Chapter 33
I see just how bad Eislyn’s involvement is the next day.
Watery morning light shines in through the glass panes of Memnon’s penthouse office as I sit perched on the edge his desk. Memnon looms over his workspace, his chair kicked away, the Fortunas’ terrible ledger open.
Memnon leafs through it, page after page of names flashing by, many of them crossed out. I try not to wince when I remember just what Memnon has been doing to break the forced bonds listed in this book.
“Here she is.” He stops at a particular page, placing his finger on a single row, and I read the name of this Fortuna client.
Willow Westward.
Another pseudonym.
I glance up at Memnon. “You’re sure it’s her?”
He nods. “Look her up.”
I pull out my phone and search for her name on the Internet. And there, buried in the search result images is Eislyn, clad in a black business suit, a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, a benign smile on her face.
Next to the image it says, “Willow Westward, CEO and Chairman of Sygil Technologies.”
Hell’s spells.
My attention returns to the ledger, where her bonds are listed. There is just one. Adan Quintana.
“The first demon’s bondmaster,” I say, my voice hushed, the ledger confirming what I already knew.
Memnon nods, then flips through the book until he gets to a row where Adan Quintana is listed. Under his name, it says he had seven bonds. Some are listed as demons and some are human.
Tearing my eyes away I meet Memnon’s own gaze. “So she controlled Adan who then controlled many other supernatural beings.”
A fucking supernatural pyramid scheme, one that’s uncannily similar to how the Fortunas themselves operated.
“I haven’t had a chance to cross-check the rest of the names, but we know there must be other supernaturals—likely with many bondservants of their own—that are tied to Eislyn.”
I think back to Slain Maiden’s Meadow and the sheer number of demons who preyed upon my coven sisters. Who knows how many individuals Eislyn has some measure of control over.
Maybe there’s a paper trail of their bonds in here as well.
“I can help you look for them,” I say, resolve filling my veins. Thanks to Eislyn shutting down my coven, I have all the time in the world to hunt her down.
Of course, that’s assuming these bonds occurred through the Fortunas’ official channels. It’s entirely possible there are more that are not documented here.
But as the hours pass, Memnon and I do find several more clients bonded to other clients. Three of these instances are linked to more of Eislyn’s pseudonyms—pseudonyms we didn’t know about until now. There’s also an instance of a client bonded to a client…who’s then bonded to Eislyn.
Like fucking nested Russian dolls.
“This is sick,” I breathe. I knew Eislyn was awful, but I don’t think I could’ve fathomed the depths of her depravity.
I guess two thousand years can make a heartless fairy that much more sinister.
“There could be others, too,” Memnon says. “The Fortunas can’t possibly be the only dealer of these bonds.”
And, of course, it’s always possible that Eislyn bonded more supernaturals without anyone else’s assistance—the Fortunas or otherwise.
“One upside is that we now know where she lives and works,” I say.
All three of her pseudonyms were associated with addresses in the ledger—and the online search results also gave us more information about the companies she owns and operates.
Memnon shakes his head as he leans over the ledger. “Even if these are legitimate addresses of hers, and even if she’s staying in one of them at this very moment, she will know we have this information.”
He rubs his lower lip, unaware of how panty-wetting the action is.
Memnon cuts his gaze to me then, a sly smile blooming on his face. “I have an idea,” he says, overhearing the sentiment across our broken bond. I’m envious that he can still hear my thoughts when I can no longer hear his.
Memnon crouches down then and drags open one of the low drawers of his desk.
I peer over the edge of his table. “What are you doing?”
“Luca Fortuna left behind a business card in his desk, one that came with peculiar instructions.”
I’m…not following.
“There is someone we might call,” Memnon explains, “though I have no idea whether it will work or not.” He hands me a black card. “Supposedly this individual can help anyone, but apparently he charges a steep fee for his services.”
“It’s a real shame you’re not loaded or anything,” I tease before turning my attention back to the business card in his hand.
I’m skeptical that any single person could help us when it comes to Eislyn, but there’s no harm in looking into this.
I pluck the card from Memnon’s fingers. A single sentence is printed on it in bronze foil, some of it rubbed partially away.
I frown as I read the words aloud.
“‘Bargainer, I’d like to…make a deal?’”
On the other end of Memnon’s office, the air shifts, and a large, male form shimmers into existence.
Then—
“I’m retired, you know.”