“I know who she is,” Delilah says, painted lips lifting upward. “Don’t be silly.”
Taylor rolls her eyes. “Why do I bother introducing you?”
The older woman squints in the darkness. “Pleasure to meet you, Luciana. Hard to tell in this light, but you are taller than your picture would have me think. Prettier, too.”
Dumbly, my mouth opens and closes but I can’t make any words happen. “Her picture,” Taylor says, as if she’s misheard.
Delilah moves her gaze from me to Taylor. “You kidnapped Luciano’s daughter, darling. The reward for her safe return is…” She whistles. “Sizable.”
“There’s a reward for me?”
“Certainly, you didn’t think your father forgot you exist? Underclass in all the regions are looking for you.” She glances over at Mason. “Oh, Mason, dear, Maria is beside herself to see you again. Why don’t we get on our way? It’s freezing out here and it looks like you lot could use a hot shower and a warm bed.”
“I hear that,” Mason calls out.
“The whole city does not need to hear that,” Taylor teases as she follows him to the boat to assist in loading up.
An unseen driver taxis us through the ruins of Detroit. One-room homes fly by my window, homes that look like they might be occupied despite the level of disrepair. Others are husks of brown and white like empty vases which used to contain life and currently sit in rot. Residents toil in the streets, huddled together in circles for warmth, and give the car curious and envious glances as it rolls by.
Widespread poverty and overpopulation made this region a perfect breeding ground for the Great Sickness and nearly wiped the place out. Nearly. People are good at surviving despite the odds. Humans are arrogant like that.
Outside the impoverished city center, our driver navigates through a rather upscale part of town. Gated condominium communities, rows of polished brick apartments on well-landscaped blocks. It is here we come upon a several-story building with glistening white brick and a wrought iron gate. Many-paned windows tile each of the floors, each with deep eggplant-colored drapes closing off the light from inside. A short front lawn with trim brown grass leads to the old brick façade. Festive red garland winds around the handrails, shiny tendrils waving us inside. The front lobby of the building is almost like home—gilded banisters and a thin red carpet sitting atop marble tiles. But what is distinctly not like home is the sheer amount of people in lingerie.
Oh. The red garland outside is not festive wintry décor. It’s a marker.
This is a brothel.
Shock is written plainly across my face and I try to cover it as best I can as we are relieved of our bags. No laws against prostitution exist in any region except the Southeast, but it’s highly frowned upon in Upperclass circles. I know of a couple back in New York, but I’ve never gone inside.
Delilah slinks up to my side as I stand unmoving in the center of the lobby. With her hat and jacket removed, she’s quite a sight. Loose brown curls frame a face with a clear complexion, several shades darker than Taylor’s. And her figure, well, it’s no surprise she’s here. A vermilion dress hugs her from shoulders to legs, leaving no question about the exquisite body underneath. Her allure is accentuated by an aura of sensuality and confidence, and the unmistakable scent of chypre followsher step. In short, she is attractive, and, like a horny disaster, I’m attracted to her.
“Taylor didn’t tell you this is a bordello, did she?” she asks, a smirk on her lips.
“She did not.”
“And I imagine this is not what you expected.”
“It is not.”
Over my left shoulder Taylor counts the gear and goes over a mental checklist with Mason. Delilah pats my arm. “Well, you needn’t be alarmed. Nothing will happen to you here, unless you want it to.”
“Doesn’t look like I could afford it,” I reply, and Delilah laughs. “So, um, how long have you been involved with the Order?”
“The Order recruited me and my business about thirty, maybe thirty-five years ago.” She shifts to face me, high heels clicking against the tile floor.
“Why do they need a brothel?”
“How else would the Order fund itself, through the kindness of others? This is the breadbasket of the Order, darling. On top of that, quite a good source of information for this region. People are desperately honest when their pleasure is on the line.”
I glance around at the obviously wealthy people caressing the bodies of her employees. “Your clients don’t know you’re with the Order, I assume.”
She shrugs, taking a chalice of wine from a woman dressed in what barely passes as clothing. The woman offers wine to me, but I decline. Delilah swirls the wine around in her glass. “No, they don’t. But they don’t care. This is a house of sin. The blood here doesn’t rush north.” She takes a languid sip from her chalice. “All they want is what everyone wants. To feel important. To feel as if their pleasure is the only onethat matters. And you wouldn’t believe how many of them are compelled to honesty to get their release.”
“You’re not worried about getting caught?” There are at least three clients here in the lobby as people load in what are obviously cases of weaponry. To Delilah’s credit, they don’t look concerned.
“Why? Because we flagrantly commit treason right under Thorne’s nose?” she asks. “To be blunt, no one in this room is concerned about what is happening outside their pants.”
Taylor approaches, determination written across her features. “Delilah, where is Jacqueline?”
