Page 81 of Let Us Prey
“I make no promises, Professor, but I have a feeling being with you will make me happy.”
May the odds be in my favor…
FORTY-FIVE
Fall in Line
Lucille
“Madame Lucille, I wanted to discuss your speech... "
I accept the chilled martini from the nervous Headmistress, flicking my eyes around the room briefly, looking for anything suspicious. Once I effectively ended that nuisance meeting, the Council and other supposedly important preds were ushered into a separate lounge so the clean-up crew could dispose of the carcass, and I could get a drink.
Worth it.
Whenever there’s a large gathering of the elite, the occasion is never wasted—business must continue regardless of what circumstance brought us together. It is customary for those with the most power and influence to be offered a secure location to solidify deals that should only be discussed in person. Some things cannot be put in writing or risk a recorded line, and we cement these transactions at private cocktail hours such as this one.
“Henrietta, I have no interest in listening to your beak flap about the students being in danger. Fear keeps the sheep in line—and the sheep include smaller preds. If their sad progeny can’t defend themselves, they do not belong at Apex.”
The eagle fluffs up a bit, pushing her glasses up her nose as she no doubt tries to figure out how to protest without looking like she’s questioning my decision. She’s smarter than she looks, as finally, she nods, and I smile into my glass in triumph. I refuse to have the Council or its heirs looking weak by adding security to the campus.
May the strongest survive.
It’s infuriating enough that my weasley informant got himself killed before he could provide much in the way of useful intel. Bruno and Bruiser paid a visit to the fisher’s parents weeks ago, in order to secure their cooperation in keeping tabs on my errant child, and now that effort has gone to waste. He was getting mouthy lately, so I suppose this isn’t the worst outcome.
It saves me the trouble of having his family killed, one by one, for leverage.
Unfortunately, his death leaves a gaping hole in my ability to monitor Delores. Her pathetic ex-friends keep her beaten down and frightened, but none of them are able to provide undramatized information on the shifters she’s cozying up to, and I need facts, not hysterics.
But I spied some intel of my own.
“Henrietta, why was theex-heir of the Draconis clash allowed to leave the meeting before I was finished speaking?” I arch a brow at the sniveling Shirdal, making certain she can see how displeased I am at the disrespect.
“Aubrey… I mean, Professor Draconis… has lived at the Academy for longer than anyone. He frequently assists with administrative matters. I believe he left to locate our clean-up carrion,” she squeaks out.
I scoff at her response—I’m familiar with more royals than her. His exit was one of disgust, not diplomacy. I haven’t had the pleasure of dealing with a dragon, but my father despises them. He’s complained about their hoarding of wealth and knowledge my whole life, and if I can locate where the largest clash has hidden themselves for all these centuries…
A victory such as that will more than make up for birthing a defective heir. It’s vitally important that my wayward daughter befriends the surly librarian, perhaps even seduces him, but I will need more information to ensure she seals the deal.
Of course, this would be much easier if I could simply order her to do what I want, but she’s far too stupid to understand how the real world works. If dragons weren’t famous for being a bunch of judgemental inbred fools, I’d find a way to make contact with the Draconis clash and offer her in trade. Alas, even using her as a bartering chip isn’t possible for my albatross of a child.
I hold my empty glass up, instantly annoyed when none of the roving waitstaff get the hint. “You allow your staff far too much autonomy, Henrietta. Get them under control, or I’ll find someone who can teach their underlings respect.”
“Yes, Lucille,” she replies, taking the glass and scurrying off. She did it to escape my wrath—my birdbrain assistant isn’t here this evening, but Matilda does the same thing when she believes I’m going to lose my temper before I receive a fresh drink.
Works for me.
Surveying the room again, my gaze alights on Bruiser. He’s standing near Bruno while my husband talks shop with Atticus Volkov. The Ursa of the bear clan has several nephews and nieces at Apex—both staff and students. One of them was killed in the staff Pred Games earlier in the month, so I can guess why he cornered my other weak link. He wants to demand the Council punish a Romulus for a perfectly legitimate death in the Games, as ifBrunohas any sway. Per usual, Atticus underestimated me for that conversation, but I’ve also made it clear I have no interest in whatever nonsense he’s spouting. The Volkovs are useful because they have a firm grip on imports and exports. Other than that, they’re dumb as a box of rocks and not worth the air they breathe.
When the eagle returns with my martini, I tilt my head, pretending to be curious. “The dragon isn’t the only celebrity professor you employ, Henrietta. Tell me about the staffing here. I find myself curious about the quality of education my daughter is receiving. Outside of murders at holiday parties, that is.”
“No, no. Death outside of the usual turf wars is not normal, Madame Luc—”
“Oh, stuff it, feather head. I know this event was unusual. Tell me about the rest of your staff before I lose my patience.”
Gulping, she nods and clears her throat. “Yes. Well, we have Professor Abel in the history department—his family traces back to royalty in Europe, although he himself is far removed. Professor Sarabhai’s family are world renowned dancers, and Professora Balena retired after many years as aprimafor the Metropawlitan Opera.”
Not what I want to know, idiot. It’s like pulling teeth with this moron, I swear.
