I pushed away from the bridge railing. “Jarod—”
“Listen to the supplicants. Find one who strikes your fancy, and I’ll helpthem.”
I sensed there were strings attached to his offer, and I was afraid of those strings snagging around my feathers and yanking more out. “Is this atrap?”
“Was tonight atrap?”
I was still unsure of what tonight had been. Besides a very strangeevening.
“See you in a couple of hours,Feather.”
“No, youwon’t.”
“Sure, Iwill.”
“No, you won’t. And tell your driver to stop followingme.”
Jarod didn’tanswer.
“Jarod?”
When I lowered the phone from my ear, it displayed my home screen.He’d hung up . . .Of course, he’d hung up. I didn’t understand much about Jarod, but I did gather he didn’t like to be told what todo.
And then, when I was tailed by his chauffeur all the way back to the guild, I gathered one more thing about the Triple: he didn’t take orders fromanyone.
Chapter 18
Ididn’t thinkI’d run into anyone on my way to the Ranking Room to sign off from my mission, but people were up. Well, two girls. They were checking holo-images of sinners, comparing notes. When I stepped inside the guild, both looked up from theirfeeds.
They trailed me with their eyes as I took a seat at the high table and pressed my hand against the glasspanel.
“Are you the American who took on Jarod Adler?” The girl’s blonde hair was cut pixie short which displayed ears festooned with diamondstuds.
The other Fletching turned wide blue eyes on me. “Are youcrazy?”
“I must be to have thought he could be redeemed.” I folded the fabric of my dress until it pleated like an accordion. It was stiffer where the wine hadspilled.
“Chérie, if only you’d asked us. I think twelve of us from this guild tried to help the guy. He’s irredeemable, not to mention a completeass.”
“When Laura”—the blue-eyed girl tipped her head toward her friend—“showed up on his doorstep, he told his bodyguard to dispose of thegarbage.”
“Didn’t even spare me a passing glance,” Laura confirmed. “But Leo, from Guild 8—it’s the all-male guild in Paris—he had an even worse time. Jarod made that bulldog of his—what’s his nameagain?”
“Ethan?” the otheranswered.
“You mean Tristan?” Isupplied.
“Yes. Tristan.” She shuddered. “That guy whipped Leo’s back until itbled.”
I released my dress, which remained creased. The faint whiff of mulled blackberries and dank cork combined with the image of a flagellated back made bile lurch up mythroat.
“To think Tristan’s sinner score is only seventy-eight. The guy’s a demon with a capitalD.”
Laura toyed with one of her earrings. “Yeah, he’s totally worse than Jarod. Sometimes, I don’t get how the Ishim scoresinners.”
Neither Tristan nor Jarod had seemed like monsters to me—devious and domineering, sure, but not evil executioners. At least, not Tristan. And Jarod . . . well, Jarod had issues and possessed the potential to be cruel, but he also possessed the potential forcompassion.
The thought took me by such surprise that I blinked at his 3-D image flickering from my holo-ranker. I stared into those pitch-black eyes of his, watched his thick lashes sweep over them. If I truly believed this, then why was I signing off fromhim?
