murder?”
“Those are questions I plan to find the answers to.” He tilts his head slightly and adds, “That was a rather extensive examination, Del Mar.”
I grin. “I thought you’d appreciate my thoroughness.”
“But if the killer really is targeting the Elite, then it’s imperative that we find them before the seventh of April.”
He stands and walks to the other end of the room so that I can’t see him behind me. My instinct demands me to turn my head and keep him in sight, while my defiant nature laughs at the idea. With someone like Madame Del Mar, taking your eyes off of her would have been foolish behaviour. It would be a sign that you had chosen to succumb to her will, whereas staring her in the eye meant defiance. Yet, with someone like my previous owner, choosing to look away was an indication of rebelliousness just as much as staring into those black eyes was. I don’t know the detective well enough to know how he will perceive my refusal to turn around, but I suspect that if I did, it would be an admission of fear.
“You seem to have a clever mind, Del Mar.”
“For a concubine,” I mutter, finishing his thought for him.
“You read the Bible.”
I snort. “Not really.”
“But you know how to read,” he suggests, and anxiety grips me. “You worked at the pleasure house and were Madame Del Mar’s property.” His voice appears closer behind me. “You seem to possess talents that most of your kind don’t have.”
He’s standing close to me now, so I turn around and stare right into his eyes. “Are you accusing me of being the Phoenix?” He simply stares at me in response. “You realize that I was in jail for the past month and before that I wasn’t even in Braxton. How could I possibly be the killer?”
The idea is ludicrous to me. It’s as if he thinks that just because I killed one man, I must have killed others, clearly having no qualms about murdering people. But I suppose it does make sense that he would suspect me. I’ve obviously been educated, Madame Del Mar was my master before I was bought, and I worked at the pleasure house. So I would have come across the empath that murdered Constable Evans, Madame Del Mar and, assuming that Mr. Darwitt visited the pleasure house, it’s a possibility I could have encountered him as well. Like most of my kind, I resent the Elite and would be glad to hear of their demise. If it wasn’t for the fact that I wasn’t even in Braxton when the first two murders took place, and was in jail for the Madame’s murder, I might be afraid of the look in the detective’s eyes.
“I suppose not,” he says after a moment, and a part of me relaxes at the sound of those words. “But I am curious to know how you managed to evade the officials for as long as you did. I suspect you must have used some sort of persuasion.”
“Would you like me to show you?” I offer in an innocent voice.
Even though I know he would have declined, I’m disappointed when a knock sounds on his office door and interrupts us. He opens the door, looks back at me with an expression that warns me not to snoop in his desk in his absence, and then closes the door behind him. I immediately rise from my seat and examine his office. Against the back wall is a map of Fortland, with the city of Braxton off in the far bottom right, marked with a star to denote its status as the capitol. The bottom of the map is then devoted to an enlargement of the city, dividing it into thirty wards—the first starting in the south, near Braxton Harbour in the industrial zone. Each Elite member owns different wards in each of the four districts, so that the poor, middle class, and rich are evenly distributed between the members. The north district is highlighted in green—perhaps to intentionally symbolize the wealth of the district’s residents. Meanwhile, the west district is coloured blue, the east is marked off in red, and the south is highlighted in yellow. Beside the map is a
“Those are questions I plan to find the answers to.” He tilts his head slightly and adds, “That was a rather extensive examination, Del Mar.”
I grin. “I thought you’d appreciate my thoroughness.”
“But if the killer really is targeting the Elite, then it’s imperative that we find them before the seventh of April.”
He stands and walks to the other end of the room so that I can’t see him behind me. My instinct demands me to turn my head and keep him in sight, while my defiant nature laughs at the idea. With someone like Madame Del Mar, taking your eyes off of her would have been foolish behaviour. It would be a sign that you had chosen to succumb to her will, whereas staring her in the eye meant defiance. Yet, with someone like my previous owner, choosing to look away was an indication of rebelliousness just as much as staring into those black eyes was. I don’t know the detective well enough to know how he will perceive my refusal to turn around, but I suspect that if I did, it would be an admission of fear.
“You seem to have a clever mind, Del Mar.”
“For a concubine,” I mutter, finishing his thought for him.
“You read the Bible.”
I snort. “Not really.”
“But you know how to read,” he suggests, and anxiety grips me. “You worked at the pleasure house and were Madame Del Mar’s property.” His voice appears closer behind me. “You seem to possess talents that most of your kind don’t have.”
He’s standing close to me now, so I turn around and stare right into his eyes. “Are you accusing me of being the Phoenix?” He simply stares at me in response. “You realize that I was in jail for the past month and before that I wasn’t even in Braxton. How could I possibly be the killer?”
The idea is ludicrous to me. It’s as if he thinks that just because I killed one man, I must have killed others, clearly having no qualms about murdering people. But I suppose it does make sense that he would suspect me. I’ve obviously been educated, Madame Del Mar was my master before I was bought, and I worked at the pleasure house. So I would have come across the empath that murdered Constable Evans, Madame Del Mar and, assuming that Mr. Darwitt visited the pleasure house, it’s a possibility I could have encountered him as well. Like most of my kind, I resent the Elite and would be glad to hear of their demise. If it wasn’t for the fact that I wasn’t even in Braxton when the first two murders took place, and was in jail for the Madame’s murder, I might be afraid of the look in the detective’s eyes.
“I suppose not,” he says after a moment, and a part of me relaxes at the sound of those words. “But I am curious to know how you managed to evade the officials for as long as you did. I suspect you must have used some sort of persuasion.”
“Would you like me to show you?” I offer in an innocent voice.
Even though I know he would have declined, I’m disappointed when a knock sounds on his office door and interrupts us. He opens the door, looks back at me with an expression that warns me not to snoop in his desk in his absence, and then closes the door behind him. I immediately rise from my seat and examine his office. Against the back wall is a map of Fortland, with the city of Braxton off in the far bottom right, marked with a star to denote its status as the capitol. The bottom of the map is then devoted to an enlargement of the city, dividing it into thirty wards—the first starting in the south, near Braxton Harbour in the industrial zone. Each Elite member owns different wards in each of the four districts, so that the poor, middle class, and rich are evenly distributed between the members. The north district is highlighted in green—perhaps to intentionally symbolize the wealth of the district’s residents. Meanwhile, the west district is coloured blue, the east is marked off in red, and the south is highlighted in yellow. Beside the map is a
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