Trixie Grindledottirr rips her arm out of his grip. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Etienne extracts an envelope out of his trench coat’s pocket. “Is that how you’re playing it, Tracker?” Several photos are slipped out and held so we all can see them. The first shows me at a drug store, buying tampons and conditioner; Trixie is two cashiers over, watching. The second shows me and Kellan at the park, eating hot dogs. Trixie is on the other side of the fountain with a notebook. I snatch the photos from Etienne and flip through them. Me, doing mundane things. Trixie, watching. There must be twenty photos in Etienne’s collection.
I look up from them. “What the hell?”
“I guess there’s a reason ol’ Trixie here never made the Guard,” Mac muses. He tsk-tsks. “Shoddy work. What will Jens say?”
Trixie snarls, “I don’t know any Jens.”
Etienne sighs and takes another photo out from another pocket. It’s clearly Trixie and Jens Belladonna, hugging.
My hands are shaking, I’m so mad. “You . . . you!” I slap the photo of us at the drug store against my palm. “I was buying tampons! When did that become a stalker-worthy crime?”
Trixie’s stare reeks of defiance.
“Well now,” Mac muses, dropping a hand on her shoulder. They look like Rocky and Bullwinkle, he’s so tall and she’s so short. “What we have here is a nice trio of Council members, Trixie. And even though we could do this with only one of us present, it’ll be a consortium of sorts. See, if you dare to follow Councilwoman Lilywhite again, we’re going to have to do something about it. Like . . .” He taps his chin. “Councilman Miscanthus. What were you suggesting when we were observing Trixie here watch Chloe just this afternoon?”
Etienne readjusts the buttons on his charcoal grey wool trench coat. “I believe we thought we’d send Trixie on an extended mission to the northern pole of her plane so she could track animal migrations for us. Specifically long-tailed weasels.”
Trixie’s eyes widen dramatically. If I weren’t so pissed, I’d have laughed.
Mac pats her shoulder. “Don’t you feel privileged that the three of us have taken note of you, Trixie? Isn’t it much better to have our attention than Jens’?”
She’s practically immobilized under his hand.
But, like I said, I’m pissed. I shove the photo at her. “Don’t come around me again. Don’t follow me. Don’t even be coincidentally shopping in the same store as me again. If you see me, go the other way. Understand?”
She nods like a puppet master is forcing her to.
Mac murmurs, “Good girl. Scurry on now. Let Belladonna know his sweet kisses will have to buy off another Tracker, as you’re out of the game.”
Trixie bolts the moment his hand leaves her shoulder.
I turn to face my friends. “I’m . . . that’s . . . he’s serious about all this crap!”
“Of course he is,” Mac says. “Belladonna has given his life to the Guard. Now he’s out, he probably figures he has a lot to prove in order to save face.”
“Don’t worry about this right now, though,” Etienne says. “I did extensive research on Grindledottirr. She’s terrified of snow. She’ll do as we ask.”
And yet . . . “Why didn’t you guys tell me sooner?” I demand.
Etienne hands me the envelope. “We wanted to give you ammunition, princess, not mere suspicion. Plus, we were waiting for some info on Grindledottirr from Alex. I am positively outraged she isn’t a Council member. She’s brilliant at what she does.”
My head throbs stronger than the beat of the music around us. This has officially reached absurdity.
“We’ve also been in the Council a bit longer than you,” Mac adds. “Sometimes you have to move your pieces carefully across the board without giving too much away at the onset.”
A game. They see this as a game. Does Jens?
As if he can read my mind, Etienne says, “The Council has never portrayed itself as a benevolent entity, pickle. It’s just as ruthless and politically charged as any other governing body in the worlds we oversee. The sad truth is, somebody is always going to be gunning for you. You’re powerful, you’re young, and you’re important. The first tier always have to watch their backs.”
I shove my hair off my forehead and massage my temples. “That in no way makes me feel better.”
Mac offers me his lazy grin. “Oh, but it should. It’s flattering, isn’t it? Being so envied and wanted?”