rain before the night was over. I intended for us to be long gone by then.
“When we get inside we’re going to pass a man at a desk,” Sonny murmured. “Behind that desk is the door to the server room you’re looking for. I’ll take you down the hall and around a corner, supposedly to have you wait in the holding room until Mr. Farouche or one of his cronies sends for you. No one will question it.”
I nodded. No one ever did anything against Farouche’s orders, which meant no one would suspect that Sonny was stabbing him in the back. This was where Farouche’s controlled loyalty would bite him in the ass.
The house rose above us in stately splendor, a true antebellum gem. Left and right, a pair of broad curving staircases led up to the second story, and lights winked beyond sheer curtains in many of the tall windows.