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Paris was sitting in the top room of her warehouse when she got the message from Turquoise, letting her know the cat girl was on her way. She took a sip from a glass of wine, her second for the night, still brooding over the bullshit she’d dealt with earlier that morning.
The damn non-exemplar known as Nadine would get hers, but Paris had time. When she did make her move, she’d call on Ian Turlock, her go-to muscle, to do it.
And it wouldn’t be pleasant for Nadine.
At least she had the information she wanted from Roman. Just as she had expected, and just as her handler had predicted, Centralia hadn’t had any healers immigrate since this time last year.
And even though her wine was sweet, having this proof in front of her put a bitter taste in her mouth. Most people did not know suffering like those who called the Western Province home. It was the most war torn of the provinces, and it seemed to always be a battleground for the other countries, even if the Western Province wasn’t involved.
Why did they always go to the Western Province to wage war? It was maddening. And now, just as she had suspected, Centralia was up to something—and whatever that something was, it had to do with healers.
Centralia managed the world’s healers based on its central location. If they hadn’t taken any in for a year, it meant they were hoarding them, and while the other countries may have had healers, they generally sent them to Centralia for schooling, as Centralia had the only school for healers.
Something wasn’t right.
And this in itself wasn’t of concern to her—no, Paris had seen her fair share of tragedy over the years, enough that she wasn’t foolish enough to think war wouldn’t take place, or that Centralia would just cough up healers to send to the Western Province.
But the suffering. The abject suffering. This was what drove her to do her job, and this was why she needed to know more about what they were planning. If there was a way to alleviate it in some way, she’d give anything to see it done.
A teleporter appeared, along with Turquoise, the petite exemplar who had worked with Paris for some time now.
Paris didn’t care for her or her cousin, Obsidian, but they were more powerful than they let on. The fact that Turquoise stood before her in a skimpy bathing suit barely concealing her lady parts and prayer beads wrapped around her left wrist betrayed just how dangerous she was.
“The poison has taken effect,” she told Paris as soon as the teleporter was gone.
“Has it?”
“Yes, and we have been keeping him entertained all day, for it to set in better,” she said, wiping her mouth with her arm. “We have noticed that it takes a little longer for the poison we secrete to actually work. It comes on strong at first, but then it seems to waver a bit. No matter.”
“Kevin Blackbook has joined us, then?”
“Yes, and it was his choice to join. We didn’t have to persuade him as much as we thought we would. He actually doesn’t seem...”
“I don’t care how he seems. He should be useful in the future, and that’s all that matters. Do you think he’s ready?”
“I believe he will be ready as soon as tomorrow.”
Paris took another sip from her glass of wine. “Good, but I’ll need more than a day, so keep him busy. I’ve come across some useful information, and I would like to come across a little more before we make our first move. Keep him entertained.”
“With pleasure,” Turquoise said.
“And don’t get too attached to him.”
Turquoise’s ears flattened, her look darkening. “We’ll try not to.”
“I’m serious; tell Obsidian the same thing. Remember, we have plans for Kevin Blackbook.”
