Ari
“The murder of a philosopher won’t go unanswered, of course,” Isla says.
“The question,” Alexander Reed replies, “is what our answer will be.”
Now Reed holds up a hand, and one of the waiters hurries over. “More coffee,” he says.
“Of course, sir,” the waiter answers, and scurries away.
Reed nods at Ari as he looks through the contents of the folder, the edges tilted up so that Ari can’t quite see. “Well,” he says, “what should our response be? We’ve forced Grand Central into a forbidden act.”
“Not everyone agrees that Grand Central committed the crime,” Isla says.
“Enough are assuming it after our recent hostilities with them,” Rudra says.
Reed doesn’t look at Rudra. “What’s an equivalent retaliation to killing a philosopher?”
Ari doesn’t answer right away. His mind is still on Dominique.
Last night, he’d jolted repeatedly out of nightmares of sitting in the library with her, studying, their heads together.
Him, reaching over to ask her for help. Her, pointing out a paragraph to him in a book.
Him, thanking her. Her, smiling encouragingly at him, touching his shoulder in reassurance.
And then it’s night in the library, and she’s heading into the secret study beyond the black door, and he’s filled with a sudden terror that she’ll be hurt if she goes in there, but she’s already gone and he’s pounding on the door, screaming for her.
He can still feel her name on his tongue when he bolts awake, trembling all over.
For a second, he’s relieved that it was only a dream.
Then he remembers, and everything crashes around him all over again.
His thoughts cycle onto Sam. She was so resplendent that evening in her pale blue dress, and Ari watched her from a distance, overcome with desire, wanting more than anything to go up to her, take her hand, pull her into a dance with him.
He was such a fool that he hadn’t considered why she might have been chosen to attend the conference, that she would end the night by leaving Dominique’s body lying on the cobblestones of an alley, like trash.
In the tense silence that follows, Rudra says, “A philosopher hasn’t been murdered in over a decade. If Grand Central senses a hostile tide from enough syndicates, they might realize they’ve stepped out too far and back down.”
“And then what?” Reed says.
“How many sides can Grand Central handle an attack from?” Rudra says with a shrug, looking on as the waiter arrives to pour more coffee into their cups.
“The Mengs say we should find and execute every philosopher in Grand Central. Belle Epoque already wants more details of what happened. Grand Central can’t handle a war that pulls in too many directions.
They’re already fighting a losing battle against Doherty in the mayoral election. ”
“And then what?” Reed repeats, looking calmly at Rudra.
Reed’s voice is too quiet, and Rudra shifts uncomfortably. Again, Ari marvels at how terrifying the man can be when in Ari’s presence, knowing who he can intimidate, and then how much he can shrink before Reed, knowing the limits of his power.
“Pressure Diamond Taylor down,” Rudra says, forcing his voice to sound firmer. “Set a meeting to discuss reparations for us.”
“Reparations.”
“Yes, sir.”
Reed puts his coffee down. “Reparations are compensation given to victims who have suffered injustice.” He looks thoughtfully at Rudra. “Is that what we are? Victims?”
Now Rudra knows he has misstepped, and he straightens, trying to recover. “Of course not,” he says. “But reparations—”
“No negotiations,” Reed cuts him off, and the man stills. “We aren’t inviting them to a fucking dance. We’re annihilating them.” He sneers. “You think so small, Rudra.” The light glints against his glasses as he leans forward. His voice steels. “So, tell me again. What shall we do in response?”
Rudra’s face has paled, and he tries to hide his reaction behind a sip of coffee. At the pause, Isla looks at Reed and says, “Diamond has been relying on Mozart for all of her recent retaliations against us.”
“And?” Reed says.
Ari’s heart squeezes and, for a moment, he glances at Isla, but there’s nothing he can do to stop her. “And it seems to me,” Isla continues, “that we should be striking at the source.”
“She’s not the source,” Ari says instinctively. “Diamond is.”
“You know what I mean,” Isla replies. “Diamond leans more and more on her.”
Reed leans back in his chair, turning his coffee mug back and forth against the table. “You want to take her down,” he says.
Isla meets Ari’s gaze across the table, a somber shadow across her face. “I can try,” she says, then nods at Ari. “But I think he would do a better job at it.”
Ari hates her in this moment for bringing the subject of Sam forward, but of course Isla would, because she’s as angry as he is. Dominique had also been her pupil, after all, and the wound of losing her is fresh.
“Shakespeare,” Reed says, shifting his attention. “When can you see her again?”
“I don’t know,” Ari replies truthfully.
“Then find out.”
“You want me to kill her?” Ari says. His voice comes out too bitter, aimed at both Reed and Isla. “I’m no polemist.”
“No, not you.” Reed looks at him. “I want you to hurt her.”
Ari feels everything in his chest tighten. “How so?” he asks.
“How do you think?” He takes a sip of coffee. “Find out who she would bleed for the most.”
Everything is falling apart. There is no way out. Ari clenches his fists under the table and fights to stay calm.
Reed regards him for a moment. “You already know, don’t you?” he says.
Her mother, Ari thinks. Losing her mother would destroy her. “I can’t be sure,” he replies coolly.
“Well.” Reed purses his lips and looks straight, past Rudra’s head and out the window at the hotel’s lush courtyard.
“Let’s be sure, then. Prometheus.” He nods at the man.
“Go make a call for me. I want a report on how our other philosophers are going to accommodate for St. Clair’s death.
This has put pressure on our timeline for deliveries. ”
Rudra’s eyes darken at the dismissal and the order, a task more suited to an assistant. He glances at Ari, but he doesn’t dare argue Reed’s own decision in front of him. “Of course, sir,” he says, and rises from the table.
“Archimedes,” Reed says.
“Sir.”
“Take two of your favorite fellow polemists and intercept Grand Central’s next shipments at the pier. We’re going to strike a few targets at once. I’d like to be relentless, now that we’ve got winds blowing in our favor.”
Isla nods her obedience. As she gets up, she exchanges a brief look with Ari. She seems to know Ari’s angry with her, but her face remains resolute, a reminder to him that, in spite of their friendship, she is first and foremost a Lumines alchemist.
Then Isla’s gone, and Ari is left alone with Reed.
“Ah, Shakespeare.” Reed picks idly at the corner of the black folder on the table. “Always so careful with your answers.”
“I’m thinking of minimizing our consequences,” Ari replies.
“And what consequences might you be thinking of?” Reed asks.
Ari’s voice hardens. “Doherty’s already anxious enough about his campaign. We don’t want to cause an escalation of violence in the city right before the election.”
“I’d say an escalation of violence is exactly what will help Doherty defeat an incumbent.”
“In theory, yes. But hitting several targets at once will bring the police out to investigate. You always said to avoid shedding the blood of law enforcement. This will complicate things for us.”
“Mm, dragging your feet.” Reed sips his coffee and regards him. “You’re still not telling me the whole story.”
“About what?”
“About Mozart.”
Ari frowns at him. “There’s not much to tell,” he says, “until I can meet her again.”
Reed takes his glasses off and polishes them. “You resent being assigned to her.”
“I think you’re setting me up for failure.
” Ari looks sidelong at Reed. “Your shifting of assignments to me has not gone unnoticed by Prometheus, and I don’t appreciate having to defend myself around him all the time.
Did you know that he was in my hotel suite in Oxford?
He found me after the gala. We had a rather unpleasant chat.
” Ari lifts his chin and pushes his collar aside, showing Reed his smattering of wounds.
Reed makes a sound of mock sympathy. “Doesn’t look good,” he says.
Ari tightens his lips. “If Rudra had tried to kill me, would you have stopped him?”
“If Rudra had the balls to kill you, he would have done it. And yet here you are.”
Ari remembers Rudra’s words to him that night, slurred but not without truth. This is how they do it, turning us against each other.
“I think you play a risky game with your chosen one,” Ari says.
“Know what I think? I think Mozart means more to you than you’ve let on.” Reed leans closer to him. “And that you haven’t been entirely honest with me.”
Ari forces himself to return the man’s gaze without hesitation. The fear has started to seep back into his heart now, along with the memory of Sam on the beach, illuminated by the light of a full moon.
“Why the reluctance?” Reed says. “I thought Cleopatra was your friend. I see the pain on your face when we talk about her death. It hurts you, doesn’t it?”
“It won’t heal with more blood,” Ari answers quietly.
Reed slides the black folder on the table to him. “Perhaps you just haven’t been wounded enough yet,” he replies.
Ari takes the folder, his sense of dread rising. When he looks back at Reed, the light has hidden the man’s eyes again, turning his glasses into panels of flat white. Ari turns back to the folder. His heart starts to tremble.
He opens it.