Conclave (Devil's Night 3.5)

“And we can rule out he’s not dead, because his parents aren’t worried,” I tell them.

Misha pulls something out of his breast pocket and unfolds it, setting it down on the table. Damon immediately snatches it.

“What’s this?” he asks, inspecting the sheet.

“A list of males from wealthy and prominent families who have fallen off the grid and reappeared over the past thirty years,” Misha explains.

Damon scoffs, flinging the paper over to Michael. “We usually deal in digital files here in the twenty-first century.”

Michael takes the paper, scanning it.

“And what good is interviewing a bunch of middle-aged dudes going to do?” Damon continues. “A. They won’t talk. No one talks about Blackchurch. And B. The location changes. Even if they did talk, they wouldn’t know where it was anymore.”

“Maybe the location doesn’t change,” Misha argues. “Maybe that’s part of the story they tell us. And maybe Warner… Stratford… Walmart Cunningham III can give us a lead. Something useful. Unless you have a better idea?”

“His grandfather,” Winter chimes in. “He’s the one who probably put him there to begin with, right?”

Michael turns to Alex, plotting the next step. “Can you get in?”

She laughs under her breath. “I don’t know why you think these men divulge state secrets to their whores.”

“Because it’s worked before.” Damon grins, teasing her. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

But I sit up. “No.”

They all look at me.

“We’re not using Alex like that,” I explain.

At some point, she’ll finish her graduate degree, get a new job, and what will we do then when we can’t pimp her out? I’m not sending her to that old man.

“Besides,” I go on. “Men like him don’t handle the details themselves anyway.”

“His assistant, then,” Kai says. “Jack Munro. He’ll know everything.”

“And if he won’t talk?” Misha retorts.

“I’m sure information is more forthcoming when you want to put someone in there instead of take them out,” Alex mumbles.

The table falls silent, but I see a slight smile curl Michael’s lips.

“What?” I ask.

He quickly hides his smile and shrugs. “Nothing.”

But I watch him for a moment. He’s thinking something.

Alex draws in a breath. “I’ll ingratiate myself to Senator Grayson’s assistant as soon as Conclave concludes.” And she meets my gaze before I can say anything. “I’m doing it, Rika.”

I swallow my argument, not happy putting her into the position, but it’s Will, and I know she’ll do whatever it takes at this point.

Winter sets her hand on the table. “And if we find Blackchurch, and he’s there, how do we get him out?”

“We need to know what kind of fortress we’re dealing with first,” Banks tells her. “If the stories are true, they’ll have free run of the house and grounds. If we’re able to get to them, then they’re also able to get to us.”

The table falls silent as Banks looks around at each of us.

“There’s a reason Blackchurch is like that,” she continues. “Why it’s not simply a luxury spa with locked cages and guards. Why they’re left alone as if they’re dogs thrown into a pit to eat or be eaten.”