Chapter 16

My release from holding was a blur. Ms. Frasier took care of all their questions and walked me through everything. It wasn’t until after I had my property back and was sitting in her car that the fog in my head began to lift.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To my place,” she said.

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because you are officially in my custody, meaning I’m responsible for you for the next few days.”

I tried thinking about that, but my head hurt too much. However, the words, “But, you’re not my mom,” still slipped past the filter in my head.

“The judge I spoke to understands your situation,” she said, ignoring my quip. “He believes it will be better if someone keeps you somewhere safe for both your own safety and that of public property.”

Before I could think of an argument, my stomach grumbled.

“When was the last time you ate?” she asked, looking slightly amused.

“What’s today?” I asked in return.

“Tuesday,” she said with a frown. “Why?”

“Well,” I said with the tone of someone with not-so-good news, “my last meal was with my friends at Denny’s on Saturday, before we went to the airport.”

“What the hell?” she almost screamed.

I shrugged again. “I guess they forgot I was in that Holding Room. They said they never used it.”

“And they simply didn’t feed you?”

I nodded.

She gunned her car and cut across two lanes of traffic to enter a Burger King parking area. Other cars honked at us, but she ignored them. We pulled around to the drive through. The only thing she asked me was what I preferred to drink.

After I received food and drink, we didn’t leave the parking lot. She parked and pulled out her phone. I went through the motions of stuffing food down my pie hole and she barked orders on her phone. I distinctly recall hearing her growl every time she mentioned Detective Jennings.

When she finally hung up and tossed her phone on the dashboard, she said, “I’m going to have his ass busted down to Meter Maid when I’m done.”

I frowned in thought and asked, “Are there any parking meters in Arlington?”

She shot a glare at me. “You should be angry about this too.”

I was beginning to feel better but was still hazy. With a full mouth I said, “I burned through all that anger while I was in Holding.” Then I took a long drink. It was cold, wet, and fuzzy.

She let out a snort. “And what will you do if he comes after you again?”

“Well, there are two possibilities,” I said, holding up two fries. “One,” and I ate that fry, “I’ll pay the ticket since he’ll only be a Meter Maid. Or, two,” and I ate the other fry and grinned. I didn’t know what my grin looked like, but it felt evil. “I would tell him to talk to my lawyer.”

She smiled and chuckled. “Well, we better go. You have guests waiting to meet you.”

I was chewing on a fist full of fries when I frowned in confusion. Everyone I knew was out of town. I chewed, swallowed, and asked, “Who?” Then I took another drink to soothe my dry throat.

“Acquaintances of mine,” she said. “One of whom is, effectively, my boss.”

My confusion deepened. “The head of your law firm?”

“What? No,” she said quickly. “No, she runs my firm, but she’s not a lawyer.”

“I’m confused,” I said. “How can you run a law firm but not be a lawyer?”

“Well, it is complicated,” she said. “Suffice to say, my firm is only a segment of the overall organization.”

I couldn’t put two and two together. No, I was wrong. I knew how to do that, but this was way more complex. Then a thought came in from left field. “We’re not talking about the Mafia, are we?”

“Hell no,” she said with an attitude, as if I had just insulted her. It made me duck down some in case she decided to smack me for being stupid. Then she continued, “No, this is more up your alley, really.”

More words slipped past my filters. “What? College Fraternities?”

She looked at me. “I’m not being that obtuse.”

I sat up, staring at her. “If you want me to read your mind, just give me a moment...”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t, but that sort of thing is what I’m talking about: people with power.”

I sighed and sat back. “Powerborne,” I said almost to myself. Then a new thought hit me. “House leaders?”

“Yes,” she said with a sigh, as if I had finally caught up with her.

“Why would they want to meet me?” I asked and then thought better of it. “More likely, why would I want to meet them?”

She frowned at me but said, “They may be able to help you. After I told my boss about that coin and the serial killer, she told me to bring you to her as soon as possible.”

More fog lifted and I allowed my thoughts to intermingle. “The coin and the serial killer have nothing to do with each other,” I said.

She glanced at me. “Both are targeting you,” she said with a calm finality that sent a shiver up my spine. “I’ve never heard of anyone so young with so many high-level death threats directed at them. You need help, and my boss and her allies may be able to offer that help.”

I was so used to doing things on my own that I never considered the possibility that I needed help or that anyone would have the ability to offer it. It was a sobering thought that helped to clear my head faster than the food. “What kind of help are they offering?” I asked, ready to make a mad dash for it if the answer or intent had anything to do with hiding me away in a deep, dark hole.

“What does it matter?” she asked. “Any help would be good.”

Her altruistic answer sounded fine, but there were things I wouldn’t allow, levels of help I wouldn’t accept. “I won’t let someone else take a bullet for me.”

“If you know someone who laughed at being shot, would that be so bad?” she asked.

Her suggestion reminded me of Grace’s ex-boyfriend, Dan Baxter. He took three shots to the chest at point-blank range by a cop, but a moment later, he sat up again and brushed off his chest. He ended up trying to kill that cop and me. I was able to subdue him, but it was Jacquelyn who found a way to kill him. I finally shrugged at Ms. Frasier’s question. “I guess it would depend on why they’re laughing.”

She frowned at me and shook her head. “What I’m saying is any help they offer won’t be only in the form of advice. They won’t simply hide you away either. Depending on what you want to do, they may stand with you in a fight if it comes down to it.”

She sounded like she thought highly of these people, which I could respect, but I didn’t know them from Adam. Just because one was her boss didn’t mean she was going to offer the kind of help I would hope for. No, until I met them and asked my own questions, I wasn’t sure I could trust anyone to stand with me. I was willing to hear them out, even agree to various terms, but I would not be joining any Houses just to get help.

Ms. Frasier’s phone rang. She picked it up, answering with only her name. After a moment of listening, she said, “I understand. Yes, I know where it is. We’ll be there in five minutes.” Then she hung up.

She glanced at me and said, “There’s been a change of venue.”

“Where?” I asked.

“Grand Prairie,” she said.

We hit I-20, exited onto Lake Ridge Parkway, crossed a bridge, and then turned off the road into ... a forest?

“This is Estes Park. That lake is Joe Pool Lake,” Ms. Frasier said as if reading my mind. Granted, I was probably projecting, but I was glad for the information, even if it didn’t really help me.

We followed a gravel road into the park. I felt nervous, flashing back on my jogging trail and everything that happened on Friday.

Ms. Frasier pulled around to a roped off area for parking. When we stopped, I spotted two men and a woman all sitting at a picnic table with a cooler at the end of the table. There were other cars around, but nobody else.

“C’mon,” she said, and I climbed out.

The air was cool without the biting wind or slushy rain. Clouds hung low overhead, ready to dump on us, but this was the best option for a first meeting?

We approached the table. The trio watched us, or rather, they watched me. Suddenly, I felt better for the open space. I didn’t feel trapped or boxed-in like I probably would in an unknown house or building. Regardless, I took note of various directions I could go to take cover or potentially lose these three should it become necessary.

You are not paranoid if they’re after you.

However, as opposed to what my rising paranoia suggested, these three remained seated and relaxed. No one made any sudden moves or tried to hide their hands.

Has my ability to trust been broken?

Ms. Frasier and I stopped at the end of the table where the ice chest stood. “Ral Sutton,” she said with polite gestures, “this is Richard Foster, an Information Broker and head of the House of the Brass Dragon.”

Mr. Foster stood and held out his hand to shake. He was almost as tall as me with an average build, plain brown hair with a bit of gray at the temples, and gleaming gray eyes. He wore an expensive looking long coat over a dark gray three piece suit with a silk green tie bearing a brass tie tack. His aura was almost too bright to make out a color, but I caught a shade of green that reminded me of old dollar bills. He seemed excited to meet me.

I shook his hand. He had a solid grip, and released quickly. Almost as if afraid to maintain contact.

As he returned to his seat, Ms. Frasier said, “This is Nyla West, a Business Analyst, my boss, and head of the House of the Silver Dragon.”

Ms. West also stood and reached out to shake hands. She was taller than Ms. Frasier, though not as tall as Mrs. Foster. She had a trim, athletic build, striking blue eyes, and long silver hair that flowed in straight locks with the sporadic breeze. Her handshake was good too, though she didn’t pull away as quickly as Mr. Foster. Her aura was as bright as Mr. Foster’s, but electric blue in color.

She sat down and the last person at the table stood up and stepped over his bench.