InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Cataclysm ❯ Status Quo ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

“Will there be anything else, my lord?”

Amon Kouri, fifth African tai-youkai, shook his head and gave a terse flick of a hand to indicate that he was finished with Kayan, one of the staff of domestic helpers that he employed on the vast estate known as The Southern Star, so named because the white marble that had been used in the construction of the looming edifice, shone like a brilliant star, even in the brightest light of day.

The servant offered a low bow before gathering the ornate decanter of specially blended oils and slipping quietly from the room.

Letting out a deep sigh, Amon dropped the pristine white cotton wrap carelessly on the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck and headed through the luminous and airy bedroom, striding toward the adjoining bathroom.  The air was already suffused with the comforting scent of the herbs that had been added to the swirling water when the bath was drawn, and the blend of oils that had been rubbed into his skin after the hours he’d spent in training were already working to alleviate the welcome strain on the muscles he’d very effectively put to task.

Rounding the corner into the bathing area, he slowly rolled his head back and from side to side, eyes closed, for a long moment before slipping into the in-floor bath tub and settling down for a good, long soak.  The steam that rose off the water carried the comforting scents of the herbs that had been added, adding a misty quality to the air that surrounded him, and he sank down further in the water, leaned back against the sloping wall of the generous tub, as the gentle water jets stirred the bath around him.

Deliberately ignoring the nagging voice in the back of his mind that took him to task over the perceived indulgence, Amon focused instead on the sense of lethargy that was a welcome distraction, at least, for the moment.  Normally, he’d just shower after a heavy workout, but today?  Well, it felt nice, and he didn’t have anything demanding his immediate attention, so he’d opted to take advantage of the lapse, however short, for once.

‘Just go with it, Amon.  No questions necessary.’

That seemed like rather sound advice, and he let out a deep breath.

To be entirely honest, he couldn’t really remember the last time he’d taken the time to try to relax, and even now, that wasn’t really what he was trying to do.  If he were to stop and think about it, he’d have to admit that he couldn’t afford to let his guard down, and, over time, that sense that he was always, always, on guard was something that he’d simply learned to accept as par for course.  There was a perpetual sense that he dared not allow such a lapse, even if he didn’t really dwell upon it.

It was second nature to him now.

‘It isn’t really a way to live, you know.’

‘Perhaps.  Too bad it’s reality.’

‘Of course, it is.’

He ignored the cryptic lilt to his youkai-voice’s words.  Like it or not, he, better than anyone, knew that he really didn’t have a choice.  It was how things were because it was how they had to be, and he was used to it—preferred it, albeit in a very twisted sort of way.

The sudden buzz that cut through the quiet startled him slightly, but he didn’t sit up, nor did he open his eyes.  “Pardon, my lord.  “Master Eze is here,” Rasha Kiminode, Amon’s butler, announced over the intercom, which meant that it was exactly nine o’clock.

“Show him in,” he said, savoring the feel of the steaming hot water as it soaked deep, bringing with it, the soothing lethargy that he welcomed.

A minute later, the feel of the youkai’s aura brushed over Amon’s, and a minute after that came the discreet knock on the bedroom door, dulled by distance, but still quite audible.  “Come,” he called without bothering to move.

“Good morning, my lord Fifth.  How are you today?” Mandla asked, voice far more chipper, far more alert, than it ought to be this early in the day, as far as Amon was concerned.  It was common with the meerkat-youkai, however, and Amon had to appreciate the quality, even if he himself tended to be the exact polar opposite.

“Fine, thanks,” he replied, “and you?”

Surprisingly, Mandla sighed.  “I’m good,” he assured him almost hastily.  “I did need to speak with you, though.”

“Oh?”

Settling in a nearby chair, Mandla seemed to be gathering his thoughts for a moment, and when he finally spoke again, he sounded apologetic.  “I’ve been talking to the family, and it seems that my parents are ready to retire—understandable, given that they’ve devoted so much of their lives to the business.  So, they left it up to me, whether I want to take over or if I would prefer that they just sell it outright.”

Digesting that for several seconds, Amon considered what he’d said—and what he hadn’t.  He knew well enough that Mandla’s family owned and ran a very large fleet of fishing boats that operated off the coast of Egypt in the Mediterranean Sea—one of the largest organizations in northern Africa, actually.  Mandla himself had spoken very fondly of his time, learning the business, working on the water, well before he’d taken the job that Amon had offered.  Sparing a sidelong look at his personal assistant, Amon slowly nodded.  “And you’ll be taking over,” he concluded.  It wasn’t a question.

Mandla grimaced.  “When I consider the idea that someone else might own the business . . .”

Amon flicked a hand and gave a shrug.  “Then I shall wish you the best,” he concluded.  “Have you given your parents any expectation of time?”

The sense of relief in the man was immediate and apparent, and that smile that tended to be his normal expression was back.  “As soon as possible, however, I will stay as long as you have need of me,” he explained.

“That’s fair,” Amon allowed thoughtfully.  “Thank you for the notice.”

Mandla nodded, and he appeared to be considering Amon’s words.  Finally, though, he sat up a little straighter and dug his tablet out of the black leather attaché case he always carried.  “I already emailed you the day’s itinerary, but I thought I should remind you that you have a lunch meeting with the zoning commission at noon.  Mr. Selassie said he would make sure you’ve got the reports before then so that you can go over them beforehand . . . and this evening is the museum fundraiser.”

He made a face, and that only made Mandla chuckle, since he had quite forgotten about the damned fundraiser.  If he could have gotten out of it, he would have tried, but, well . . .

Some things were impossible to ignore, and that was one of them.  The Nane Kouri Museum of Arts and Science was too important, too close.

“Make sure that the arrangements are set for this evening, then,” he said, unable to keep the clipped and tight tone out of his voice as he lifted a hand, rubbed his forehead as though to rid himself of a burgeoning headache.

“Understood.  I believe that’s all for now.  I’ll get in touch if anything else requires your immediate attention, unless there’s anything else you need?”

“No, but thank you,” Amon muttered.

Mandla chuckled again as he rose to his feet, stuffing the tablet back into the attaché case.  “I’ll send details for tonight once I confirm your plans for this evening.  Enjoy your day, my lord.”

“You, too.”

Mandla paused long enough to offer Amon a quick bow before slipping out of the office once more in the quiet and efficient manner that he always used.

Capturing a deep breath, Amon slid down under the surface of the water, as though he were trying to wash off the unpleasant reminder of the obligations that he just couldn’t ignore, at least, figuratively.  He wasn’t really, of course.  What did that matter, anyway, when the truth of it all was, as always, just a little closer than he ever really wanted to consider?

It didn’t matter at all, and that was the point.  If there was nothing else in the world that Amon Kouri held sacred, the well-being of his esteemed mother’s most beloved pet project would sit very, very high on that list, and, like it or not, there was really no way he’d ever skip out on the event, regardless of how much or how little he might care for the idea of being obligated to show his face.

Pushing himself up, releasing the breath he’d held as he surfaced once more, he wished a little vaguely that he could brush aside the rising clouds that were fast rolling in to darken his already precarious mood.

“Scowling like that at this hour?  Really.”

Wiping his eyes, he scowled at Luan Oyekan—Han, for short—who had slipped into the room and was presently settled on the counter by the sink with a cup of coffee in his hand and a lazy, almost predatory kind of smile, quirking the corners of his full lips.

“Don’t you ever knock?” Amon grumbled, sticking out a hand, waving it impatiently at his best friend.

Luan rumbled out a low chuckle, golden mane of hair, catching the brilliant morning sunlight that poured through the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows over the huge tub, sky-blue eyes, shining with an unwelcome and unabashed show of amusement, taking his time as he slipped off the counter and picked up the cup of coffee he’d brought up for Amon.  He moved with a cat-like grace—not surprising, given that he was a Barbary-lion-youkai—and very little noise.  “You would have heard me if you hadn’t been trying to drown yourself,” he shot back pleasantly.

Amon’s reply was a deep grunt that was magnified within the confines of the coffee cup as he downed the bitter brew since he always took his without any kind of sweetener or cream: plain black, and the stronger, the better.

“So, what time did you crawl in last night?” Luan asked, resuming his post on the wide marble counter.

“I don’t know . . . One or . . . later . . .”

Nodding slowly, Luan took his time, sipping from his coffee cup.  “That raven haired beauty?  The one with the huge breasts?”

Amon didn’t respond to that since he didn’t really think he needed to.  The two had gone to a small pub in the city to unwind, to play a few games of Morabaraba, and, though he wasn’t necessarily looking for a willing woman, he’d found one, just the same.  She was pretty enough, of course, but it was nothing more than a physical release, and when all was said and done, he didn’t even know her name.  He’d never asked, and neither had she, and when he’d stumbled out of her small apartment and into the pitch-black night, he’d immediately forgotten her address since he’d never have use of it again.

Luan heaved a rather melodramatic sigh as he arched a golden eyebrow at Amon and slowly shook his head.  “You’re kind of a slut, my lord Fifth.  You know that, right?”

Amon snorted, setting the empty cup on the edge of the tub, partially because Luan only ever used the title that was proper when addressing Amon formally when he was dealing him a ration of shit, and partially because Luan, as striking-looking as he was, had no real room to cast aspersions since he tended to be just as bad, if not worse, than Amon on his best day.

In any case, the encounter was nothing more than a brief distraction, and once he’d gotten home, he’d gone to sleep, only to wake up a couple hours later.  He couldn’t get back to sleep, and he’d given up after about half an hour of futile effort, which was why he’d ended up, training in the courtyard behind the mansion for hours until the sun had risen and those shadows that denoted the night had finally, blessedly, receded.

“You say that like you’re not one, too, Han,” Amon shot back rather caustically.

Luan, true to form, merely chuckled, gaze brightening, eyes sparkling.  “Is it really my fault that the fairer sex is so . . . fair . . .?”

He snorted again before he could stop himself, and he couldn’t help the sarcasm that bled into his tone, either.  “Paragons of virtue, every last one,” he muttered.

To that, Luan sighed, and his amusement died away, though the lamination of his good humor didn’t diminish.  “You ought to know that not every woman alive is like—”

“Don’t,” Amon growled, narrowing his eyes on his friend, reminding him in insular fashion that he was fast-approaching very dangerous ground.

Luan sighed again, and this time, all traces of humor faded fast.  “Come now.  I understand exactly why you feel the way you do, but you know as well as I that your father—your mother—wouldn’t want you to be like this, either.”

The icy cold in Amon’s expression only intensified as he glowered at Luan.  “No, I don’t,” he shot back.  “They’re not here for me to verify what they do or don’t know, now are they?”

Luan had the grace to grimace at the blunt reminder, and he slowly shook his head.  “I think you know it, damn well—and, for the record?  I really hate that you can’t see past it.”

It was Amon’s turn to sigh as he tamped down the rising bitterness that was never too far away.  “Did you just come in here to annoy me?” he grumbled instead, hauling himself to his feet and out of the tub.

Raking a hand through his messy hair, Luan chuckled again.  “Actually, no.  I just thought I’d let you know that I invited someone to come for a visit.”

“All right,” Amon allowed, making quick work of drying himself with a thick, white towel.  “Are you asking permission?  Because if you are—”

“Of course not,” Luan interrupted while Amon draped a towel over his dark hair and started scrubbing vigorously at his scalp to dry it.  Luan lived in the south wing of the mansion, and had since he’d come of age years ago.  Before that, he’d lived in the family’s quarters in the western wing, as had Amon and his twin, Raah—closer to Sabra and Nane, which was normal enough.  As the boys had grown into men, however, they had each opted by choice to relocate to the other areas.  Raah had taken up residence in the northern wing, and Amon had moved to the eastern side.  The west and the north wings had been sealed off, and even now, the only person to access those halls and the rooms beyond was an old antelope youkai, Rasha, the most trusted of the Kouri family’s household staff.  Luan didn’t actually need permission to have anyone visit, any more than Amon himself did.  “I thought I should tell you, though . . .”

Amon’s frown deepened.  Something about the almost too-casual tone of Luan’s voice . . . “Tell me, what?”

Luan shrugged.  “It’s Annika.”

Amon paused, but only for a moment, before resuming his task once more.  To anyone else, they might have missed the hesitation.  Luan, however, wasn’t just anyone and was, in fact, the closest person in Amon’s life.  He knew Amon better than anyone alive, and that was probably the entirety of the issue—and the warning.  “Just keep her away from me.”

He didn’t miss the moment of a grimace that was gone as quickly as it had surfaced on Luan’s features.  “Would you rather that I ask her to stay at a hotel?  I mean, I can.”

“It’s fine,” Amon intoned, careful to keep his voice entirely even, bland.

“Fine?” Luan echoed.  “So, I take it you don’t want to see her.”

“Do I need to?”

Luan shrugged, and Amon figured that he’d meant for it to be an offhanded sort of thing, but he saw it as more of a calculated sort of nonchalance.  “Come now, Amon.  It’s Annika!  You’ve known her almost all your life, and—"

“And I knew her, too—inside and out,” he shot back angrily.

Luan nodded slowly since he must have understood that, too.  His words, though, took the wind out of Luan’s sails, and he sighed instead, rubbed his forehead.  When he spoke again, his tone was much, much more thoughtful.  “It’s not nearly the same thing, and you—"

Amon grunted.  “You can offer her my regards, but I . . .”

Luan shook his head, and he must have figured that he’d gained as much of a concession as he was likely to get on the matter.  “She’ll appreciate that, I’m sure,” he assured him.

Amon didn’t say anything as he dropped the towel and reached for the clothes that had been set out for him, hung neatly from a hook nearby.  Normally, such a thing wasn’t done unless he was getting ready for some formal event, but, given that he’d had Kayan’s assistance already this morning, the servant had gone ahead and seen to that, as well.

‘You know damn well that Han’s right.  Annika’s as close to you as a sister would be—or she was, anyway.’

Artfully ignoring the hint of censure in his youkai-voice’s words, Amon pulled on the boxer shorts and grabbed the black slacks next.

‘You can do that, but you know it’s true—and you know that she really didn’t deserve to be cast out the last time you saw her, either.’

He gritted his teeth, resolved not to delve too deeply into that.  There were far too many things that would dredge up, and, while they didn’t directly involve Annika, they were entirely too close, just given the time frame, and Amon, better than anyone, knew that unearthing those memories wouldn’t lead to anything good or positive for him.

“She’s . . . She’s as much family as I am,” Luan stated quietly, almost gently, and with a deadly accuracy, just the same.

And his temper spiked, despite the unbidden knowledge that Luan wasn’t trying to do any such thing.  “She was a friend—maybe.  She is not family.”

“Isn’t she?” Luan challenged mildly.

“I only have one person whom I would call ‘family’,” Amon pointed out, pinning Luan with a stony look, voice low, contained, albeit, barely.  “There is no such thing anymore, not for me.”  After all, he knew that well enough, too—and so did Luan.

The expression on Luan’s face was a bit on the dubious side, but he nodded slowly instead.  “Not all women are like her,” he said, a little too nonchalantly, “and Annika—"

“Drop it,” Amon commanded in the tone that had come to be known as, ‘The Voice of the Tai-youkai’.

Luan nodded, pushing himself off the counter and sparing a moment to retrieve Amon’s empty coffee mug.  “I know, but it’s true,” he tossed over his shoulder as he headed toward the doorway.  “Anyway, I’ll see what I can do about keeping her away from you.”

Amon yanked on the white silk shirt, but he didn’t bother to button it as he followed Luan back toward the bedroom.  “Oh, and one more thing,” he called after him.

Luan stopped, peering over his shoulder at Amon before opening the door to leave him alone once more.  “Yes?”

Amon narrowed his eyes on his cousin.  “Tonight’s that damned fundraiser.  Make sure you’re dressed respectably.”

Luan’s groan lingered in the air long after the lion had retreated.

Only when he was out of the room, though, did Amon break into the barest hint of a smile.


“The Fifth looks like he’s ready to eat someone.”

Luan blinked and glanced down at his dance partner, only to find her, staring off to the right with a half-questioning, half-bemused little smile, quirking her ruby red lips, and without a second thought, he shifted his gaze to the side, only to spot Amon, standing next to the chairman of the board of directors of the Nane Kouri Museum of Arts and Science with a drink in his hand and a thoroughly blank expression on his face.  Too bad the sense of irritation that lent his pale green eyes an unearthly glow was even more noticeable because of it, and Luan stifled a sigh.

“Let’s hope whoever he’s singled out is tasty, then,” he quipped.

Annika Phiri rolled her eyes at the jest.  The water-youkai was just as lovely as she had ever been, startling aqua eyes, shining bright, her rich black hair, drawn up and neatly captured in a sophisticated twist.  She’d cleaned up nicely, both literally and figuratively, since she’d been waist-deep in an archaeological dig just outside of Ai Alalmal, dead in the middle of Sudan, only hours before catching her flight to South Africa for her visit, or so she said.  “Tell me, Han, does he ever smile anymore?”

Turning the woman so that she couldn’t see Amon anymore, lest the tai-youkai notice and decide to take exception to her attention, Luan managed a tepid little smile of his own.  “Of course, he does.  He’s just a bit more selective these days, with whom he shares them.”

Turning her attention to Luan once more, she sighed.  “He’s changed so much.”  She grimaced, her cheeks pinking slightly.  “I guess everyone does.  It’s been, what?  Twenty-five years?  Longer?  And, considering what happened . . . It’s understandable, of course,” she went on quickly, almost apologetically.  “The Fourth . . . Lady Nane . . . Raah . . . It’s just . . .” Trailing off, she shook her head, let out a heavy sigh, and even her aura seemed to darken.

It wasn’t odd.  Given that Annika had grown up very close to them, she’d always lingered around their family, a little closer than a casual acquaintance, not quite within the tight circle.  How many times had Annika been the odd one out, the one they’d all collectively teased, simply for having been born female and therefore, not quite part of their peculiar little boys’ club?  Not her fault, certainly, and they hadn’t ever been unkind to her, simply given to teasing her collectively because they could, because they were children?  Whether she took them to task for it or laughed with them, it didn’t matter.  She always came back, always joined in, always was content to just be with them.  As thick as thieves, Nane had always so fondly said of them as she’d mussed Annika’s hair because the boys were having none of that.  Now, Raah . . . Well, he was gone, and Annika?  She’d been exiled through no fault of her own . . .

It was complicated.  Once, not too long after that God-awful night, she had tried to talk to Amon, tried to offer him the kind of comfort that only a close friend could provide, but he . . . Well, he’d cast her out, told her that she wasn’t welcome in his home, had effectively severed all ties and communication, and Annika understood, at least, as much as she could.  She didn’t know much more than anyone else did outside of Amon and Luan and the small staff of servants who had been retained after the fact—the ones who had survived the initial purge, that was.  Even so, she did understand Amon’s extreme distrust, had said that she couldn’t really fault him for it, given the circumstances, and so, she’d always offered her unwavering support, albeit from a distance.

Luan scowled over Annika’s head as he pulled the water-youkai a little closer in the dance.  He could feel the turmoil, still rife in her youki, and as much as he wished—for likely the billionth time—that he could tell her more of the entire story, it really wasn’t his tale to tell, even if a large part of it belonged to him, too.

It was painful, no doubt about it.  Having been taken in and raised by the Kouri family when he was almost a year old and his own parents died, he’d been treated no differently from Sabra and Nane’s biological children, with the sole difference being that he had never been formally adopted.  It wasn’t such a huge deal, not really, given that his mother was Nane’s sister, so his custody was never under dispute, and even then, it hadn’t mattered, least of all, to the twins, Raah and Amon, who were born a couple years later.  It wasn’t until later on that Sabra had told him one night that the only reason he hadn’t formally adopted Luan outright was just because of the potential for trouble it could cause when it came to the line of succession, which he had understood entirely, and even so, it wasn’t a big deal to him.  Even if it were possible, given that he was older than the twins, which it wasn’t, there was not a day that passed when Luan had ever even had a fleeting thought of wanting to become tai-youkai—and, he knew, Amon hadn’t, either.  Thinking back, Luan couldn’t actually recall, ever hearing Amon say anything about it, other than one time, one night, when Raah had been in a meeting with Sabra and some of his advisors.  Amon had said at the time that he felt sorry for Raah, that he’d never, ever want the kind of responsibility that Raah would forever have to carry, just for being born a few minutes before Amon . . .

Now, Luan had to wonder if Amon ever thought back to that conversation, those words, spoken between matches of Death Fighter Alpha on the video game console in the boys’ play room.

But on that night just over twenty-five years ago . . .

“Hello?” Luan said, dragging his phone out of his pocket, plugging his left ear as he brought the device to the right one, turning his back, trying to shield himself from the din of noise at the housewarming party that was only beginning to wind down.

“Han . . .?  Oh, my God, Han?  Help me!”  A strangled timbre, a hysteria that was barely contained . . . “Dear God, help—”

Frowning at the near-panic in the voice that greeted him, he lowered the phone for just a moment to check the caller ID.  It was one of the twins, he could tell, but the odd tone in his voice was enough to confuse him for a moment.  “Amon?  Calm down . . . What’s the matter?” he asked, brushing off the trace anxiety that rose inside him, prompted doubtless by his cousin’s uncharacteristic fear.  ‘Fear . . .?’

Yes, it was fear. Fear and . . .

Amon choked back what sounded like a sob.  “God, Han, they’re dead!  Dead!  Everyone!  Everyone is . . .!  Help me!  Help me!”

“Han?  Are you all right?”

Blinking, shaking off the unsettling thoughts, it took a few moments for Luan to quell the emotions that the memory had inspired—the same, even now that they were on that fateful night, even if they were now just a little dimmed, a little blunted, and still just as powerful, just as harsh, as they had been back then.  Meeting Annika’s troubled gaze, he forced a weak smile and shrugged.  “I’m fine . . . and so is he,” he assured her, nodding in Amon’s general direction.

Annika didn’t really look like she believed him, but she sighed.  “I wish there was something I could do for him,” she admitted at length.

Luan stifled the urge to sigh.  He understood, didn’t he?  Annika had always possessed a soft spot for Amon, but how deep those feelings of affection ran was anyone’s guess, and he wasn’t about to press her on that, either.

The song ended, and Luan stepped back, offering Annika an elbow to lead her off of the dance floor.  She took it, slipping her small and delicate hand up under his arm, and she smiled at him.

“Thank you for the dance,” she told him, pulling her hand away and cocking her head to the side as her smile returned.  “I think I could use something to drink.”

“By all means,” he quipped, extending a hand toward the wet bar.  She smiled up at him before stepping in the direction he’d indicated.  When she caught Amon’s eye for a long moment, her smile widened, and she inclined her head in greeting, but did not approach him, and he, for his part, reciprocated the gesture without a change in his stony expression.

‘Well, at least he still acknowledges that she’s alive and breathing,’ Luan’s youkai-voice pointed out almost philosophically.

Yes, he supposed, turning away and heading in the direction of the bar to grab himself a drink, there was that . . .

“Quoin Rock,” he said, nodding at Mandla Eze as he caught the personal secretary’s eye before casting Annika a questioning glance.  “You?”

“Same,” she said.

Mandla nodded and smiled, unlocking the small cabinet that was kept under lock and key for such instances as this.  Part of Mandla’s job was to be keeper of the keys, as it were, and to serve as a personal bartender for the tai-youkai and Luan, and as such, he was solely responsible for assuring that everything contained within was absolutely safe.  It was a task that a man such as Mandla took very seriously, even though it was kind of above and beyond, as far as that went, but Amon and Luan were only ever served from that cabinet at an event such as this—Amon’s express orders.  Luan felt that it was a little bit extreme, but if it helped to ensure Amon’s peace of mind, he certainly wasn’t about to argue the point.  It wasn’t a new process for Annika, and she said nothing as Mandla poured two glasses of the wine.

“Amon tells me that you’re taking over your family business,” Luan remarked as he watched Mandla pour the drink for him.

“That’s right.  Well, as soon as he can find a replacement for me, that is,” he said.

“You’re leaving him?” Annika asked, delicate eyebrows arching in genuine surprise.

“Well, I think that it’s what’s best for me, yes . . . I’d hate to see my parents sell the family business, after all.”  Mandla shot them a quick glance, and his smile faded slowly.  “Lord Fifth . . . He’ll be all right, won’t he?” he asked at length in a far too-casual tone.

“Amon will be fine,” Luan reassured him, taking the glass of the dark wine.  “I don’t suppose you have any recommendations of someone to replace you?”  He was only half-teasing.

Mandla sighed and rubbed his forehead before replacing the bottle of wine in the cabinet and locking the door once more.  “Can’t say I have any,” he admitted.  “None that I would entrust with the safety of the Fifth, anyway.”

He was inclined to agree.  After all, Amon tended to take things far more seriously than he should have to—not really surprising, given past events.  Even so, the only reason that Mandla had been offered the job was because Amon was already familiar with him since he was Rasha Kiminode’s—the Kouri family’s butler—grandson, long before he’d ever hired him for the task.

“Not just anyone can be allowed to be privy to his personal affairs,” Annika mused.  “It’s not going to be easy to find a replacement for you.”

Mandla slumped over the counter, arms crossed on the pristine top.  “I knew it would come to this one day, but dammed if I don’t feel terrible about the timing,” he admitted.

“The last thing Amon would want is for you to put your future plans on hold, just to keep your job,” Luan pointed out.

“I know . . . It’s just . . . I’ll make a few calls, see if I can’t find someone suitable,” he said, but he didn’t sound very hopeful, either.

“I can, too,” Annika offered.

Luan nodded slowly.  That was the real problem. With all the things that Amon demanded, the prerequisites for the job weren’t status quo, so finding someone to fill that position wasn’t going to be easy, not at all . . .