Chapter Twenty-Eight Taissa #4
“Okay.” Banes sighs, rolling her eyes. “Let’s cut this short. The two of you are very pathetic, and honestly? So bad at this. I’m…disappointed. The infamous Locke and Cho, bumbling fools. You’d best stick to carriwitchet. You’d both be horrible magistrates.”
“We can’t stick to carriwitchet if there’s no sport left to play,” Taissa fires back.
“True enough,” concedes Banes, something flickering in her eyes.
“And I have to admit that I’m reluctantly impressed by the two of you.
Reluctantly,” she emphasizes as Taissa smirks.
“Not many would dare to seek me out. Even the so-called DMC hunkers down and hides when my name’s involved.
I’m sure you know this”—she leans back in her chair—“but my associates and I, we’re just the executioners.
Somebody else pays us a very hefty price to do what we do.
And if they give us enough, their will is ours.
Me, personally? I don’t care about the Wingeds or your silly little game. ”
“Watch your mouth,” Taissa snaps, and her tone has more thunder in it than any summer storm.
Bane chuckles. “That’s better.”
“Who does?” demands Kion. “Who paid you to do this?”
“Can’t say, I’m afraid. Company policy, and all that.
” Her eyes glitter. “But like I said, I like both of you. Especially you.” Her finger jabs at Taissa, who blinks in surprise.
“I love cheating, and I love cheaters. I especially love women who everybody else seems to hate. Call it a quirk.” Banes smiles another shark’s smile.
“And, well, I’ve been waiting for you to come calling for two years, Mr. Locke.
Tell me. Did you only just now figure out that your team’s curse was also my business’s doing?
” As the room plunges into a sudden, brittle silence, Banes tilts her head. “Oh. I see. Well—surprise?”
Taissa’s head whips toward Kion, who has again gone so very still. No part of him moves, except for his chest, which is moving at a rate too fast to be normal. Swallowing hard, Taissa forces herself to look back at Orla Banes, trying to quiet the sudden roaring in her mind.
Why had Magis Elder not started here? Surely Púca Púca LLC’s antics are common knowledge within the magistrate? Unless the pipe-smoking geancánach isn’t as much of a genius bigwig as he’s taken pains to seem.
(This seems more than probable.)
“But there wasn’t—there wasn’t púca dust,” Kion rasps. “On any of us. Or on the pitch, or—”
Orla adjusts her gloves in a movement that would almost look dainty, if done by literally anyone else.
“We take care of favors both small and large, you know. We can’t always be bothered to leave our calling cards for the less…
impressive ones. Cursing a sports team is a teeny favor, really, and so petty.
Almost embarrassing. We don’t need to attach our business’s name to that.
We have rules, you see. No repeat customers within a five-year frame.
No bargains that could jeopardize the Unseelie world.
No checking IDs, and no leaving business cards for stupid jobs. ”
Anger roils in Taissa’s gut as she clenches her qyl hard in her hand. “You don’t check IDs?” It’s like the púca is making this as difficult as it possibly can be.
Orla smirks. “It guarantees customer satisfaction. We draw in a specific sort of clientele. Anonymity is important to them. And we’re always happy to deliver.”
Taissa suppresses a scream of frustration with immense difficulty. (Some of it leaks out. It sounds, vaguely, like skreee.)
“Which one of your púcas cursed us?” grinds out Kion, and it’s little more than a guttural scrape. “You have to know at least that.”
“Like I said, I can’t tell you.” Banes is frowning slightly, as if, possibly, somewhere, deep down in her wizened heart, she feels just a bit sorry for the two wretched athletes before her. As if she can see all she’s taken from them, the husks she may have created.
What’s left if there’s no carriwitchet?
“But, yes, both curses originated from my…employees at Púca Púca. There would be signs, if you were trying to find the culprits, depending on the price. The absence of a soul, abrupt aging, loss of beauty, suddenly speaking in demonic tongues, crawling on the ceiling, cannibalism, all sorts of different things like that. Something is always taken. I’ve said more than I should have, out of courtesy to you both, and entertained your terrible interrogation.
I’d like you to leave now,” she finishes, standing and gesturing to the door.
“Wait,” Taissa blurts. “When are our stymphs going to fall ill? Is it—is it reversible?”
Bane’s eyes are very golden as she stares back at her. “That all depends on whether you’re really as good a rider as you seem,” she says, very slowly, as if encouraging a dull child to understand. But she doesn’t answer her first question.
What does that mean? “What are you trying to sa—”
“Goodbye, now,” says Banes, settling back into her chair as the two guards lurk menacingly in the doorway, gesturing for Kion and Taissa to leave. “Feel free to enjoy the club. It’s the last time you’ll ever be allowed inside with the guarantee of making it out again.”