Sawyer #2
Not a shell.
Luna Cox.
The more I click, the worse I find. LLCs with biblical names filed in Nevada, a trust out of Belize, three foundations for “education initiatives,” all converging on her as signer or beneficiary. Wire instructions stamped with a stylized L. Meeting minutes: Per L.B.’s direction… My mouth goes dry.
Angel leans in. “What is it?”
I don’t answer. I open another tab already waiting: PROPERTY.
Deeds for the mines, the Bower, the Grove acreage—Transferred to: Daemonium Holdings.
I click the articles of incorporation: Director—Luna Cox.
There’s a PDF of a notarized affidavit—her “authorization” for cash handling and security disbursements.
My hand freezes on the trackpad.
This was … way too fucking easy. Tab after tab of incriminating evidence left pulled up for anyone to find.
Easily.
Quickly.
As if anticipating a raid.
And in an instant, every puzzling move makes sense. His “love” for her. His tolerance for her.
The fact that he won’t let anyone challenge her.
She’s his scapegoat. He isn’t just hiding behind her. He built the cage around her and welded her name onto the bars.
I don’t know how I didn’t see this coming.
Angel’s voice edges in, ragged. “Sawyer. What is wrong?”
“He set her up.” It scrapes out of me. “Everything that should have his name on it has hers.”
I can see the headlines without trying: CULT HEIRESS MURDERS THOUSANDS. SELLS HUNDREDS OF INFANTS. LAUNDERS MILLIONS.
I see the talking heads chewing her to bone. I see those gorgeous eyes intentionally photographed in the sunlight to look red, looped on every channel like proof that she’s the demon she’s been called her whole life. Now, by the whole world.
Angel goes still. “Who?”
I jerk my chin at the screen. “Luna.”
He bends, scans. He doesn’t look like he’s trying to see the information. He looks like he’s trying to find my point. As he shakes his head, he slides the laptop toward himself. “Who fucking cares? We have to hurry.”
“The FBI’s already sniffing because of your flag,” I say. “When they knock, this is what they’ll find… They’re gonna crucify her.”
Angel doesn’t respond. He’s too busy pulling up his email.
“If you’re not going to help, move.” He nudges my arm. When I stand, it’s like I’m sludging through muddy air. My blinking slows, my ears ring.
Before Angel can sit down, footsteps sound outside the door. I hardly break from my stupor when he yanks me to the floor by the collar of my shirt, hiding us behind the large mahogany desk.
His eyes dart to the laptop, just remembering to close it, but the door opens before he gets a chance.
The hinges groan, and cold air rushes into the study. I hold my breath as the drawer handle digs into my back. I can feel Angel’s raging heartbeat through the shoulder pressed against mine.
Aurelius’s cough comes first. Wet, ugly, a scrape of gravel and phlegm that rattles his chest. He tries to swallow it down, but it tears out anyway. The sound echoes through the room, heavy with weakness.
“There, we’re alone,” Aurelius grinds. “Now what is it? What could possibly be more important than every resource we’ve worked tirelessly to obtain vanishing?”
He tries to mask worry with anger, but it weighs down each syllable.
He blames her.
“I…” Luna takes a breath. When she speaks, her voice is even, but I know her too well to believe she’s calm. “I think it’s very possible that the water supply has been contaminated. The sickness of the Dregs couldn’t have moved to the Hearth so quickly, unless they concocted—”
A round of coughs cuts Luna off. There’s a thump from Aurelius plopping on the couch, the source of the hacking lowering.
“You see?” Luna says. “It’s even hit the Keep. There’s no way it's simply spreading. It’s—”
“It hasn’t hit the Keep.”
There’s a pause.
“Father, there’s no shame in being ill. If it’s in the water supply—”
“I’m not ill,” he growls with too raspy a voice. “I’m stressed. And you can’t seem to take your mind off God’s will to focus on the things we can control.”
“I hear you about the money.” The couch squeaks under Luna’s weight.
Her voice is soft. Empathetic. I wouldn’t know it was an act if she hadn’t spoken to me about killing her father just last night.
“You’re right, it’s important… But it will sort itself out.
We’re not criminals. We’re not degenerates.
We’re protected under the First Amendment. "
Aurelius groans. “Grow up, Luna.”
Another beat of silence.
“Thorne is having the wells closest to the mines sealed off. The Keepers will collect clean water from the stream further up in the mountains, but the solution is only temporary, and it doesn’t address impending panic.
If I could bring someone in to test the water from each well, I could assure the people—”
“If the people need assurance that all is as it’s supposed to be, they don’t belong in the Shadow Sanctum. Mother Nature gave us the water. What she provides is what we’ll accept.”
“You can’t be serious…”
I turn my head toward Angel. His forehead’s wrinkled as he gives me a look that makes me wonder if there’s any blood left in my face.
I’m reeling from the bank records.
I’m reeling from the innocent people dying a preventable death.
I’m reeling because the woman I care most about is about to spend the rest of her life running. And unlike me, there’s no possible way she’ll ever blend in.
Aurelius snaps. His voice is sharp as a blade despite the sickness grinding it down. “The wells will wait until our greater concern is addressed. You can infiltrate our home with science once you’ve figured out how to fix this. You’re the one handling all the money. You’re the one who’s done this.”
“Would you listen to yourself?” There’s a thud as Luna shoots to her feet. Even more as she paces. “The children are sick, and if we don’t do something, they’re going to die. If we don’t do something about the water, everyone will die. Do you understand that?”
“You sound like a heathen.”
“And you told me to grow up… How about we grow up together?”
There’s a pause, long enough that I imagine Aurelius staring her down, his shadow swallowing hers. Then: “What is it you want me to do, Luna?”
Luna sighs heavily, so heavy I picture her body sagging. She sounds exhausted. And desperate. And wrong.
I’m a bastard for not telling her the truth.
When I blink, I focus on Angel. His eyes are narrowed in concentration as he intently listens to the pair of what he’d consider lunatics. If I told her the truth, she might kill him.
No…
She wouldn’t.
“If you allowed me to bring in a doctor, we could better assess the children’s condition.”
“We are not whores for Western medicine. You know that.”
Her voice wavers—barely. “I know. But they’re children.”
Another pause. Another cough. “You let sentiment cloud you. What they need is discipline, not poison from the outside. Let their bodies fight the way God intended.”
Angel’s nails dig into his knees beside me. He wants to spring up, I can feel it in his body like static. I grab his arm and hold him down without a word. Not now.
Luna tries again, softer. “I’m not suggesting medicine. Just a doctor. Some expert advice… Father, I’m doing everything I can, but I don’t have the knowledge to—”
“Enough.” Aurelius’s voice slices through her words. “You will not weaken the Sanctum with your doubts.”
The silence after nearly chokes me. My gut twists watching her through the dark of my mind, fighting battles she can’t win.
Finally, her voice comes again, lower, resigned. “Daddy, please.”
The rustle of the couch. A quiet tension. Aurelius’s breathing rattles. Then, almost too quiet to hear: “I’m not in the mood.”
Angel’s eyes widen as his brows lift. He gives me a holy shit look that I try to return. If only so he won’t see how deep this goes.
But I don’t think I manage because Angel’s face turns from surprised to concerned. My stomach feels like it’s taking gymnastics, and my chest is so tight, it’s hard to breathe.
“I miss you,” Luna says, pushing bile up my throat. Angel’s face doesn’t predictably scrunch. He never takes his prying eyes off me. The concern on his face never leaves.
There’s a few seconds’ pause before there’s a smack. “I said I’m not in the mood.”
Now it’s my turn to rise up, but Angel pulls me back down. Fire burns through my lungs, every breath feeding the flame. My jaw grinds so hard I think for sure it’ll crack.
The horn blares—three long, familiar siren-like sounds that drag to four. Five. Six. Seven. Until I no longer understand what it means. The Keep’s walls shake with its warning.
“Do you know anything about this?” Aurelius asks.
By the height of his voice, he must’ve jumped from the couch. “No…”
It’s only a couple of seconds before they’re gone, the door slamming behind them, their footsteps fading down the corridor.
Angel and I don’t move until the silence stretches taut again. My lungs burn when I finally breathe.
“You okay?” Angel asks. I don’t answer. The question is irrelevant.
“We need to go.”
I stand and shut the laptop while Angel jerks to his feet.
“What are you doing?” he asks, grabbing the laptop. When he goes to open it, I stop him.
“The Keep is the farthest building from the ceremonial stage. If we’re late, it’ll look suspicious. People will know we’re up to something.”
Luna will know.
“So?”
“Your guy promised antibiotics for three people. We need it for at least three dozen. If he can’t deliver—”
“He can deliver,” Angel says. Confident, but I know him too well. He’s convincing himself.
“But if he can’t, we’re going to need Luna… If she knows I kept this from her, she’ll never trust me.”
God, I hope that isn’t true.
Silence while Angel stares at the computer.
“We’ll come back,” I assure him. “I promise. But now, we gotta go.”
Then the horn blares a second round of blasts, dragging our attention to the window. Angel lets go of the computer and lets me lead the way out of the house in a hurry.