A Guardian Angel-in-training. A soul-eating djinn. A werewolf ex-convict torn between love and vengeance. More than a heart hangs in the balance.
Season 1 of Into the Wild Dark
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Wrongfully-convicted Jack Slobodnik wants his life back. Four years...
Ουπς! Αυτή η εικόνα δεν ακολουθεί τους κανόνες περιεχομένου. Για να συνεχίσεις με την δημοσίευση, παρακαλώ αφαίρεσε την ή ανέβασε διαφορετική εικόνα.
Ch. 3: Mal's Dinner Guest
August 2 | Dusk
When would the video interview end? With a vacant smile, I glanced at the unfinished paperwork cluttering my desk out of frame. The contract on top reminded me, I had things to discuss with my "benefactor," Darcy Cyprian.
"Ms. Ashivant, one last question," Letty Chandler spoke from my laptop. "No one can argue that the pro bono work done by Ashivant, Ashivant, & Claibourne has positioned your firm as a heavyweight in the prison reform and abolitionist circles, but off the record–"
I rolled my eyes, unamused. "Ms. Chandler, you know I don't believe in anything off the record. That's against my religion." My younger sister, Cherie, giggled at my comment. "Hush," I mouthed around a grin. She went back to chirping to her songbirds in their gilded cage.
Cherie's flaxen-haired identical twin, Ava, was draped on a nineteenth-century sage green settee nearby. She handed me a glass of wine. We were in our home office in Ponchatoula, miles from the New Orleans rat race. My sisters knew public relations made me testy. Hence, the premium bottle of Sine Qua Non.
With an exaggerated sigh, I took a generous sip. On camera. To hell with Letty Chandler hating to do clean-up in post production. "Are we almost done? You promised this wouldn't take more than an hour. You may have time to kill, but I'm a busy woman." I made a point of checking the clock as I picked up Darcy's contract and gave it a blase scan.
"Okay, then, on the record." Letty's voice sharpened to a filet point. "Everyone knows you didn't personally take on Jack Slozovik's charity case–"
"Slobodnik," I corrected her.
"Anyway, you always leave the grunt work to your subordinates in New Orleans. So, as a busy defense attorney, do you feel any remorse for getting paying clients like that mass murderer Stratford Bingham released on a technicality?" she asked.
My lips curled as I leaned toward the webcam. Did she want a soundbite? Letty and I had history, and she liked me about as much as I liked her. Ava lurched to her feet, seeing the sparks fly, but she wasn't swift enough to curtail my response.
"Remorse? No, Letty. I think congratulations are in order," I said.
"What she means, Ms. Chandler," Ava barged into view, "is that our firm believes justice was served, and Mr. Bingham, an innocent man, was exonerated. If you'll excuse us, that's our time. Ashivant, Ashivant, & Claibourne thanks you for the interview." Ending the stream, she tossed her blond bob in mild exasperation. "Damn it, Mal. You have no goddamn filter."
"Now, Ava, you saw what happened." I touched a foot to the vibrant rug covering the mahogany hardwood and swirled around in my office chair as she strutted back to her seat. "There I was, benignly answering her asinine questions, when she baited me."
