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"God, I hate cults," Yaz muttered. Her fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel. Sammy reached out to still it, curling her fingers around Yaz's. Brooklynn looked out the window. "You sure you wanna go in alone, Brooks?"
Brooklynn's hand had been frozen around the door handle for too long, she knew. Her hesitation was likely palpable. It wasn't really that Brooklynn was nervous, except, in a way, she was. She could see the shake of her hand, the damp fingerprints she left on the handle when she shifted her grip. "Yeah. Don't wanna freak them out with too many of us at once. They'll clam right up."
"We don't have our badges," Sammy pointed out, but Brooklynn shook her head.
"Doesn't matter," Brooklynn said. They had gone private a long while ago; the obvious inertia of the police force in regards to cases, budgets cutting investigations right through the middle, and the more-than-occasional case gone suddenly quiet in the aftermath of an office upgrade, had meant that sticking to the force had become unbearable. The only issue, of course, was that now their pay wasn't just shit; it was sporadic and shit. They had all taken to little part-time jobs round and about, which meant that it was rare for them all to be investigating together at the same time. Notably, today, they were missing three of their members.
And then, of course, there were the investigations that were truly private. The ones that nobody asked for. The investigations that got shut down at their very nascent stages in the force. The investigations like that of the Broker's cult.
"Look, I'll just— it's fine," Brooklynn said, though she had the sinking feeling that it was herself she was reassuring more than the others. "I'll just try to talk to one of them. Scope it out. Not gonna find anything special today."
Yaz did not seem happy, her lips pursed. "If you say so."
Brooklynn nodded once, steeling her nerves as she pushed the car door open.
It was a strange feeling, walking up to the fence, leaning her forearms against it as she waited for one of the people on the other side to notice her. The fence was a flimsy thing, a thin spoke of flat wood propping up every so often with mere rope between them, gaps aplenty. It would be so easy to slip out. So easy to slip in.
Someone did approach eventually, eyeing her carefully, a hesitant smile on their face. "Hello," they said, and Brooklynn couldn't help but notice how uniformly they dressed, a loose white garment over the top that cinched lightly around the middle, flowing to the knees, with dark trousers underneath, the same as every other person she could see in the vicinity. It was unsettling. "Can I help you?"
"Sure," said Brooklynn, leaning further in, careful not to put her weight on the fence. It didn't seem like it would hold. "How's life treating you?"
The person— the cultist, Brooklynn reminded herself, though they were in all likelihood a victim— hesitated again. "Blessedly, of course. The Broker promises us nothing less."
Brooklynn nodded as though thoughtful. "The Broker, hm? What's she like?"
The cultist shrank back, eyeing Brooklynn with something that very clearly resembled suspicion. "I'm sorry, I don't think I'm meant to be talking to—"
"It's alright," said a new voice, smooth and confident, and Brooklynn felt every one of her muscles lock up. The newcomer— another cultist, evident from the attire— smiled at Brooklynn. The smile lacked warmth. There wasn't a hint of nervousness to be found on this second cultist.
Brooklynn knew that smile.
She'd never seen it up close for herself, of course, never been victim to it at such close proximity, but she had seen it pinned up on the board at their little bureau, had seen it in newspaper clippings and articles that never saw the light of day. Brooklynn knew the Broker's smile.
Brooklynn knew, too, the soft fall of the Broker's hair, the slant of her eyes, the easy confidence that shaped the lines of her shoulders and back. She hadn't been prepared for the sharp coldness of her gaze, the mix of curiosity and bemusement, the way she looked at Brooklynn as though she already held all the answers.
"I'm sure the visitor means us no harm," the Broker continued, with that same smile. "In fact, why don't you join me for a cup of tea?"
Brooklynn froze, and then tried to unfreeze so that her instinctual panic wouldn't be too obvious. She had the feeling that she had already failed. She didn't look back towards the car Yaz and Sammy were no doubt watching from, but it took every inch of her willpower. This was not part of the plan. Brooklynn was not supposed to meet the Broker today. The Broker made her rounds on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. It was a Friday. The Broker should not have been out on the grounds.
Brooklynn breathed in. The Broker was a person. She was not confined to set tracks. She could do as she liked. What she liked was apparently making a round on the exact day that Brooklynn had decided to drop by. The air Brooklynn breathed in tasted sour. She pasted on a smile and ducked under the frail rope of the fence. "Of course," she said, and it tasted like a bad idea.
She followed after the Broker, hoping fervently that neither Sammy nor Yaz would get the bright idea to follow after. She could get out of this herself, she was sure.
The Broker took her elbow, guiding her through the thickets that carpeted the ground, and her fingers were startlingly warm on Brooklynn's skin. Brooklynn had, inexplicably, expected her to be cold.
Brooklynn was vaguely familiar with the external layout of the compound, arcing around the field, creme-white and minimalist, a rising peak forming at the centre from which the rest branched out, windows littered in even spaces. It reminded Brooklynn somewhat of a spider, arms wide open. She tried not to think about that particular imagery too hard as she walked in through the gaping open doors.
"Take a seat," said the Broker, and her smile suggested it was a request, but her tone and eyes sanded it down to a simple command. Brooklynn obeyed. The Broker signalled to someone and then took a seat far too close to Brooklynn, their shoulders brushing. The Broker leaned forwards to catch Brooklynn's eye, and Brooklynn found that she felt helpless against her, eyes drawn to her like a moth to a flame, like a fly to honey. "And what would your name be?"
Brooklynn blinked, her lips parting and catching on her own name. She swallowed it back. "Sydney," she offered.
The Broker raised an eyebrow, and her lips twitched. "Hello, Sydney," she said dutifully, but something about the amused twist of her mouth told Brooklynn that she hadn't, for whatever reason, believed her. Brooklynn had hesitated too long, maybe. "Call me Soyona."
It was Brooklynn's turn to raise her eyebrow. "Not the Soul Broker?"
The Broker let out a breath that looped quickly and effortlessly into a delicate laugh. "A bit clunky, don't you think? Soyona will do just fine." She eyed Brooklynn with unconcealed curiosity, hardly looking up as one of her people came around carrying a tray with two wide-mouthed cups in them. She curled both palms around it. Brooklynn did the same, but did not drink. She knew better. The Broker, undoubtedly, noticed. "So, tell me, detective," and Brooklynn grit her jaw, "what brings you here?"
Brooklynn tried laughing it off. "Detective?" she echoed, blowing on the tea. "What makes you think that?"
The Broker's lips pursed around a suppressed smile. "A gut feeling, let's call it."
Brooklynn shrugged. "I'm afraid you're wrong. I'm just a curious passerby."
"Is that so?" said the Broker lightly, taking a sip from her cup. She kept her eyes on Brooklynn's all the while, and Brooklynn did not look away when the Broker licked her lips slowly. She was toying with Brooklynn. "Well, pardon me, I suppose." She considered Brooklynn for another moment. "You know, Sydney, you really are quite striking. Allow me to paint you sometime, would you?"
Brooklynn's grip on the cup tightened. She knew an out when she saw one. "Of course," she agreed easily. "But another time, maybe. I do have to get going now."
The Broker didn't look the slightest bit surprised or put off by this, simply nodding, and Brooklynn felt oddly like she had walked straight into a bear trap.
When Brooklynn reached the fence, she marvelled again at how easily by-passed they were. How easy to leave. How easy to enter. Brooklynn looked back. The Broker waved serenely at her. Brooklynn, against her better judgement, waved back.