The deputy governor’s estate is made up of a three-story living quarter and a pair of two-story buildings; one is living quarters for staff and the other is for hosting guests. The shorter buildings sit on either flank of the living quarters and are connected by 20-yard enclosed walkways. Behind the estate are the less grand structures, the kennel, garage, a barn, and pool house. The exterior of the living quarters is made of precision cut stone painted white in some symbolic gesture of purity. The style dates back more than a thousand years, it’s a poor imitation of the architecture from a superior era in Greta’s opinion.
The house staff assist Greta from the carriage and direct the driver to the kennel and garage. She watches her inu get back on their feet and stretch before eagerly pulling against the carriage brakes. The driver content they are all equally ready, releases the brake and glides around to the rear of the buildings.
Double doors are both opened to allow her passage and to show respect. They make the customary offer of accommodations, all are declined. The house steward offers Greta his arm for her to hold as they walk across the spacious reception room where another set of double doors are opened to allow entrance into the sitting room where the other guests are gathered.
When the doors swing open, all eyes flicker in her direction, conversations don’t stop but the tone of the voices go up a notch momentarily as she enters. Head held high Geta goes to work.
She sees a group of women by the window lead by tonight’s hostess, Betty Nassar slowly inch towards the center of the room trying to not make it apparent that they know they were in her preferred place to receive people. Greta glides through the room and takes her place before the window. The timing of her arrival could not be more perfect, the sun was just touching the horizon, the light hitting the east facing window backlighting her perfectly, casting her shadow down the room’s center from end to end. The only enhancement she added was to suppress the room’s soft lighting until the sun completely disappears two minutes later.
Conversations were dying, someone tried to fake a laugh to show they were unaffected by the sudden gloomy atmosphere, it ended as a stifled coughing fit. Around half of all eyes were now on her either directly or indirectly. Greta smiles and allows the lights to return to their previous level. The babel of voices goes back to normal as the three dozen or so people sigh in relief not even knowing why. Orchestrating such moments keeps her entertained. After 400 years of doing the same job she needs those moments.
The group of women lead by Betty, who is tonight’s hostess, gracefully drift back towards Greta.
“Lady Mirra, it’s so nice that you could attend, my husband is always working, and we get so few occasions to get together with friends.”
A servant comes by with a tray laden with glasses of wine. Betty nervously grabs a fresh glass with an empty one still in her other hand, making an obvious breach of etiquette. The servant sees what she’s done and with a subtle hand gesture silently offers to take the empty glass.
Greta likes to see powerful people trip over themselves by her presence. But tonight, is Betty’s lucky night she isn’t here for her.
“Your home is always so beautiful, and your friendship means much to this old lady. In fact, I’d like to return your hospitality by inviting you and your husband over sometime soon. I think a luncheon would be nice. Do you agree?”
With defeated eyes and a perfect smile, Betty responds the only way she can, “That sounds exceptional. I’ll let my dear husband know that he’s already agreed, and we look forward to your invitation.”
Greta meets the eyes of the four other socialites one by one in the group. One looks away and nervously clenched her untouched glass of wine in both hands. She’s sure to be speaking with this one later. Greta wonders what vapid favor this one will ask.
“Please excuse us, as hostess I must circulate, and I’ve not spoken with Franny since she arrived,” Betty leads her band of hens away so they can fake greet a woman that was with them by the window when she entered. Greta is constantly amazed at how bad people are at lying.
Greta signals the servant with the wine tray and helps herself to a glass. The next person to approach is the El’Hat Chief of Police, Mavis Trippler.
“Good evening officer. Have I done something wrong.”
“Hehe, of course you have. You’ve been invited to an exclusive dinner party with the city’s top officials. Not an innocent person in this room. Of course, me being the exception.”
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“Is that so, I know for a fact that in the time we spent in the coat room of the El’Hat Bistro we broke several laws of the lewd and lascivious sort.”
“Those laws only count if you get caught.”
“But officer we did get caught. Remember the coat girl interrupted us?”
“Yes, but she joined in, so it didn’t count.”
“Oh, it certainly counted. Too bad there’s no coat room here. I could use a diversion,” Geta enjoyed the verbal foreplay, but now it’s time for the main course.
“How’s your little problem? Are you comfortable sitting in your chair now?”
The captain glances around to make sure nobody is listening, “It’s fine. I’d rather not think about that.”
Greta smugly agrees, she wouldn’t like to think about having hemorrhoids or to experience her cure. When the Chief came to her for help, he didn’t imagine she’d use her finger to burn his insides and then use her own spirit to make him whole again. Regrowing that much tissue is equally painful to burning it. Well, it hurts the way she does it. He cried the whole time. When he finally stopped sobbing, she collected her price. She used her spirit to pick at his, until there was a tear in it, then she gently pulled on it like a hang nail. When it tore off, she ate it in front of him. She made sure to bend the light around it so he could see the otherwise invisible whisp of spirit and watch it as she slurped up his life’s essence like a noodle. Then she made him gratify her sexually, all the while recounting what she had done to him. That was their first time, the coat room incident was him trying to replace the memory, to forget the pain, the humiliation, and the loss of essence; she will never let him do that.
The Chief mumbles an excuse and leaves to find something stronger than wine.
Next up was the woman clenching her wine glass with both hands. She’s holding it casually now, but it remains full. Greta watches as she saunters across the room. Clearly, she has decided something and is ready to act. This should be good, Greta thinks.
The woman is probably in her thirties, right at the beginning of middle aged, she’ll look like this for another fifty years, but her behavior suggests inexperience, her perfect blond hair is in a modern style fitting someone who hasn’t settle on a look they’ll keep for their remaining days. Sharp blue eyes and pale skin, she’s wearing last year’s style of dress; the color matches her eyes.
No introduction, no small talk, she whispers, “Can you really make things happen?”
Greta is old and tired of pointless small talk and takes an instant liking to the brash woman in front of her. She whispers back, “That depends on who is asking, and what they want to happen. I’m Lady Mirra, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
No longer whispering, “Oh, I do beg your pardon. I’m not use to this kind of thing and completely forgot my manors.”
“I’m Emma Shalaby, the daughter of Judge Shalaby,” responds the woman while holding out her hand as if to shake.
Greta ignores the hand, “I know your father well, how is he doing? Is he here tonight?”
“I’m afraid he didn’t make the invite list. How I was invited I don’t understand either.”
“Oh, that’s not hard to figure out. Somebody brought you here so they can influence you into doing something that concerns your father. But you know that, you’re a grown woman with an important father. You’ve been coached to deal with that fact all your life. Now why are you here,” Greta points to the floor to make sure Emma understands where she is standing.
Emma’s resolve started to soften. Greta doesn’t care one way or another, this woman will be hers eventually.
Emma closes her eye’s and takes a deep breath, “I want my father dead.”
Patricide, she’s not heard that in a while, “Don’t say such a thing out loud ever again. Why would you even think such thoughts?” Greta already has an idea of what’s at play. Tonight’s host has four sons, two are near this woman’s age and single. A relationship between her and the son of the Deputy Governor would be a huge scandal and destroy the appearance of impartiality of the Judge in affairs involving the Office of the Governor. Still no need to rush this, she waits to hear what Emma has to say.
“I met someone, and we want to marry, but it would ruin fathers’ career and we’d lose everything. You see, the person is someone that might one day be standing on the wrong side of my father’s court. But if he were to pass away mother and I would have his pension and I’d be free to marry whoever I like.”
Greta isn’t surprised at the cold-hearted explanation. The judge is a terrible person himself; he beat his children until they were able to move away. He cheats on his wife with cheap whores, and he has a foot fetish; that’s gross to even Greta. He’s as corrupt as any judge, he’s probably already on the payroll of Emma’s lover. People today have no imagination. There are countless ways to make this happen that don’t involve murder, but this is the world she’s been tasked to build, she shouldn’t be surprised when her efforts produce such useful results.
“I accept.”
“What? You accept? Does that mean??”
“I told you to not say such a terrible thing out loud; you’re liable to make it happen, and you are going to owe me a favor of equal weight. Understand?”
“Yes, I expected that,” she did not, but there’s nothing she can do about it.
“It’s been a pleasure, Emma Shalaby. We’ll talk again after I decide the favor, not before.”
Emma nodded agreement, taking the no talking command literally.
A servant walks through the room with a small metal triangle dangling from a string. She strikes it with a tiny metal rod as she circulates around the room.
Ting-ting-ting, as a signal that it’s time to move to the dining room for dinner.
Some start walking right away, others don’t seem to hear the annoying little instrument. Greta waits until there’s barely anyone left talking before joining the meandering crowd as they walk towards the promise of food.
A figure stands in the doorway, people are walking past him, stepping around him, but nobody sees him. Her heart skips a beat as she’s overcome with fear. Silently she asks herself if she’s about to die.