Fallen
jackals in the gossip columns were laying odds on how many minutes were left in her career, another Hollywood child actor washing out before she even reached eighteen.
    Pete whispers something in her ear, and suddenly she bolts. Her skinny legs make serious time down the hallway, darting through the open door of the bedroom and slamming it shut.
    He gives us an oily smile. “Just give us a minute,” he says, then hurries after her.
    Once he’s inside the bedroom, I turn to Valac. “That’s… what’s her name?”
    “Anna,” he says, staring down the hall. His arms wrap around each other, and he taps his foot, like he’s nervous they won’t come back.
    “No shit,” I say, which causes him to look at me. There’s a tiny smile back in his eyes. “But what’s a kid like that need with a life hit?”
    “I don’t ask questions like that, little bird.”
    I frown. The only thing I can imagine is somehow the hit will enhance her beauty, and this girl thinks being more beautiful will salvage her career. Or maybe she’s an addict. But this elaborate meetup in the skeet den seems like an awful lot of trouble for a hit. Then again, she’s got the one-foot-in-the-grave look that Madam A’s kids have.
    “Maybe she’s sick,” I say. “Maybe she needs it.”
    Valac frowns, and Ophelia pipes up. “I’m sure she needs it, baby. For whatever her reasons are.”
    I nod, and ask Valac, “How much am I paying out?”
    “Three years.”
    I choke. “Three years?” I peer down the hall. “She’s in no shape to take a three year hit!” Not to mention that paying out three years sounds like a good way to kill me. The most I’ve done at one time was at the socialite hit party, and that payout was only about six months total.
    “I’ll help you, baby,” Ophelia says. “It’ll take a while, but it will be fine.” She’s sending me looks that are supposed to calm me, but it’s not working. My heart races.
    “You can do it, Lirium,” Valac says, and he actually sounds sympathetic. “Take it nice and slow, let Ophelia help, and you’ll make it through.”
    “Three years isn’t going to help her if she’s sick!” I say, still trying to make sense of this. “It’s too much. Even if I go slow, she’ll be flying higher than a kite. It’ll just stress out her system—”
    “She’s not sick, Lirium,” Valac says, like I’m incredibly naïve. “Her manager is trying to rescue her career. He’s got some big audition lined up, and he wants her at her peak—”
    He stops because the bedroom door has opened. Pete and Anna step out, his arm again trapping her shoulder, but she’s lost the wild-eyed look of fear from before. In fact, as she gets closer, I can see her blue eyes have lost all their gleam. She doesn’t even look at us. Or anything. She’s a zombie that doesn’t see or care that she’s surrounded by debt collectors.
    Shit.
    I turn to Valac. “Can I have a word with you?” My voice is harsh, and I don’t wait for a response, just shove past Pete and head back to the bedroom again. I wait, fists clenched, until Valac finally shuffles in the door. I close it, not quite a slam, but almost.
    “He gave her something!” I shout at Valac, and he actually flinches.
    “Obviously.” It’s a resentful snarl.
    “We can’t… I can’t…” My arms are flung out with the impossibility of it. “God only knows what he’s given her! She’ll code out with even a reasonable sized hit! Not to mention three years . Jesus, Valac, it’ll kill her outright.”
    He rubs his hand across his face. “You’re not going to kill her.”
    “Damn right I’m not going to kill her. Because I’m not giving her a hit, much less a massive coronary-inducing one!” I start to pace back and forth in front of the door, fighting through my anger to find a way out of this. I need to do this payout so we can leave, and Ophelia and I can make our escape.
    Valac’s two hands press to the sides of his face, the

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