“That’s not as fast as targeted,” said another of the suits. “Nor as many. We had higher hopes for you.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Anson said in a way that implied the opposite, “I’m not operating in a vacuum. These women are a tighter group, far warier and more suspicious than they were three years ago. Changing tactics is wise, but you must revise your expectations.”
“If they are warier and more difficult to approach,” one of the men said, “it’s due to your high-level failure last time. There is no three strikes rule, Mr. Tournado. Instead of lecturing us on our expectations, you should be working harder to live up to them.”
Riley blinked, not quite believing what she’d just heard. Anson had been working for these guys three years ago? He’d been leeching on someone else’s orders? No one else seemed aware of that.
She realized that in her surprise she’d stopped drawing energy. The chains had gone cold and heavy around her arms. She quickly pulled more—too quickly, and too much. Searing pain flashed up her arms. She barely stifled a gasp and released her pull on the energy. The metal still burned, but she couldn’t unwrap the chains without giving away her presence.
An odd sensation prickled in her head, distracting her. She’d never felt such a thing before. It was like sound made physical, and coming from Anson’s office next door. But when she focused again, concentrating on the prickle instead of the pain in her arms, it disappeared. It was like seeing something in peripheral vision at twilight, but looking directly at it made it disappear.
They were talking about money now, the legitimacy of expenses. Riley relaxed, and the prickling reappeared immediately. What the heck was that? She closed her eyes and let her mind drift, keeping a slight awareness of the prickles in her head while trying not to let the burn in her arms distract her. After a few seconds she realized there were three distinct clusters of sensation, plus one lighter buzz, all centered in the office next door. Was she…detecting the people in there?
Focusing made the sensation immediately disappear again. The suits were making conversation-closing comments as they walked down the hall to the main entry.
Riley waited, but after a few minutes, silence reigned. Anson must have left with the suits. She didn’t know where Vern was, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get the prickles back. That could mean one of three things: she had been imagining things when it happened the first time, it had really happened but had stopped working, or she was actually detecting the presence of specific people. Part of her was disappointed, but part of her was scared, too. Maybe it was another aspect of being a goddess, but it wasn’t something she’d ever heard or read about. Marley and John definitely hadn’t mentioned it.
She wasn’t going to think about it right now. Letting out a long, slow breath, she peeled back her sleeves. The skin under the chains was an angry red, maybe burned down into the top layer. She couldn’t tell without moving the chains, and right now she had to get out before someone found her.
She peered through the crack in the door to make sure no one had snuck back into Anson’s office, held the files tight against her side, and then moved quickly toward the hallway.
Which wasn’t empty.
Riley froze. Anson leaned against the wall across from her, his arms folded, smiling at her. There was no reason for her to be surprised, but he was better looking than she’d imagined. Not really tall or muscular, but fit and well proportioned. He had thick, dark hair, defined cheekbones and jaw, and interesting blue eyes that were like fabric that had been saturated with color, then faded unevenly. She wondered how brilliant they’d been when he had all that power.
“Hello, Riley.”
She swallowed her panic and responded, “Hello, Anson.” That earned her a laugh, but anger blazed in his eyes.
“You’ve heard about me, then.”
“Some.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to know why you keep coming after me.” She kept her body at an angle, wishing she’d stuffed the files into her rear waistband or something. If he took them from her, this would all be for nothing—unless she could somehow get him to talk.
She pushed her hair back so her sleeve shifted and exposed the chain around her arm. Anson followed the movement, his expression tightening. Not in fear, but in caution. He knew what metal meant to her.
“You heard my conversation, I assume.”
“Some of it.” Riley shrugged. “I couldn’t hear much, and none of it had anything to do with me.” She met his glare. “Or maybe it did. You want goddesses again, obviously. But you didn’t try to recruit me. What was the plan?” All of the events of the past year added up to one possibility. “Make me vulnerable, then swoop in and save me? So I’d be so grateful I’d do anything for you?”
Any trace of amusement vanished. “Something like that. Looks like it worked perfectly.”
“Except you didn’t swoop in. Sam Remington beat you to it.”
Anson’s expression darkened. Button pressed. His arms dropped to his sides, and he straightened away from the wall. Riley raised her forearm and drew a little energy. It made her hiss at the renewed pain, but Anson didn’t seem to notice. He shifted away from her but didn’t look any less angry.
“Everything was perfect that night. You were strung tight, frightened and confused. It would have worked exactly as I’d planned.”
“Until you fucked it up. You let Sam move in ahead of you.”
“I had no choice. The Numina—”
Riley narrowed her eyes. That word again. Was it a group? Were those men part of it?
Anson hauled visibly on the reins of his control. “Never mind. That’s in the past. You’re here now.” He smiled again, a clear shift in tactic, and Riley had no trouble seeing the charm that had seduced the goddesses he leeched. He wasn’t giving up on her. Maybe she could pretend to be vulnerable and get him to talk.
“How did you find out about me?” she asked. “The Society didn’t have any records. I didn’t even know I was a goddess.”
He didn’t hesitate to answer her, perhaps thinking he could lure her in with some of the information she’d come for. Or maybe he was just a braggart. “My grandmother kept journals. She was close to your grandmother. Grams wrote about how angry Nessie was about her Society membership being revoked. She’d had a bare remnant of ability, but they didn’t care. She didn’t fit their definitions. Her daughter—your mother—had no power. My grandmother thought she knew why and said it would probably come back in you.”
Riley wondered how much the woman had actually known and how much she’d only suspected, perhaps not even accurately. Still, Anson’s take on it explained even better why her grandmother had so much hate. “So you know all this because of some old journals? Kind of creepy, if you ask me.”
His smile faded. “No. We were close, me and my grandmother. The line died with my mother, so there weren’t going to be any more Millinger goddesses. She talked to me a lot about it.”
He sounded lonely, and Riley had to fight a surge of empathy. “So you thought you’d be my Henry Higgins?”
One side of his mouth lifted. Charm, again. “I wanted you to be my partner.”
Riley scoffed, but he seemed to be…sincere. She pondered pushing a little, asking about Numina or the men in the office, but something told her if she didn’t leave now, she’d lose her chance. She wanted to tell him to forget it, that she’d never consider working with him, but knew her only option was to keep him hoping.
“You’ve given me plenty to think about. I have your business card. I’ll be in touch.” She waved a hand and turned toward the exit, holding her breath and bracing for Anson to grab her arm, or worse. But he only said, “I think you’re forgetting something.”