Lucius (Acquisition 4)

And, though I’m confident this goes without saying, if you fail to attend, I will personally make it my task to visit you at your 12th floor home on Perdido Street (door code 4361) at my earliest opportunity.

Yours very truly,

Sovereign

I’m covered in a cold sweat, and I didn’t realize I’d sat at the foot of my bed. I stare at the words, at the horror. The Acquisition isn’t over. It can’t be killed. The Vinemonts burnt it to nothing but ash, but it’s still alive. Not a phoenix, nothing resplendent like that. More like a demon who fed on the flames and only grew stronger.

I shouldn’t have come back here.

My hands are cold, so cold I can’t feel them as I let the parchment slip through them and hit the floor.

I sit for a long time, nausea roiling in my gut. It was foolish of me to think it was over. Just because my brother was dead right along with all the rest of them, that doesn’t mean that some didn’t survive. Or, perhaps, a new crop has risen. The children who were too young to attend the Sovereign’s crowning all those years ago, or the ones off at college or overseas who didn’t get caught up in the inferno.

After a while, I realize my phone’s been buzzing intermittently. I look at it. Half an hour has passed, all of it spent in memory or conjecture. Bathed in cold sweat and wrapped in fear.

I swipe to answer the call. “Yeah?”

“Evelyn, are you all right?” It’s Linton.

“Of course. Why?”

He clucks his tongue. “I don’t know. When you answered, you just sounded…”

Like someone walked over my grave? “I’m fine. What’s going on?”

“Craig Rasmussen called me first thing this morning.”

That perks me up a little. Rasmussen is an influential board member for Magnolia. “What’d he say?”

“He wants to know if you’d like to meet for lunch.”

“Yes. I mean, definitely. When?”

“Today.”

Damn. I’ll have to get myself together. No cracks in my armor, no dwelling on the hellish invitation that still lies at my feet.

“Evelyn?” he asks.

I realize I’ve been silent too long. “Set it up.”

“He already has. Noon at Le Corbeau.”

“Pick me up at 11:30?” I’ll have to rethink my whole ‘just mascara and bronzer’ plan. Rasmussen will be expecting polished and perfect.

Linton clears his throat. “I’m afraid he made clear that he wanted to dine with you. Just you.”

“Oh.” I frown. “Is he up to something?”

“Likely.” Linton sighs. “Don’t overpromise. Don’t tip your hand.”

“I know.” I stop just short of rolling my eyes. “But if I can get him on our side, that’s one step closer to taking over the board. A big step.”

“Yes, but we can’t be sure of his intentions … or his … desires. You know what I’m saying here.”

Gross. “Rasmussen is what, 65?”

“Yes, 65, but not dead.”

“Hell, if flirting gets me the leverage I need, I’m certainly not above it.” I lie back on the bed and stare at the angular chandelier overhead. “I’ll do anything to get Magnolia.”

“Anything?” he asks delicately. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Go big or go home.” I can’t tell if this is empty bravado or if I’d actually sleep with Rasmussen if it meant winning Magnolia. After all, I already killed a man—at least I thought I did. What’s a little disgusting sex? Still, I shiver.

“Be careful, Evelyn. I know how badly you want this, but you need to be able to walk away if that’s what’s best for you.”

“I know what’s best for me.” I cut off that discussion. I don’t need a father, and I certainly don’t need Linton interfering with my plans.

We talk strategy for a few moments then hang up. I know what I need to do, and this opening couldn’t have come at a better time. It’s a new focus, a new place for me to spend my energy. Not the letter. The letter goes on the back burner. It’s just an invitation.

I sit up and swipe the letter off the floor, then open my dresser drawer and drop it in. Out of sight. In the dark.

If that beautifully-lettered paper is in there, hidden away, it can’t hurt me…

That’s likely the first of many lies I’ll tell today.

11

Lucius

Le Corbeau is packed, diners at every table as the wait staff bustles about with dishes. I sit at a table near the kitchen, my back to the wall. From here I can see everyone and everything.

When Evelyn walks in, I take in every bit of her. The white sundress, pale blue pumps, and the way she’s done her blonde hair. Breathtaking. I’m not the only one who stares. But I’m the only one who knows that beautiful exterior hides a tantalizing enigma.

She follows the maître d through the crowded room, but stops hard when she sees me sitting at the table. “Where’s Rasmussen?”