Lila stopped at the end of Villanueva Lane and parked in front of a fountain. Four bronze wolves strained in each direction, threatening to bite and shred anyone who came near. The great house loomed behind it with a similar attitude, for the architect had built the neoclassical monstrosity for apprehension rather than wonder.
Lila disembarked and marched to the front door. A footman opened it as she approached, his crimson breeches and coat pressed to stiffness.
She pulled her motorcycle jacket more tightly around her, declining to take it off. He’d see too clearly what she wore beneath and report it to the chairwoman. Instead, she quickly jogged upstairs, past the silver Randolph coat of arms. Dozens of paintings surrounded it, all of the Randolph family over the last three centuries.
Fashion hadn’t changed that much since then, at least for the highborn.
Lila pulled open the door to her bedroom, a bedroom filled with furniture carved in ebony: a massive desk with a dozen secret nooks, a bed with a thick headboard, a bedside table, a dresser, and a coffee table. Black leather covered her desk chair and a heavy couch. Bursts of Randolph crimson peeked from the pillows, bedclothes, and velvet drapes.
Quickly, she took off her servant’s clothes and slid open the secret compartment in her closet with a muffled scrape. The clothes fit easily inside, and she shoved the panel closed again with a dull thunk.
Hangers scratched against the metal bar in her closet as she sifted through her casual highborn clothes. Tailors had cut them in Randolph crimson, stitching the family’s coat of arms on the breast. She settled on a high-necked blouse and a pair of black woolen trousers, similar enough to her militia uniform for comfort, different enough to signal that she remained on vacation. Cramming her trouser legs into a pair of knee-high leather boots, Lila looked herself over in a mirror.
She was ready to meet her mother.
Or, at least, she looked like it.
The doorknob jiggled in the silence. Alex peeked in, her blonde hair twisted in a knot, her black skirt and white shirt pressed and unwrinkled. She seemed like a highborn pretending to be a slave, a highborn wearing a costume.
“Ms. Wilson?” Lila asked as her old friend hopped inside and closed the door quietly.
Alex bowed. “Chief Randolph.”
Lila inclined her head at the awkward formality. She supposed she deserved it. After all, she’d helped Bullstow arrest Alex’s mother and brother, and the pair would be executed soon.
Her friend had seethed before Lila left on vacation, and though they’d since talked, they’d likely never be friends again, at least not like before.
Alex’s counseling sessions and anger management classes might help them get through the rough patch, a court-ordered consequence of her arrest for assault. At some point in the next six months, Alex would surely bring up Lila’s name. Perhaps the counselor would remind Alex about how much they’d been through together and how much their friendship meant.
Of course, the therapist would more likely remind Alex that she was now a slave and would always be a slave, and that she should accept it and start acting like one.
Slaves did not presume friendship with the highborn.
“You didn’t tell me that you were coming back this morning,” Alex said, pursing her lips. “It’s the middle of the week.”
“My mother summoned me for breakfast.”
Alex raised a brow. “Did she say why?”
“No, do you know something?”
Alex shook her head. “Not exactly, but Jewel stayed in her room all last night with Senator Dubois. I could hear her crying the whole time, and she paged Isabel every five seconds. Your mother drifted in and out as well. They all went to bed around two in the morning. I don’t know what it was about. Ms. O’Malley wouldn’t let me come upstairs.”
Jewel’s fiancé had stayed overnight in the great house, rather than Bullstow? That wasn’t rare, nor was her sister’s tears, but why would the chairwoman visit them so late?
“I thought you should know.”
“Thanks.” Perhaps the chairwoman hadn’t called her back to discuss her blackmailer after all. Perhaps her sister was in trouble. How ironic that her mother might soon request Lila’s services to save the family, the very same services that might get her exiled.
“I didn’t even know you were going away, Lila. I missed you.” Alex hugged her as though they hadn’t seen one another in years.
The soft notes of perfume filled Lila’s nose.
Honeysuckle.
Alex’s scent had changed.
It felt like everything had changed. Lila had hoped things might be less weird between the two of them after some time apart, but it hadn’t changed a thing.