The Devil Casts a Long Shadow- Chapter Four: To Look After Our Own

That morning, Jena pulled herself out of bed as though she had sunk into the mattress overnight. Her entire body ached with a fatigue unlike anything she had experienced before. Sleep no longer seemed capable of restoring her. It merely interrupted the exhaustion for a few hours before returning her to it.

She called Ivy-Mae first, deliberately allowing the call to go to voicemail.

Jena had no desire to begin another day listening to accusations, complaints, or demands disguised as maternal concern. She left a brief message explaining that Nate would remain in postoperative care until the doctors considered him stable enough for transfer.

Then she called Gus.

Of Nate's parents, Gus was the more straightforward. He was unpleasant in his own right, but at least his grievances generally arrived without the elaborate disguises Ivy-Mae preferred.

Jena explained that there had been an incident involving a college girl at the house on the night of Nate's birthday party. She had been advised to remain close to home while the investigation continued, although she intended to return to Colorado when Nate was transferred.

Gus confirmed that the doctors had reported no meaningful improvement in his son's condition.

There was a pause.

"Listen," he finally said. "You ought to know Ivy-Mae's been running her mouth."

Jena closed her eyes.

"About what?"

"She's been talking to Jett about going after Nate's assets. Says you aren't being a proper wife because you won't stay at the hospital with them."

Jena stared at the wall.

There it was again.

Nate lay unconscious in a hospital bed, a young woman had died in their home, and Ivy-

Mae had somehow found a way to turn the catastrophe into a financial grievance against her daughter-in-law.

"Funny," Jena replied coolly, "how every time Ivy-Mae has a complaint about me, her proposed solution involves putting money in her own pocket."

Gus gave a short grunt.

"Nate has insurance covering his care for the time being," Jena continued. "Whatever happens after that will have to be handled properly. Ivy-Mae's intentions are too transparent to worry me."

"Just thought you ought to know."

"I appreciate it. But I've got enough to deal with here."

She ended the call.

Jena had no intention of spending the day entertaining another chapter of Nate's family drama. She had real problems, and they were accumulating faster than she could address them.

Yet the conversation left a bitter taste.

There was something almost infernal about the speed with which people began calculating their inheritance while a relative still occupied a hospital bed.

Ivy-Mae had once spoken of her son as though he were the greatest blessing God had ever bestowed upon her.

Now she seemed determined to discover what portion of that blessing might be converted into cash.

The memory of finding Nate on the couch continued to haunt Jena.

Throughout their marriage, Nate had always run hot. He constantly lowered the thermostat, loosened his collar, and complained that the house was too warm. Even in winter, his skin radiated heat.

But when she touched him that night, he had been cold.

The sensation remained with her.

His arm had felt less like part of a sleeping man than something abandoned.

At the hospital, beneath the bandages and surrounded by machinery, he had seemed colder still.

Jena tried not to dwell upon it.

There were thoughts she could not afford to entertain, particularly when she was already struggling to keep herself composed.

Ivy-Mae's attempts to blame her for Nate's condition were nothing new.

Jena had served as the designated culprit for nearly every mistake Nate made since they were teenagers. It was one of the reasons their relationship had ended the first time.

When Nate cheated, Jena received the angry calls—not merely from his friends, but occasionally from the women he had pursued.

When he had a bad day at work, she was somehow responsible.

When he spent money recklessly, she was accused of being unsupportive.

When he became intoxicated or behaved disgracefully, someone inevitably suggested that she had failed to make him happy enough.

Perhaps she had not smiled often enough.

Perhaps she had gained too much weight.

Perhaps weighing one hundred and forty pounds during their last summer vacation had been sufficient justification for his latest mistress to confront her in a grocery store, demanding to know why she refused to divorce a man who had apparently promised the woman an entirely different life.

Jena had long since stopped trying to untangle the lies Nate told about her.

It was an exhausting business, defending oneself against accusations invented by someone with an apparently inexhaustible imagination.

She had learned to let most of it pass.

In one ear and out the other.

That was how she preserved what remained of her sanity.

Still, there was something profoundly corrupt about a community that treated the man responsible for the wrongdoing as a victim while demanding that the person harmed by it apologize.

Nate's admirers had made a religion of excusing him.

Jena had become their preferred sacrifice.

She had endured the arrangement so long that she scarcely recognized its cruelty anymore.

Perhaps that was the most dangerous part.

Hell, she was beginning to suspect, did not always require a person to scream.

Sometimes it merely required them to become accustomed to the heat.

Determined to recover some semblance of normalcy, Jena took a long, scalding shower.

She stood beneath the water until the heat reddened her skin and the supply finally ran cold.

Afterward, she dressed carefully and made an inventory of the pantry and refrigerator.

She expected to spend considerably more time at home until the investigation and Nate's medical situation were resolved—if either ever was.

In the refrigerator's crisper drawer, she discovered the expensive champagne Nate had brought home from their Napa Valley vacation.

The cleaning crew had apparently overlooked it.

The bottle had cost twelve hundred dollars.

Nate had been saving it for a special occasion, although no occasion ever seemed important enough to justify opening it.

Jena lifted the bottle and examined its label.

For a moment, she considered pouring herself a glass.

Then she returned it to the drawer.

There was something morbid about celebrating anything while Nate lay unconscious and a young woman who had attended his birthday party was being prepared for burial.

Besides, the bottle seemed like another of Nate's little monuments to himself: an extravagant possession kept not for enjoyment but for the satisfaction of owning something other people could not easily afford.

She closed the refrigerator.

Her next errand was considerably more pleasant.

Mrs. Flossie had been caring for Tiki throughout the ordeal, and Jena was eager to bring him home.

The elderly woman greeted her warmly, although her curiosity was almost palpable.

She repeatedly invited Jena inside for tea.

Jena politely declined, explaining that Nate had been taken seriously ill and that she needed to get home.

Mrs. Flossie looked disappointed.

Jena suspected she had been hoping for a more detailed account of the scandal unfolding at the barndominium.

Even kindness, it seemed, could coexist with an appetite for other people's misfortunes.

Still, Mrs. Flossie had treated Tiki well, and Jena paid her extra for the trouble.

The bird greeted her with familiar excitement.

For the first time in days, Jena felt something resembling genuine relief.

Tiki had been spared the chaos, the police, the drunken strangers, and whatever had happened upstairs.

He remained entirely innocent of the affairs of human beings.

Jena intended to keep him that way.

Once Tiki was comfortably settled in his habitat, Jena called her mother.

"Hi, sweetie! I miss you," Sue answered.

The familiar warmth in her voice comforted Jena more than she expected.

She gave Sue a carefully abbreviated account of Nate's hospitalization and the trouble surrounding his birthday party.

Then she asked whether her mother might come stay with her until matters settled down.

Sue hesitated.

"Well, Jena, dear, this is just the worst timing."

Jena's heart sank.

"Gage is finally doing well in school, and I'm the only one those boys will listen to now that their dad's getting ready to go back on the road."

"I understand."

"And then there's Thallea."

Sue sighed.

"You'd think she was nine months pregnant with a litter of hippopotamuses, the way she carries on. She does nothing all day but complain that Beau doesn't make enough money."

Jena rubbed her forehead.

She had hoped for her mother's company, not another account of the domestic misery unfolding at the cabin.

Sue continued.

"And if I'm stuck here with the boys and Thallea while Beau's gone for weeks at a time, I honestly don't know what I'll do."

There was another pause.

Then her voice brightened.

"Wait. I know! Why don't you take Thallea instead?"

Jena said nothing.

"She'd love your big house," Sue continued. "And you'll be working during the day, so you wouldn't have to entertain her all the time. Honestly, it'd be such a help if you could take her off my hands."

Jena stared at the wall.

"Mom—"

"I can't stand her, Jena. Just between you and me."

Jena could scarcely blame her.

Thallea was in her early twenties, considerably younger than Beau, and possessed an immaturity that became more apparent the longer one spent in her company.

Beau had met her while she was working as a dispatcher for the trucking company that employed him. According to Beau, he had frequently completed portions of her work to keep her from being fired.

At the time, Jena had regarded the arrangement as an unfortunate but relatively harmless example of her brother's eagerness to please.

Now she wondered whether Thallea had ever intended to perform the job herself.

Jena had kept her misgivings private.

Beau had suffered enough watching Tawny's addiction gradually destroy their family. She understood why he wanted to believe his new relationship offered something better.

Thallea had also told them that she had been forced to leave her foster home upon turning eighteen.

Initially, no one questioned the story.

But after spending time with her, Jena found herself wondering what the other people involved might have said.

She knew nothing of the circumstances and had no reason to dismiss Thallea's account outright. Nevertheless, the young woman's habit of portraying every disagreement as evidence of someone else's cruelty had become difficult to overlook.

Jena considered her mother's predicament.

Sue was unwell. The boys needed stability. Beau would soon be away for weeks at a time.

Thallea's presence promised to make an already crowded household intolerable.

Perhaps a change of scenery would improve her disposition.

Perhaps she would be grateful for a comfortable room and some privacy.

Jena knew these were optimistic assumptions.

Nevertheless, she agreed.

"All right, Mom. She can stay here for a while."

Sue's relief was immediate.

"Oh, thank you, baby. You have no idea what a help that is."

By the time they ended the call, Jena already regretted the decision.

She had asked her mother for support and somehow ended up volunteering to relieve her of another person's burden.

It was a familiar transaction.

Jena wondered whether she had been born with some invisible mark identifying her as the person to whom everyone else's difficulties should be delivered.

By nightfall, Thallea was standing at the front door with her luggage.

She had wasted no time accepting the invitation.

Jena welcomed her inside.

At least Thallea could keep an eye on the house while Jena traveled to Colorado to visit

Nate. There might be some practical benefit to the arrangement.

Beau accompanied her but did not stay long.

He was preparing to leave for the trucking company's headquarters in Nevada.

Jena asked about his plans.

"I'm going to take whatever runs they'll give me," he explained. "Try to get enough saved up so we can find a place before the baby's born."

He sounded more resigned than enthusiastic.

Jena suspected the plan had not originated with him.

Beau hated long-haul trucking.

He had entered the profession as many young men from Meadow Partings had, attracted by the steady work offered through a regional recruitment office that regularly hired recent high school graduates.

Even Turner had spent some time trucking before his inheritance changed his circumstances.

Beau had eventually left the industry after convincing himself that his long absences had contributed to Tawny's deterioration.

He wanted to work in construction, where he could earn a living without spending weeks away from his children.

Now he was returning to the road because Thallea wanted a larger home, and he could see no other immediate way to provide it.

Jena wondered how much of his life he intended to surrender before realizing that satisfying

Thallea might be an impossible undertaking.

Their conversation became strained.

Beau finally said his goodbyes.

From the guest bedroom, Thallea offered little more than a distracted wave.

Jena watched her brother climb into their father's old Chevrolet and drive away.

She felt sorry for him.

He was leaving behind his sons, his ailing mother, and a pregnant partner who seemed barely interested in his departure.

It was difficult not to see the arrangement as another kind of bargain.

Beau would sacrifice his time, his ambitions, and his presence in his children's lives.

In return, he hoped to purchase a little peace.

Jena had seen how such bargains ended.

The price always increased.

She went to the guest bedroom to make sure Thallea had everything she needed.

Thallea was sitting beside the dresser, transferring clothing that smelled strongly of Marlboro Reds into the drawers.

She looked irritated when Jena appeared.

"Can I get you anything?" Jena asked.

"Nope. I'm finally going to get some sleep on a real bed without a bunch of kids bouncing off the walls. I'm good."

She resumed unpacking.

Then she stopped and looked up.

"Why?"

Jena blinked.

"Oh. I was just trying to make you comfortable."

Thallea regarded her for a moment.

"Well, I'm comfortable."

"All right. Feel free to help yourself to anything you need while you're here."

Thallea gave a half smile and a thumbs-up before returning to her clothes.

Jena withdrew.

She had the distinct impression that Thallea considered even ordinary hospitality an intrusion.

As she walked away, she noticed that Thallea had already spread several of her belongings across the room.

Her bags lay open on the floor. Shoes had been arranged beside the dresser. Toiletries crowded the bathroom counter.

She had settled in with the confidence of someone who expected her surroundings to accommodate her without negotiation.

Jena decided to keep Tiki in her own bedroom for the duration of the visit.

She could not explain precisely why.

Thallea had done nothing to threaten the bird.

But there was something about the young woman's casual disregard for other people's comfort that made Jena reluctant to leave anything vulnerable in her care.

Thallea's first night in the barndominium was a miserable one for Jena.

The television blared from the den until well after midnight.

Between programs, Thallea made lengthy calls on the house phone, speaking loudly enough for Jena to hear her from upstairs.

Most of the conversations concerned Beau's children and Sue.

Thallea complained about the cramped cabin, the boys' behavior, Sue's habits, and the indignity of being expected to tolerate any of it.

Her voice carried through the house with an aggrieved theatricality that suggested she expected someone to be impressed by the hardships she had endured.

Occasionally, Jena heard her describe the barndominium.

Those portions of the conversations sounded noticeably more cheerful.

She mentioned the size of the house, the expensive furnishings, the property, and Nate's business.

Once, Jena heard her say, "Yeah, they know practically everybody around here."

The remark struck her as odd.

She assumed Thallea was merely boasting about her temporary accommodations.

By morning, Jena felt as though she had scarcely slept.

She went downstairs for her usual boba tea and toast.

The kitchen looked as though it had been ransacked.

Crumbs covered the countertops. Wrappers lay on the floor. Smears of food decorated the dining table.

A pair of oversized toenail clippers had been abandoned beside the sink.

Jena stared at them.

Then she opened the refrigerator.

The twelve-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne was half-empty.

For several seconds, she simply stood there.

Nate had guarded that bottle for years, refusing to open it even on anniversaries and holidays.

Thallea had apparently decided it was an appropriate accompaniment to her first evening as a guest.

Jena returned the bottle to the refrigerator and turned toward the sink.

Fresh cigarette butts had been extinguished in the garbage disposal.

She stared at the blackened filters.

The house smelled faintly of stale smoke.

It was almost impressive how thoroughly one person had managed to disrespect a home in less than twelve hours.

Jena did not want a confrontation.

She was exhausted, her husband was critically ill, and the last thing she needed was another family dispute.

But she could not ignore what she had found.

She went to the guest bedroom and knocked.

The door was locked.

"Thallea?"

A muffled voice answered.

"What?"

"Could we talk for a minute?"

"I didn't get any sleep."

Jena looked at the door.

"There's just a couple of things about the kitchen I wanted to mention."

"Leave me a note."

Jena stood there for a moment.

Then she walked away.

She had opened her home to someone who apparently believed that hospitality included the right to destroy its contents and refuse all discussion afterward.

She grabbed her keys and went outside.

She needed to leave before she said something that would inevitably be repeated to Beau in a considerably altered form.

The thought of her brother abandoning his work to rescue Thallea from some imagined mistreatment was more than she could bear.

As she drove away, Jena wondered how Sue and the boys had endured the woman for as long as they had.

Perhaps they had simply become accustomed to her.

That seemed to be how most unpleasant arrangements survived.

Within a month, Jena had abandoned any hope that Thallea would become a tolerable houseguest.

One evening, shortly after Jena returned from work, Thallea appeared in the kitchen

wearing a dissatisfied expression.

"I wish I had some extra cash to spend on myself," she announced.

Jena continued putting away her belongings.

"I don't get everything paid for like you do."

Jena stopped.

The remark was so thoroughly divorced from reality that she needed a moment to compose herself.

Since Thallea's arrival, Jena had been paying for nearly everything the young woman wanted.

Meanwhile, Nate's hospitalization had plunged her own finances into chaos.

He had never permitted her access to his bank accounts, and they had no joint accounts from which she could pay their ordinary household expenses.

Nor had he established an emergency financial power of attorney.

The bills he ordinarily handled were now falling upon Jena, except for those paid automatically from accounts whose balances she could neither verify nor replenish.

She had no idea how long the existing arrangements would continue functioning.

Nate's business associates had always insisted that he was a wealthy man.

Jena was discovering how little that wealth meant to a wife who had been carefully excluded from it.

She was paying what she could from her savings while making repeated trips to Colorado to visit a husband who showed no meaningful improvement.

The expenses accumulated relentlessly.

Gasoline. Groceries. Utilities. Insurance. Maintenance.

Each payment seemed modest enough on its own.

Together, they were consuming her financial security.

Jena had not concealed her difficulties.

Her immediate supervisor at the childcare center had been sympathetic enough to offer additional hours, although the extra wages barely made a difference.

The church itself had shown considerably less concern.

As for Nate's celebrated friends, not one had offered meaningful assistance.

They had attended his parties, accepted his generosity, praised his accomplishments, and enjoyed the advantages of his influence.

Now that he was incapacitated, they seemed content to let his wife struggle.

Jena had begun to suspect that their loyalty had never extended beyond the benefits they received.

Even Turner, whom she had believed bore her no particular ill will, had done nothing to help her obtain access to Nate's accounts.

He could have asked Roman to assist with the necessary court proceedings.

Instead, Jena had been left to navigate the paperwork herself.

Her application seemed to languish at the bottom of the court's docket.

The longer Nate remained unconscious, the more precarious her circumstances became.

Thallea, however, appeared entirely unconcerned.

Her requests continued without interruption.

She woke Jena at unreasonable hours, demanding trips to the grocery store for specific items she had declined when offered earlier.

She asked to shop for maternity clothing, only to steer their outings toward expensive cosmetics, salon treatments, and designer accessories.

She borrowed Jena's car to explore the town, returning hours later without explanation and with the fuel tank nearly empty.

She also developed an increasing interest in the people Jena knew.

Whenever Jena mentioned a business owner, contractor, or acquaintance connected to KT

Construction, Thallea became unusually attentive.

"Is he rich?"

"Does he own the company?"

"Does he know Turner?"

"Do you ever go over to his house?"

The questions were generally delivered with a casualness that made them seem like ordinary conversation.

But Jena noticed that Thallea rarely asked about anyone who lacked money or influence.

She seemed particularly fascinated by the young women employed at KT's offices.

"How'd they get those jobs?" she asked one afternoon.

"Turner hires them."

"Just like that?"

"I suppose."

"Must be nice."

Jena thought little of it at the time.

She had spent years being excluded from the same opportunities and understood why someone might resent the unfairness.

But Thallea's interest was not confined to employment.

She wanted to know where the company's people socialized, which restaurants they frequented, and whether Jena could introduce her to anyone.

When Jena explained that she was not especially welcome among Nate's friends, Thallea seemed almost offended.

"You live in this big house, and your husband's got all that money. How can you not know anybody worth knowing?"

Jena stared at her.

"I know plenty of people."

"That's not what I mean."

Thallea dismissed the conversation with a shrug.

Jena let it pass.

She had no desire to defend the value of her acquaintances to a woman who seemed to measure human beings according to their usefulness.

Yet she began to notice a pattern.

Thallea complained endlessly about the people who had sheltered her, fed her, or offered her employment.

She spoke of Beau as though he were an obstacle to the life she deserved.

She treated Sue's poverty as a personal insult.

And whenever she encountered evidence of someone else's prosperity, her resentment became almost tangible.

It was not enough for Thallea to possess something good.

Someone else had to possess something better, and that fact seemed intolerable to her.

One evening, after another complaint about her lack of spending money, Jena finally attempted to explain the situation.

"Thallea, Nate's in the hospital. I can't access his accounts, and I'm paying nearly everything out of my own savings. I really can't keep spending money the way we have been."

Thallea looked unimpressed.

"But you've got this house."

"The house doesn't pay the electric bill."

"Well, it's not like you're paying rent."

Jena swallowed her response.

She had spent years hearing variations of the same argument from Nate.

Possessing a roof over one's head apparently invalidated every other hardship.

Thallea continued.

"I just don't see why everybody else gets to have things and I don't."

Jena regarded her in silence.

There was something bottomless about the grievance.

No amount of generosity appeared capable of satisfying it because gratitude would have required Thallea to acknowledge that someone else had given her something.

And acknowledgment would have placed her, however briefly, in another person's debt.

Thallea preferred to imagine herself perpetually cheated.

It was a convenient position.

A person who had been wronged by the entire world could justify almost anything done in pursuit of compensation.

Jena drew a slow breath.

"I'll ask around town and see if anyone's hiring."

Thallea's expression changed.

"At KT?"

"I said I'd ask around."

"Because I could do office work. I've done dispatching."

Jena remembered Beau's account of how much of Thallea's dispatching work he had performed for her.

"I'll see what I can find."

"Maybe Turner could put in a word."

Jena looked at her.

"I don't know that Turner is hiring."

"Well, you know him, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then ask."

There was no gratitude in the request.

Only expectation.

Jena excused herself and went upstairs.

She was so exhausted that she feared she might say something unforgivable if the conversation continued.

Behind her, Thallea remained in the kitchen, already speaking as though employment with

KT Construction were merely a matter of Jena arranging the necessary introduction.

That weekend, Jena made her customary trip to Colorado to visit Nate.

She stopped along the way to collect Gus, whose fixed income made regular travel difficult.

He climbed into the passenger seat and settled himself with a weary grunt.

For a while, they spoke of inconsequential things.

Neither seemed eager to discuss Nate's condition.

Eventually, Gus asked, "How's Beau's girl doing?"

Jena kept her eyes on the road.

She had no desire to begin complaining about Thallea to her elderly father-in-law.

"She's all right. They think she might be having twins."

Gus turned toward her.

"Twins?"

"Maybe. They thought they detected two heartbeats at her last appointment, but it's still early. They need to confirm it."

"Well, that's something."

Jena nodded.

She did not mention Thallea's reaction to the possibility.

Rather than expressing excitement or concern for the babies, Thallea had dissolved into tears over the prospect of developing what she called gross stretch marks.

She complained that carrying twins would ruin her figure and make her undesirable to men.

Jena had found the remark especially unpleasant given that Thallea was already in a relationship with the father of her unborn child.

But Thallea rarely spoke as though Beau figured prominently in her future.

He was useful in the present.

He worked, provided what money he could, and tolerated her behavior.

Beyond that, she seemed to have little interest in him.

Jena suspected everyone except Beau understood that Thallea regarded their relationship as temporary.

She also omitted the difficulties at the obstetric appointment, where Thallea had repeatedly interrupted the examination and struggled to remain still long enough for the clinician to complete the assessment.

Gus seemed satisfied with the news.

He looked out the window for a while.

Then, apparently determined to avoid discussing his son, he asked another question.

"Got any names picked out?"

Jena winced.

"Thallea has some ideas."

"Like what?"

"Well, if they're boys, she wants Tiger-Blood, or Ty for short, and Midnight."

Gus slowly turned his head.

Jena continued.

"If they're girls, Cherry-Rae and Pina-Anne."

There was a long silence.

Then Gus frowned.

"Aren't those snow cone flavors?"

Jena snorted.

"Yeah. I think a few of them are."

For a moment, they both laughed.

It was the first genuinely lighthearted exchange Jena had enjoyed in days.

She welcomed it.

The world had become so grim that even a ridiculous conversation about baby names felt like a small reprieve.

She switched on the radio.

Gus settled back into his seat, and the highway stretched ahead of them.

Jena did not mention what she had done earlier that week.

She had finally become so desperate to get Thallea out of the house and into some form of employment that she contacted a manager at one of the franchise subsidiaries Nate owned with Turner.

Jena knew the manager through her husband's business dealings.

She also knew that her own requests carried little weight with the company.

So she lied.

She told the manager that Turner had already offered Thallea a position and expected her to begin as soon as possible.

The manager, apparently reluctant to question an instruction attributed to one of the company's owners, agreed to make the arrangements.

Jena had been surprised by how easily it worked.

She had spent years being ignored whenever she asked for something on her own behalf.

Yet the moment she invoked Turner's name, doors opened.

It was a small revelation, and an unpleasant one.

She understood now why Nate so enjoyed the authority his position afforded him.

A person did not always need to possess power personally.

Sometimes it was enough to convince others that power stood behind them.

Jena told herself she had done nothing particularly terrible.

Thallea needed a job.

The company could afford another employee.

And if Turner objected, the worst likely consequence was that Thallea would be dismissed.

Jena had never been welcomed into KT's inner circle anyway. She doubted her standing with its members could deteriorate much further.

Besides, she reasoned, Thallea might become easier to live with once she had something

productive to occupy her time.

It was a practical solution to a miserable situation.

Or so Jena preferred to believe.

She did not dwell upon the fact that she had secured the position through a deliberate falsehood.

Nor did she consider that she had introduced Thallea into the very social circle the young woman had been questioning her about for weeks.

Jena merely wanted peace in her own home.

If a little deception was required to obtain it, she was willing to make the compromise.

Outside the windshield, the highway continued toward Colorado.

Gus hummed along with the radio.

Jena drove in silence, feeling vaguely relieved that one of her problems might finally be resolved.

She had no reason to imagine that the favor she had arranged would lead to anything particularly consequential.

After all, she had only helped Thallea get a job.

And in a town where almost everyone owed their good fortune to someone else's influence, what harm could there be in one more favor?

That was the comforting thing about temptation.

It seldom required a person to imagine themselves wicked.

Only reasonable.

And Jena, who had spent so many years condemning the bargains made by others, had finally begun making a few of her own.