It was a small plane. There were only eight seats—all plush, overstuffed leather. Instead of all the seats facing forward like a commercial plane, each of the two seats of four seats faced each other, with four facing the cockpit and four facing the tail.
Toward the back were a bathroom and a small attendant area, and up front were the two pilots. Even from here, I couldsee that the pilots had pistols in their shoulder holsters. Viola took the seat directly in front of me, crossing one immaculate leg over the other, and began typing into her phone. The other seats were filled with the guards. A male flight attendant appeared to lift and secure the stairs and door. He also hada gun on his hip. Did everyone have a gun? Did Viola? I didn’t see how the skin-tight blazer and skirt could conceal a gun.
Within minutes, the jet taxied to the end of the runway, and the screaming noise of the engines roared. I was pressed back into my seat as the plane gained speed, and then the jet was in the air. My jaw clenched as I heard the landing gear pull up and stow away. There was a finality to that sound that I didn’t like.
“Oh, Duncan?” Viola called to the attendant.
“Ma’am?” he said, giving her a deferential bow.
“Can I get a glass of Dom Perignon?”
“Of course, Ma’am. Um, anything for our guests?”
Viola glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. As much as I didn’t want anything from this woman, I could feel my anxiety building with each passing moment. I needed something to take the edge off. “Whiskey, straight up.”
Duncan nodded and disappeared. Viola frowned. “Whiskey? How very… butch.”
I shrugged. “I like what I like.”
Duncan arrived a few moments later with the drinks. The first sip of whiskey hit my throat, and it was the smoothest thing I’d ever drunk. I blinked and looked at the glass. I’d never had anything so good in my life. The bartender’s curiosity overtook my anxiety and worry for a moment. I held the glass up and looked at Viola. “What the hell is this?”
She lowered her champagne flute and raised an eyebrow. “That? Oh, I think it’s a Macallan. If I’m not mistaken, it’s a 1926—probably a million-dollar-ish bottle. That glass”—she pointeda bright-red manicured nail at me—“is north of fifty thousand dollars.”
I almost gagged, and my hand rattled. I grasped the glass with two hands to make sure I didn’t drop it. I stared at the amber liquid and tried to imagine having enough money to pay fifty thousand dollars a shot. I looked at her again. “Why do you all even want the treasure if you already have so much money?”
Viola took another sip. “Darling, first things first. One, you can nevereverhave too much money. Second, I’m asking the questions. Let’s begin, shall we?”
“Begin?” I asked dumbly.
Ignoring me, Viola leaned forward. “Did you exhibit any shifter symptoms during childhood?”
“What? No. No, I didn’t.”
“What about puberty? Did you reach sexual maturity earlier than any of your peers?”
“Huh? I… I don’t?—”
“Never mind. When engaging in sexual activity, have you ever experienced a desire to bite or claw your lover?”
“What the fuck are you?—”
“Please, answer the questions.”
I huffed out a breath. “No. I’ve never wanted to bite anyone while we were having sex.”
Viola nodded. “Did you ever have any contact with your grandparents? Biological, that is,” she added.
“No, never.”
“Hmmm. Did your birth mother ever make contact with you while you were a child?”
Did I mention the fact that she was my pediatrician? Or all the letters she sent? Probably not. I shook my head. “No. What is all this about?”
Viola leaned back into her seat and finished her drink. She waved the glass, and Duncan appeared to retrieve it. “Just tryingto connect some dots, dear. There are many things about the Hollander line we don’t know. Much was lost in the Purging.”
“You mean when you murdered dozens of innocent people and children? Is that what you call it? The Purging?”
Viola shrugged. “One of many names. It was long before I was born. Why should I care what happened to a few shifter babies three hundred years ago? Honestly. Do you weep over the children that died when Hannibal went to war with Rome? Do you wring your hands about all the women who were raped when the Christian army sacked Jerusalem? Or even more recently, do you have a vested interest in how the war prisoners were treated during the American Revolution?” She shook her head and pursed her lips. “I think not. What’s past is past. Nothing to be gained by crying about what can’t be changed.”
