The guard at the window spoke loudly, asking our business. We told him we just wanted a word, and he stepped away, speaking softly into a walkie-talkie. A moment later he returned with a clipboard.
“Badges and IDs,” he said.
I brought mine out, fumbling slightly to cover Jax’s hesitation at handing over his store-bought badge. The guard jotted down the names and numbers and his partner reappeared to roll back the gate and grant access.
“That’s new,” I said, pulling the Hasam up the brick drive.
“The guards?” said Jax. He hadn’t been with me on my single previous visit to Paulus’s home.
“The type of guard. There was a rent-a-thug at the gate last time. But those two moved like pros. Maybe former military.”
The house itself was a multistory building with ornate finishes, ringed by exotic plants imported from the south and maintained at great expense. We parked in front of the home, behind a lengthy black sedan with tinted windows. Near the front door a small group of well-dressed people scurried around a petite woman in her early sixties.
Paulus.
Jax and I approached. The crowd parted when the ambassador turned her attention to us.
“Officers,” she adjusted her own pair of mirrored sunglasses, designer logo glinting in the afternoon sun, “I’m surprised to see you on my personal property. This must be an emergency.”
I shrugged. “A word in private, Ambassador?”
“No time for privacy, officers. I’m sure that whatever you have to say can’t be too salacious, after all.” Despite her protestations, she issued a terse set of directions to each of the flunkies surrounding her, and they melted away, leaving us alone with Paulus.
She crossed her arms. It was a move that created a sharp triangle out of her gray suit, from the knife-sharp line of her shoulder pads down to the large belt used as an accessory. “Talk fast and don’t waste my time.”
Jax started to speak, but I placed a hand on his arm.
“What’s with the enhanced security?” I asked.
One corner of her mouth crept up. “Death threats. The AFS is still conducting tests on the areas around the manna strike, and the freeze on new drilling has caused some of the furloughed rig workers to tell me how they’d like to right the scales.”
“You think they’re serious?”
“Never underestimate the hard-handed men of Titanshade.” She smiled, and I knew from experience that there would be no trace of humor in her eyes, even if they weren’t hidden behind the tiny, curved reflections of Jax and myself. “Ask your questions, gentlemen. And then depart. My time is as short as my patience.”
“Fine,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to waste the time of someone important like you.”
She didn’t respond. Just beyond earshot, the lackeys glanced at their watches and shuffled papers, acting uninterested. It was probably the same routine they went through anytime their boss was about to eviscerate someone. Possibly literally.
“I was wondering,” I said, “how much access you have to the next gen manna. I know you buy traditional manna on the open market, but with the manna from underground coming available only in small batches, are you able to access any before?”
“Before what?”
“Oh, you know.” I shuffled my feet. “Before the government takes its final measure. Do you get to play with the new stuff?”
“Absolutely not,” she said. “It’s processed and brought to market just like any other precious material. I have no special access. Now do you have more of these questions, or do you want to tell me why you’re really here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Please. Your dumb schlub routine worked on me the first time we met,” she said. “It hasn’t since, so I don’t know why you’re still trying. Now him?” She pointed at Ajax. “That’s no act. He’s a small-town hick, swinging above his pay grade. I’ve seen him in action.” She gave Jax a look of stark appraisal. “If you ever want to earn an adult paycheck, Ajax, we can talk.”
Jax nodded, not taking the bait. I cleared my throat and she turned her attention back to me.
“Ah. But you, Carter, understand more about the city and its residents than you let on. And it’s still significantly less than you think you do. You’ll never be a real power in this town.” She took off her sunglasses and stared me in the eyes. “No matter what kind of strings you can pull.”
My chest tightened. Paulus had witnessed me manipulate manna on Titan’s Day. She may have been able to piece together what I could do, but I doubted it. No, it was far more likely that she’d gotten that information from the first person I’d confided in about my manna connection. Her daughter, Gellica. The thought of her manipulating Gellica was enough to push me forward once more.
“Funny thing about pulling on threads. The entire sweater tends to unravel.” I waved a hand when I said it, as if I were feeling for threads around us. It was her turn to take a step back. Wind swirled a few pieces of trash along the ground, and the air along her arms shimmered, as though Paulus had an invisible python draped across her neck. Down the drive, Paulus’s lackeys changed from affected disinterest to concern, and several of them backed even farther away, fidgeting nervously. My skin prickled. I’d encountered the strength of that invisible creature firsthand.
We were interrupted by a rumble that made the bricks tremble beneath our feet. Up the drive rolled a wide-based car, engine growling like an angry lion awakening with a hangover. It was a brand-new Longinus Lancer, built for power and painted a purple so deep that it almost looked like you could dive into it. The car rolled past us to the far side of the drive’s turnaround. The engine cut and a woman got out, keys spinning around her index finger.
Her face was a younger version of Paulus’s, the
