Chapter 96
Karin
“Tick tick tick…”
The jet of a sprinkler shoots water across the green lawn, painting a rainbow in the shimmer of water droplets against the morning sun.
Henry wakes up to the sound of his wife crying against the closed bathroom door.
“Mags?”
Silence. Apathy. Untouched plates of food.
Henry sits on the porch, wearing a faded Hawaiian shirt with a surfboard print. Maggie’s in a chair across from him, almost unrecognizable with greasy, unwashed hair and wrinkled clothes.
He’s made her iced tea.
“With a dash of mint,” he says, his tone gentle.
Maggie stares ahead. There’s a dead look to her eyes.
Leaves crunching. Greased palm. Black car.
Maggie’s hollow eyes torment him. He misses when her eyes were alive, when they sparkled with joy, and even when they sizzled in anger at whatever dumb things he did.
It’s her eyes that flicker in his mind when he’s approached.
‘I can be a rat,’ he thinks.
He says “yes,” without asking the obvious: “Why me?”
Later, he will ask himself again and again. He will lie awake at night, wondering, did he exude “evil henchman,” “corruptible,” or worse, “fool?”
When Ansel asks him to become his beta, it only adds to the questions.
‘Did he see this coming?’
Laughter, sweat, chocolate pie.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Maggie shifts back into her human form to check on Henry, who’s laying on a floor mat, flat on his back. He’s grimacing in pain.
“No, it’s okay - really,” he says, but he still can’t move.
“Are you sure?” She leans over him.
“I’m sure, but I think you’ve just graduated from our training. You beat the crap out of me.” He tries to sit up, but lays back down - groaning from pain and laughing at the same time. Maggie giggles. She lays down on the mat with him, and Henry tries to talk her into a chocolate pie dinner.
They say money can’t buy happiness, but “they” are full of shit.
Money buys time. It buys good doctors. It buys hope.
Champagne, cologne, friendship.
The tears in Henry’s eyes the night of the ball are real. Alcohol-induced, but real. One-part happiness, one-part guilt.
Henry’s shared information, planted “suggestions,” and steered things in the paid-for directions, but at the same time, he’s also been instrumental in helping Ansel get out of the very things he helped get him into. Something Edwin hasn’t figured out yet.
What does that make Henry? Good? Or just a double rat, working both sides?
The bond between Henry and Ansel is strong and continues to grow stronger. Henry rationalizes it, but the gnawing guilt remains. Still, it’s a choice he continues to choose over and over, because the guilt doesn’t compare to the loss, the worry, and the sadness that was there before.
Judas Iscariot’s silver.
Prince Edwin holds out a bag with two silver bullets.
“One extra,” Prince Edwin says. “But don’t miss.”
Henry scowls. He doesn’t take the bag.
“I’ve done everything you asked,” he says, “But this is too much. I’m not a murderer.”
“Please,” Edwin says. “You have blood on your hands everyday by teatime, I’m sure. Ansel’s no saint, and neither is anyone who works for him.”
“It’s a little different,” Henry says. “Killing because you’re being attacked and have to.”
“Either way, it’s a job, is it not?”
“What’s the point? Ansel’s through. His name’s been run through the mud and the election is weeks away.”
“The point is, I want him gone. That’s the point.”
Henry barely stifles an eye roll over Prince Edwin’s villain energy. He guesses that the opportunity is just too good for Edwin to waste. He can totally ensure his victory, and - bonus - while radicals in the public are fired up and making threats against Ansel, it presents the chance to do away with him. Less scrutiny directed at the people closest to Ansel if everyone assumes it’s a crazed, lone wolf.
“Oh, I forgot,” Prince Edwin says, his voice dripping in acid. “You and my brother are friends now.” He bares his teeth. “I should hope he never finds out what you’ve been doing all along.”
“Is that a threat?” Henry snarls. “Don’t think I won’t throw you under the bus.”
“It won’t matter. I’ll soon be King,” Prince Edwin says. “You think, when he knows what you’ve done, that he won’t immediately kill you himself? At least, maim you for life? How would your beloved mate fare, then?”
Henry shakes his head. “Thanks, Iago. Not today.”
“You’re really willing to bet your life on it? And look, what I’m offering you is very generous - pending my ascension. You could retire and fall asleep every night watching the Waikiki sunset.”
“That sounds nice, but I don’t want it,” Henry says. “In fact, I’m done with all of your dirty work.”
“Take the bullets with you, friend. Sleep on it. I’ll give you three days to make up your mind. Do it, and be rewarded handsomely. Don’t, and I will see to it that your betrayal is made clear to my brother. Should you survive, as King, I promise to make things very uncomfortable for you.”
Henry rips the bag out of his hand and storms off.
Bloody nose. Gun fire. Stars.
He doesn’t believe Edwin till the night of the breach at the estate. Ansel hurts him as easily as Ansel would hurt anyone.
“You work for me. Don’t forget it.” Ansel’s face is as cold as ice.
“Trust me,” Henry says, his face sticky with dried blood. “I won’t.”
Henry’s head runs through all the possibilities, makes a thousand calculations, but he knows he’s been had. He does what he has to.
The Big Kahuna.
When Ansel mindlinks for help, Henry sends the gammas in the opposite direction, making sure to get to Ansel first.
His stomach reels at the smell of blood and the sight of Karin.
The devastation on Ansel’s face rips into Henry. Henry is sweating, breathless, and fighting against his conscience when his finger slips, and he hits the trigger the first time.
Henry’s heart seems to stop beating. Ansel looks down at the wound, beginning to pour with blood, then looks up at Henry hiding in close range, just behind a nearby tree. They lock eyes.
He’s panic-stricken. What other choice is there, now? Try to help him? Ansel won’t survive anyway, and getting involved will just put Henry in jeopardy. Henry’s not going to be strung-up for Prince Edwin’s scheming.
Henry steps from behind the tree. He fights the urge to vomit, holds his finger to the trigger, and fires the gun again.
He blocks out everything else. He sees only Maggie’s eyes.
