Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Perhaps four or so days was, in fact, too optimistic a hope for when Brock might be ready to return to his life again. He might need another week.
But do they have that much time?
“Well, lookie who the dead cat dragged in!” sings Cindy as her eyes find Tristan.
Lord Markadian chuckles merrily. “Your ears must be red, Tristan. Director Zara was just wondering what you’ve been up to since your dramatic entrance at a certain mortal’s trial.”
Director Zara turns her deadpan eyes upon Tristan. “Yes, I was … mildly curious. What was that mortal’s name again?”
After a nervous flick of his eyes at Kaleb, Tristan blurts, It doesn’t matter. What’s most important is that I still have my head and the blood in my veins, and I happen to like the two being precisely where they are. Does our lovely gathering have a purpose, by the way? Why are we so happy? Did someone die?
“Not yet, doll face,” answers Cindy, reaching for her glass of chardonnay off the table, slurping on it, then adding, “but the night is still young. Hey, little Peter, didn’t you say not long ago you’d cut Ms. Tsuki here in half next time you saw her?”
Director Peter, not thrilled by the “little” moniker, says, “We have since made up. She treated me to teppanyaki. We drank fermented rice wine and bitched about our parents.”
“It was just sake,” mutters Director Tsuki. “No need to say it all fancy like that.”
Tristan, in a moment of curiosity, or weakness, peers across the table at Kaleb.
He’s surprised to find Kaleb peering back.
The look on Kaleb’s face is somewhat neutral, if not calm. He is otherwise unreadable. Tristan continues to watch him, a bit peeved he can’t seem to figure out Kaleb’s mood. Is he well? Is he happy? Is he feeling like a piece of exploited meat next to Lord Markadian at all times?
“I have returned,” comes another voice—Ashara, waltzing between the tables from out of nowhere as she approaches, a tray of shot glasses balanced on her palm. “I know, I know, you missed me, but how can we call this a party without shots?”
“This is a party?” asks Ernest in the pink suit, frowning. “I thought we were meeting to discuss policy. I did read the email.”
“Oh, thank Christ, a real drink,” says Zara, grabbing one.
Cindy takes one as well, downs it in one gulp, then nearly chokes. “Oh, wow, this is not diluted.”
“Straight from the vein,” sings Ashara with a wink. “Well, not straight from, of course, as according to protocol. As close as one can get without the utilization of teeth.” Then she seems to notice Tristan like an afterthought. “Ah, we have an unexpected guest. I’m afraid I haven’t enough shots.”
Despite her inauthentic tone, Tristan offers a smile. As it turns out, I lack an appetite. Please don’t mind me, enjoy.
“Don’t mind if I do,” mumbles Cindy, snagging a second one. When Zara swats her on the arm, she shouts, “What? You know dang well Peter’s too young to drink, and Tristan just said he lacks an appetite.”
Peter squints at her. “Lady, I just don’t prefer the taste, and for the record, I’m seventy-eight years old.”
“Only literally,” grumbles Cindy back.
Director Tsuki leans forward, setting down her glass after just one sip. “I’ve noticed you’re less stressed these days.”
The comment is directed to Markadian. “Considerably.”
“Is it due to your sister’s return?”
Ashara appears delighted by the question, but Markadian’s eyes flick halfway to the violinist at his side, a smirk playing on his lips as his hand shifts on Kaleb’s lower waist. Tristan can’t quite see, but he imagines Kaleb’s butt has been getting a lot of uninvited, less-than-subtle fondling lately.
Ashara takes the unanswered question for an opportunity. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare take all the credit,” she says with a merry yet calculated laugh. “My brother is more than capable of handling the burden of his post, as he’s proven for nearly the last century.”
“But you carry new wisdom and experiences,” Tsuki points out. “You have studied other immortal governing powers across the world. Ask me the last time I paid a visit to my old family in Japan. I can’t begin to tell you the first thing of how immortals are governed over there. Are they even governed?”
“China’s Dàozhì De Fángzi has been recently praised as the pride of East Asia,” states Peter, “and is lauded for being one of the most well-organized immortal governments in the world.”
Tsuki eyes him. “China isn’t Japan.”
Peter frowns back at her. “I know.”
“Also, I don’t think you said that right. Anyway, my point is,” Tsuki goes on, turning back to Ashara and ignoring an indignant look from Peter, “you could provide us a perspective of things we may learn from. All of us face similar struggles with the Lawless immortals and the frog-eating book nerds—”