Geneviève almost laughed when the text sounded its distinctive “ping!” in her pocket. They were becoming almost ritualistic, these things. Fear for your life a bit, escape a room with Amirah and August –then, just like clockwork, have one or the other of them light up your phone for a secret meeting.
At least this time, the setting was a little nicer.
She scans everyone’s faces, waiting with bated breath for Amirah to explain herself. She’s pleased to find that she almost feels comfortable with them all now – August the pious, Amirah, the queen of snakes, and Nikhil, her old rival.
“Sorry, August,” she says, looking down at her feet. “Your guess is as good as mine. At this point, it could be anything. She could tell us that Nik here has been faking his language prowess this whole time and is pre-literate. Or she could be about to say that I had a three-month affair with Stephen Fry back in junior year. Who the hell knows what she’d have to say about you.”
“Whatever it is, Amirah, it better be good, all right? You’ve got a willing audience, but come on. You’re …you. It better be ruthless and dripping with intrigue, or we’ll be gravely disappointed, got it?”
She’s almost at the point of smiling, before genuine fear stops her.
“I have something of pertinent interest to everyone–but you all, in particular.” Her dark brown gaze moves to appraise them all–August and Geneviève, her tentative comrades despite the secrets that shackle them together, and Nikhil, the whip-quick mind that commandeered even Julian’s tempestuous adoration. It was quite a crew the viper had assembled– the last prodigal son, the art dealer, and the chess-master–and they waited now for her word to set them alight. Would she deign to give a spark, or damn them to ignorance and darkness? She likes to think Julian would have been proud.
Were the matters not so grave, she thinks she’d have held them in suspension just a bit longer, but she knows of the target etched on her back after her interview with Detective Domingo.
Amirah clears her throat, stilettoed-nails clicking the iPad’s screen off as she allows it to fall in view of the three–without information, and yet…“I have access to his original autopsy report.” She doesn’t elaborate beyond that–no clues as to how, or why, or for how long she’s had it. None of it’s important, nor is it being offered. “…I want to share it with you, because there’s more in it than has been released and I think it would be better for you all to know then myself and Domingo in light of these last few days, but I can’t do so without some sort of assurance.
“Geneviève, August–I know the detective wasn’t so kind as to only offer me the chance to say something off the record. I want to know what you told him, if anything.” She smiles, and it’s nearly genuine. This is, perhaps, the kindest thing she’s done for them yet. “Anything you say to me will be off the record and protected under the highest level of confidentiality. I don’t take well to liars, either.” She will not hesitate to throw them to the wolves, should she find out she was duped in a moment of her generosity.
“And, Nikhil,” Amirah says, turning to him, “I understand that you’ve not yet spoken to the determined detective, leaving you the opportunity to offer him something off-of-the-record.” It is clear she believes that anything is off-the-record for as far as she can throw Rafael–which is to say, not even an inch. “I want something to assure that our knowledge of this won’t find its way to the investigation. And if it does, well, I want something with which I can ensure I can return the favor. You know, collateral damage.” Reassurance, at its finest: assured destruction.
There’s a certain truth in all that Amirah says. He admires her for that, the way that she weaves words like spun gold and turns patchwork half-lies into beautiful tapestries. It’s an art form and Amirah has perfected the delicate nuances of such an intricate craft. Yes, he admires her, but in the same breath he fears her.
She turns to him, a look of knowing caught in the center of her gaze.
"For what my word is worth, I am an attorney, and I’m not in the habit of incriminating myself, nor others when none of us are legally being charged with a crime.” It’s the truth, he didn’t say much to the detective, but he wonders if anyone else would have. He looks at Genevieve and wonders if their shared bond among the immortal made a difference in her reply.
“I do, however, have something I wish to speak with you about in private. A quid pro quo so to speak. This is not to say however that I do not trust, or wish for the rest of you to be involved, but as this is a rather personal matter,” his attention is drawn to the doorway, a look of faux longing settles neatly onto his countenance, “I believe the other party would be more comfortable with someone they know.”