Page 31 of Veiled Justice (The Other Detective #1)

Greed’s neon letters were glittering gold and it came as no surprise when we strolled into a casino offering everything from slot machines to blackjack and roulette. I could also see a mezzanine floor where I presumed only the high rollers were invited to play.

The most notable thing about the room was that the casino staff were short, wizened old men dressed in a mix of rich-red or deep-green coats, and all wearing golden hats. ‘Leprechauns,’ Krieg whispered.

‘I’ve never seen so many in one place.’

‘They’re solitary by nature. They must be getting paid a lot to work here in such numbers.’

We took a turn around the room and finally I spotted a familiar face: Volderiss’s vampyr, Ludwig.

I decided to direct Krieg away from him; Ludwig seemed lovely but he was several selkies short of a twilight.

I couldn’t trust his discretion and the last thing I needed was for him to greet me with a loud ‘Inspector!’ and blow my cover.

It was interesting that he was here and not at the Carnforths’ party. Verona had also been absent and I wondered if we’d also find her in the salacious halls of the Nocturne Circle.

I tugged Krieg out of Greed and we entered the room marked Sloth.

The lights were dim and the room was entirely too warm for my taste.

Once again the area was filled with beds but this time there were flickering candles, blankets and half-naked witches painting runes for relaxation and rest on the guests.

Some of the witches were also giving massages.

Of all of the rooms, this appealed the most so far – though the apple crumble had been delicious.

Soft, tinkling music was playing in the background. I couldn’t identify any of the occupants because most of them were lying face down, but I definitely couldn’t see Verona’s ice-blonde hair.

Reluctantly – at least on my part – we left Sloth and headed into Wrath.

The neon sign above the door was red and the colour didn’t stop there: the whole room was lit with low, threatening red lights.

It was also roaring with sound – and it seemed we had stumbled into the magical equivalent of a fight club.

Instinctively my hackles rose and I was relieved when I saw one of the fighters being handed a wedge of cash as he walked out of the ring.

This wasn’t a black-tourney situation where paranormals were forced to fight each other to the death, this was a gentrified version where the fighters came for the exhilaration of giving – or receiving – a few bruises and a bloody nose.

In another section there was a rage room with a shit-tonne of items to smash: crockery, pottery and a bunch of white goods. The weapons on offer were a baseball bat or a sledge hammer. No knives in sight.

Another contender entered the ring and Krieg gave a low growl. The new guy was an ogre; large tusks protruded from his forehead and he was wearing nothing more than a loin cloth. His right arm was three times the size of his left – and he was using it to drag a metal studded club.

‘Who?’ I murmured.

‘Einar,’ he said tightly.

Fuck. ‘The one dating Helga?’

‘Indeed. He’s supposed to be on a contract in Southampton,’ Krieg growled.

‘But he’s not in Southampton,’ I pointed out unnecessarily.

‘No, he is not. Which means he is falsifying the books.’

‘Couldn’t he have been in Southampton and travelled up to Chester today?’

‘The books includes geolocation information – and because of the situation with Helga, he was supposed to notify me when he was moving towards home.’

‘And he didn’t?’

‘No, he didn’t.’ Krieg’s nostrils were flared and his fists were clenched. He had reached the same conclusion as me: if Einar had forged the contract, there was a very good chance that he had been the ogre hired to kill Helga.

‘Not here,’ I said hastily. ‘Not now. There are too many people and we haven’t finished looking at the rooms. Take a deep breath and count to five.

’ The absurdity of my advice was enough to make him turn to look at me.

I stood on my tiptoes and reached up a hand to touch the side of his face. ‘Not here,’ I repeated. ‘Please.’

He held my eyes and, as he turned his head slightly, his lips brushed over the palm of my hand. He didn’t kiss it, but it was a distinct nuzzle. My heart was back to pounding – but obviously that was a result of the tension of the situation, not because of the press of his lips against my skin.

‘That is not how I envisioned you saying “please” to me for the first time,’ he rumbled.

‘No?’ I said faintly.

‘No. Come then.’ For a moment, I thought he was talking dirty but then he gently took my hand, lowered it and laced his own thick fingers through it. He tugged me out of Wrath and walked me straight into the green-coloured room of Envy.

Envy was divided into two sections: one side was lined with mirrors, above which was a sign saying Meet your perfect self.

I grimaced and steered clear of that; the last thing I wanted was to stare into an enchanted mirror and see a version of me I could never attain.

Obviously not everyone felt the same way because the room had plenty of patrons staring into their mirrors with self-important smiles.

This room was the darkest we’d been into; it was a place that would ultimately incite misery as people failed to achieve the perfect self they saw here.

No, this was definitely not the room for me.

The other side of Envy had rows of comfortable chairs and a stage where a handsome man was presiding over an auction.

‘A rakshasa,’ Krieg hissed in warning.

I had never seen a rakshasa before but I knew enough about them to be wary. Little was known about their powers, save that they were secretive and dangerous. They grew their powers by consuming feelings of greed and envy; if this one worked here regularly, he would be very powerful indeed.

‘How badly do you want it?’ the rakshasa tauntingly asked the crowd. ‘Focus on your desire to have it,’ he instructed as he held up a vase. ‘It has been known to improve the fortunes of its owners. Who needs a lift in their fortunes? How much difference would this make to you?’

He drew the moment out, showcasing the vase. ‘Going … Going … Gone! Sold, to the woman in the green dress who wants this vase so very, very badly.’ He smiled, but there was something dark and predatory about it. ‘Come and see me to claim your prize.’

I’d seen enough and I pulled on Krieg to get us the hell out of there. Together we faced the entrance to the last room: Pride. The letters were written in purple and should have looked welcoming, but instead they felt cold and impersonal.

‘Comes before a fall,’ a voice murmured from behind us. We whirled around and met Verona’s eyes. She was dressed like she belonged in the Lust room but I was more interested in the triumph that appeared in her eyes when she saw us standing there. ‘Follow me,’ she said happily and led us inside.

The room was dark. There were several spotlit pedestals and on each one was a book. There was only one other occupant and he looked up as we walked in.

Jude Jingo winked at me then turned back to his book. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I demanded of the doppelganger.

‘Seeing if you put together the crumbs I left for you, Inspector.’

‘Don’t fuck about with this Hansel and Gretel bullshit. If you know something, tell me.’

He smiled. ‘I know a lot but I think you’re a woman who needs to find her own way. You don’t strike me as the silver-platter type.’ Giving me a slight bow, he turned and left.

‘Pride. He’d know all about that,’ Verona spat as she watched Jingo walk away.

She led me to a stone pedestal and patted the book on it.

‘In these books you can write your secrets, your boasts. The books are spelled so only the truth can be written in them. To learn who wrote each boast, you must pay the premium – of which the house takes a cut, of course. The remainder of the sum goes to the person whose boast or secret it is.’ She smiled ‘And the catch is that there’s a deadly secrecy rune.

You can read the boasts, but if you try to reveal them to another person you’ll die. ’

‘This whole place is sick,’ I muttered. Well, apart from Sloth; I could get behind Sloth.

‘This room isn’t for the faint-hearted,’ Verona confirmed. ‘But you’ll want to see this. Volderiss has been keeping tabs on Quintos and knows that he comes here. After what I saw yesterday, I looked in the books. All of them.’

She took us to one and flipped to a page. The boast was written in glittering gold and said simply: I’m rich enough to get away with murder. Price for the name: ten million.

Verona turned the page, I’m so rich, I could get a crowd to applaud murder. Price for the name: fifteen million. I recognised the curling writing of the second boast: Louisa Carnforth dotted her I’s with little hearts like she was still a teenage girl.

Anger surged through me and I wasn’t the only one raging; next to me, Krieg clenched his fists.

I didn’t need to pay the premium to know who had made these boasts. Two parties, two deaths, two hosts. Two killers.

Krieg and I walked out of the club into the centre of Chester. Students were busy shouting, singing or vomiting, and the town was vibrant and alive. Krieg slid a glance at me. ‘You’re not going to sleep, are you?’

‘I have—’ I checked my watch ‘—twenty-one hours left to prove my brother is innocent. If I don’t, Thackeray will bring in another Inspector.’

His jaw tightened. ‘One that might accept a bribe from Quintos to make it all go away.’

I grimaced because it was true. Inspectors were supposed to be impartial officers for justice and a force of righteousness, and most of us were.

But, like with any large unwieldy organisation, there were bad apples.

I had no doubt Quintos would secure one of them to take over the case …

and when he did that Rupert would be arrested and killed before he could prove his innocence.

No, I wasn’t going home to sleep. I needed to catch the killers and that meant building an unshakeable case in less than a day.

They’d hired out the actual killing; it wouldn’t do to get their own hands dirty.

I was betting that Quintos had hired Einar, and Louisa Carnforth had hired a dryad assassin.

All assassination contracts had a vow of secrecy woven into them but I was sure that the assassins were the weak point; if I arrested Quintos or Carnforth, they would surely attempt to throw both assassins under the bus.

No, I needed a confession to see those two rich wankers in jail.

Nothing like a tall order.