The banquet proceeded in a peaceful atmosphere. Though only four members of the Franco family sat at the table, they were all dressed in formal dinner attire and ate in practiced silence. Just as a noble family should be.
To prevent any unpredictable outbursts, Adams had strategically seated Franco and Isabel on one side, with Fiona and Victoria on the other. The distance between them was wide enough to keep the peace. He had even instructed the chef to dice every dish into small pieces; this ensured that no one needed a sharp knife. He was also pretty much sure that none of the four possessed the specialized skill to do much damage with a blunt fork. The only disruption was the presence of the bodyguards. Victoria was escorted by Robin and Dan, the two traitors who had once served Franco. Meanwhile, Franco, having lost his previous security detail, had hired ten new men. Two stood in the dining room now, their eyes locked intently on Victoria. One of them, a handsome young man named Jake, glanced at Adams occasionally. Adams noted the interest—perhaps a contact for later—but for now, he remained perfectly still, a silent sentinel ready for orders.
“This truffle pork chop is divine,” Fiona said, trying to breathe life into the room. “Tell Tony I truly enjoyed it.”
“The escargots are excellent as well,” Franco added with a booming laugh. “After days of sleeping in hospital, I’m tempted to eat the plates! Adams, Tony deserves a reward for this. Select a fitting gift for him.”
“Very good, sir,” Adams replied with a slight bow, gesturing for the maids to clear the plates for the cheese and dessert courses.
Isabel sipped her wine and turned to Victoria with a saccharine smile. “You seem uncomfortable, dear. You’ve hardly touched a thing. Fiona mentioned you like passion fruit, so I had Tony prepare this passion fruit and tomato beef soup specifically for you. No poison, I promise.” She winked, and when Victoria ignored her, Isabel went back to her blueberry avocado salad, unbothered.
“I have some good news,” Franco announced, raising his voice. “Andrew tells me the club will reopen next Monday. I believe the unpleasantness of the shooting is behind us. With the New Year ahead, let us forget the past.” He looked to his butler. “Adams, the wine. Let us have a toast.”
As the glasses were filled, Franco raised his high. “To the New Year!” he and Fiona chorused. Isabel joined a moment later. Victoria remained silent, her jaw set, but she eventually followed suit.
“You’re quite the optimist,” Victoria finally spoke after drank, her voice cold. “Have you forgotten there’s a killer loose? He may have let you live last night, but who knows when he’ll come for you again.”
“When you survive death twice, Victoria, you become an optimist. It means the gods are on your side,” Franco countered. “In fact, I’m planning a party to celebrate my ‘rebirth.’ I want to see who dares to strike while the whole world is watching.” He glanced at Adams. “We’ll discuss the details later. I want it held this weekend.”
“Very well, sir.”
Franco sampled a small caviar and cheese blini, his eyes widening. “This caviar is outstanding. A new supplier?”
“Precisely, sir,” Adams said. “It’s from the sirens. We are among the first to receive this batch following the new treaty between the city and them.”
“I heard the Mayor mention the deal,” Franco said with a smug smile. “I imagine we’ll be seeing a lot more high-grade seafood on our plates from now on. You see? Life just keeps getting better and better.”
Fiona looked puzzled. “I don’t understand the deal. What do we even give the sirens? Do they eat beef or chicken?”
“The world doesn’t work like your textbooks, Fiona,” Franco explained, leaning forward. “The sirens don’t need our food; they want control of the tides. Since they live there, we have no reason to argue, but we need the trade routes. The deal acknowledges their sovereignty over the ocean in exchange for their managing our shipping lanes.”
“Sounds like a fair trade,” Fiona noted.
“It’s better than fair. Think of the high tariffs right now,” Franco’s eyes narrowed playfully. “The sirens sell us seafood for dollars, and then they use those dollars to buy goods from the high-tariff lists. And then…”
“Smuggling!” Fiona gasped. “The sirens can smuggle!”
“Not the sirens, they only care about the water. But the humans who work with them? They care about profit. I’m actually considering a partnership.”
“But isn’t that illegal?”
“Tell me, do you support high tariffs?” Franco asked.
Fiona shook her head quickly. “Not at all. Even my press-on nails have doubled in price.”
“Exactly. No one likes a tariff except the fools who believe the politicians’ lies,” Franco said, his voice brimming with self-satisfaction. “The market must find a way to correct the damage the government causes, or the people suffer through a stagnant economy until they start rioting in the streets. This siren deal allows the tariffs to stay on paper, saving the face of the politicians, while we bypass them entirely to keep the goods flowing. Everyone stays happy, and if I can turn a profit in the process? Well, that’s just good business.” He took a deep, celebratory gulp of his wine.
“Brilliant,” Isabel whispered, her eyes glowing with admiration. “I truly wish my economics professor could hear you speak.”
Franco basked in her praise, leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek.
Victoria rolled her eyes and drained her glass in one go.
The dinner ended in that same harmonious atmosphere. Once Fiona and Victoria had departed, Adams finally allowed himself a moment of relief. Later that evening, he joined Mr. Franco in the study to plan the upcoming celebration. They settled on Sunday, drafting a guest list that included business associates, relatives, and close friends.
“And the detective team,” Franco added, leaning back in his chair. “They saved my life, Trevor and Spion, in particular. I want to reward them personally, make sure the gifts are lavish.”
By the time Adams finished his duties, showered, and retreated to his basement quarters, it was nearly 10:30 PM. There was no message from Patric. Perhaps he got lost, Adams thought, or went to the neighbors. He picked up his phone to suggest a meeting spot five blocks away, but before he could type, a notification popped up:
“I’m here.”
Adams froze. Here? A sudden, unnatural chill swept through the room. A subtle displacement of air followed, and suddenly, Patric was standing there. At his side was a massive, silver gray hound with eyes like burning flame. A heartbeat later, a thin, flat shadow slid beneath the door, swelling and reshaping itself until it grew into a second hound—this one a sulfuric yellow, its eyes burning with that same hellish fire.
Adams’ mouth fell open to scream, but Patric was faster. He lunged forward, pinning Adams to the bed and covering his mouth with a firm hand.
“I have something very important and very serious to tell you,” Patric whispered, his eyes intense. “You’d better calm down and listen.”