Sebastian waited until Monday evening to visit, slipping through the glass front door on the heels of a well-dressed couple intent on the artwork. He hung back and pretended to browse the canvases while waiting for the gallery to empty. When the couple finally left, he drifted toward the rear where Anton stood, typing something into a sleek computer terminal recessed in a wood-paneled wall.
“What is your unsightly visage doing in my gallery, Sebastian? You are completely ruining the atmosphere,” Anton said dryly without even turning to look at his approaching guest. “Those rags belong in a dumpster.”
“Hey,” Sebastian protested. “Some of us have to blend in with the crowd, you know? Armani suits don’t exactly fit Atlanta’s average demographic. And besides, our culture stereotypes witches as freaky, marginalized outcasts. People pay you more when you don’t confront their prejudices. A well-dressed witch is threatening. Unless they have breasts, of course. Then it’s just sexy.”
Anton finally turned around, a sardonic smile on his face. “Insightful, crude, and to the point, as always.” He stepped forward and briefly clasped Sebastian’s hand. “And what insignificant drivel have you come to subject me to today?”
“I love you, too, Anton,” Sebastian said with a grin, unfazed by his associate’s expressions of long-suffering. He slapped Anton on the back, then draped his arm over the man’s bony shoulders as he glanced around, ensuring the gallery was empty. “So, you know that museum job?”
“What of it?” Anton’s posture did not stiffen. He was a master at appearances, much too professional to reveal any emotion he didn’t want his observer to see. He was so good, in fact, that Sebastian didn’t bother checking his truth coin around Anton anymore: he’d never caught the man in a lie. There were many ways to not tell the truth that didn’t include lying, and Anton was exceptional at it. Most likely because he dealt with wizards and witches on a regular basis who had lie-detecting capabilities, like Sebastian.
“Well, as we both know, it went south,” Sebastian answered. “I may have, possibly, gained some insider information about the mark that could prove useful to your client. But I want to talk to him directly.”
“I’m sorry, that won’t be possible, Mr. Blackwell. I assure my clients’ confidentiality. Discretion is my most valuable asset.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be a—”
Anton put up his hand, cutting Sebastian off. “Let me save you the need to waste my time. The contract has been withdrawn, therefore the point is moot. Now, if you would kindly remove yourself from my gallery, your very presence degrades the value of my artwork.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m a disgrace to society and all that. Thanks for the compliment. Since the job has been withdrawn, maybe you can get me something else. You got an address or contact information for the gal who got the job, Veronica Paxton?” Sebastian mentally crossed his fingers. Since Veronica had taken the contract, perhaps she had information on the client. It was worth it to search her house. She wouldn’t mind, after all. She was dead.
Anton turned, extricating himself from Sebastian’s hold and examining him with a raised eyebrow. “And why would I provide such information? I guarantee my contractors’ anonymity as well as my clients’.”
“Because I can tell you something very interesting about her. The information I have makes your confidentiality pointless.” Sebastian crossed his arms, waiting to see if Anton would take the bait.
“Intriguing,” Anton said, a glint in his eye. It was the look of a wolf scenting a particularly juicy rabbit. “Very well, Sebastian. If your information is compelling, I will give you what you want. If not, I will give you a reasonable bonus for your trouble, say three percent, on your next contract.”
“Deal.” Sebastian held out his hand and they shook on it. “Veronica’s dead.”
That took Anton by surprise, though only the tiniest widening of his eyes gave any indication. “Do tell,” he encouraged.
“I was there, saw it all myself. She couldn’t get past the caretaker’s wards, and I guess she was feeling cocky, because the idiot summoned a greater demon. Needless to say, her demonology wasn’t up to snuff and she lost control of it. That’s when the beast she so foolishly summoned—to put it delicately—had her for lunch.”
“Indeed.” Anton said, eyebrow inching higher and higher with each of Sebastian’s words. “And once it had, hmm, terminated Miss Paxton, it meekly returned to the depths of hell, did it?”
Sebastian didn’t bother hiding the cheeky grin that crept across his face. “I might have helped it along a bit, but that’s all I can say. I only agreed to give you information about Veronica. She’s dead. Gone. Kaput. So, do you have an address for me?”
Anton stroked his goatee, thoughtful. “Perhaps. How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“Seriously? When have I ever lied to you? And anyway, I’m not stupid enough to tell such an easily debunked lie and damage our working relationship. You know I’m not stupid; ergo, I’m not lying.”
With a slight smile, Anton turned and went to his computer terminal. “I find your logic sound, even if you are an insufferable cur.” He did some sort of database search, writing down what he found on a piece of paper which he handed to Sebastian then waved him away in dismissal. “Now, begone. I have affluent, impressionable sheep to sell art to, and your mere existence gives me a headache.”
Tipping an imaginary hat, Sebastian bowed himself out, grinning inwardly. Only once he was out on the street did he glance at the slip of paper in his hand. It bore an address, which meant he was going on a field trip.
* * *
The address led him to a historic apartment building in Midtown, north of downtown Atlanta. Being the second largest business district in Atlanta, not to mention a center for cultural attractions and noteworthy architecture, it was one of the most affluent neighborhoods in the area. The five-story, red brick building was on a relatively quiet street, at least compared to the hectic bumper-to-bumper bedlam that was the rest of Atlanta during rush hour. He’d followed a circuitous series of alleys and back roads to avoid the traffic. Parking his car a few blocks away, he walked past the building, observing to get a feel for the area and see if anything tripped alarm bells in his head. Nothing seemed out of place, though he did spot a man in a leather jacket leaning against the wrought iron fence blocking parking access to the apartment building across the street. The man simply stood there, staring at the same building Sebastian had in his sights. So, was someone watching the building because they knew Veronica was dead? Or because they didn’t? Whichever it was, he preferred to remain unknown, so he slipped around the street corner, looking for an entrance to the building out of the man’s line of sight.
Having entered through a side door, Sebastian took the old-style, grille elevator to the third floor and knocked on the door for apartment number 312. He assumed Veronica lived alone, but he couldn’t be sure. It was safer to knock first.
To his great surprise, he heard footsteps approach. He barely had time to rearrange his features into a casual, unassuming expression and stick his hand in his pocket, fingers curling around his coin, before the door opened. The woman before him was blond, beautiful, and well off, judging by her designer clothes and shoes. She also looked as mundane as they came, and there was no sign of anything remotely occult from what he could see of the apartment through the open door. Her expression was a mix of uncertainty and polite greeting, not at all the kind of shifty suspicion he expected from an associate of a criminal like Veronica.
“I’m sorry, can I help you?” the woman asked when Sebastian said nothing, still thrown off by her appearance.
“Oh, yes, yes. I apologize, please excuse my rudeness. I just had no idea Veronica didn’t live alone. My name is John,” he said, extending his hand to shake hers, which she reciprocated. “I’m a work associate. We’ve been working together on a project, but she hasn’t been answering her phone for a while. I was worried, so I thought I’d stop by to see
if she was home.” As he spoke, he noticed the woman’s brow crease in concern.
“I’m sorry...she’s not here.” The woman’s marked hesitation gave Sebastian an opening.
“You seem worried. Have you seen her recently? Is she alright? Do you know where she might be?”
“No, I haven’t seen her.” She bit her lower lip. “Would you like to come in for a moment? I feel so rude, making you stand there.”
“Thank you, but only for a moment. It’s important I speak to Veronica as soon as possible.”
“Of course,” the woman agreed, moving aside to let him in. She led him through a short hallway that opened into a high-ceilinged combination living room and dining room. Large windows let in ample sunlight which glinted off the polished wooden floors, obviously antique, yet expertly restored. Oriental rugs broke up the smoothness of the floorboards and the decor was both tasteful and expensive. Nothing in the apartment suggested her line of work, though she seemed to like traveling, from the number of photos of her in exotic locations. In some of the pictures, there were smiling children with her. He wondered if this woman did aid work. Whatever she did, it was without Veronica, who didn’t appear in any of the pictures. “Please, sit,” she said, indicating the sofa. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?”
“No, no. That’s completely unnecessary. If you could just help me find Veronica, that’s all I need. When was the last time you saw her, Miss...?” He let the question hang.
“Sara. My name is Sara. I’m sorry, I’m just a bit flustered. Veronica was gone for the weekend on a business trip, but she’s usually home by Sunday night. We don’t share date books, by any means—she has her life and I have mine—but it’s not like her to come home late from a trip.”
“I see. Well, this is definitely concerning. Have you reported her missing?”
“No, nothing like that.” Sara shook her head, expression even more troubled. “I’m sure she’s fine. She probably just had a late flight.”
“Perhaps...” Sebastian said slowly, heaping on the concerned skepticism. “But it really is important that I speak with her immediately. Can you think of anywhere she might be? Does she have her own office or another house where I might call?”
Sara shook her head, hands tightly clasped. “I think she works downtown, but I don’t know where her office is. She always slept here when she was in town, always paid her half of the rent on time. We don’t see much of each other, but that suits us fine. We’re just roommates for convenience, you know, to share expenses. There might have been an occasional drink we had together, but we weren’t close.”
As Sara spoke, Sebastian’s coin remained cool. This was one of the most trusting, forthright individuals he’d ever met. He was almost worried for her. Nobody should be that open to complete strangers. Not even Lily was so foolish. But maybe that was why Veronica had chosen Sara. Perhaps she preferred the double life and needed Sara to maintain an outwardly mundane appearance? Whatever the case, Sara obviously had no idea her roommate was a demon-summoning, thieving witch. Despite there being no love lost between himself and the woman who tried to get her pet demon to eat him, he felt a pang of pity for her roommate. She seemed genuinely concerned about Veronica, who was quite irreparably dead. He wanted to tell her but knew he couldn’t.
When she finished talking, Sebastian sighed. “Well, if there’s nothing you can tell me, I’ll leave you in peace.” He stood. “You’re sure there’s nowhere at all you can think of where she might be?”
“I’m sorry,” Sara said. “Veronica never talked about work—” she suddenly stopped, expression turning thoughtful. “Actually, there was this place we stopped by one time. She said she had to run up and get some things. I assumed it was a boyfriend’s place, or maybe storage. Here,” she grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down a street name. “I’m sorry, I don’t know the unit number. But the entrance is at this intersection, second door from the corner.”
“I’ll check it out,” Sebastian said, taking the piece of paper. “Thank you, Sara, you’ve been quite helpful. In the meantime, keep your eyes open. If anything happens, call the police. And I would report Veronica missing if you don’t hear from her in another day. You never know what might have happened.”
Sara’s brow furrowed even more. “What do you mean? Is Veronica in trouble? What kind of work did you say you do?”
“I...don’t think it’s my place to speculate. I was simply giving general advice. Hopefully Veronica is fine. I’ll be sure to have her to call you if I see her, alright?”
“Of course. Thank you.” Sara showed him out, and they bade a polite goodbye. But her face was still troubled as she shut the door, and Sebastian wondered what would happen to her. Veronica would never come home; no body would ever be found. No one would know what had happened, except him, Lily, and his aunt. He ought to say something, tell someone. Surely Veronica had a family somewhere, a person who would weep for her.
No, he thought. It was none of his business. Better to stay out if it. Veronica had suffered the consequences of her own actions. He’d done nothing wrong, simply defended himself and his friends. He didn’t owe her or her memory anything.
He exited the apartment complex the way he’d come. Peeking around the corner, he grimly noted the leather-jacketed man was still there, watching. Well, it was none of his business. He tried to clear it from his mind as he made his way to his car, resigned to another maze of back roads and traffic from hell.
* * *
Veronica’s hideout—or whatever it was—turned out to be a mere three miles southeast, right outside Little Five Points. Sebastian felt slightly uncomfortable, as this location was edging in the direction of Lily’s home near Agnes Scott. But he reminded himself that Veronica was dead and therefore no threat to his friend.
Surveying the building, he realized it was an old warehouse repurposed into studio apartments. It was an ideal place for a witch—no one questioned what an artist did in her studio. Mounting the steps for the second door from the intersection, he saw that it opened into a stairwell servicing multiple units. There were people about, so he went straight inside as if he belonged there. Slowly ambling along the hallway and up each flight of stairs, he surreptitiously examined the studio doors, all senses on high alert to detect which one might be Veronica’s. Someone like her, he suspected, would favor the top floor where there was less traffic.
As he reached the top landing, he was pleased to see only two doors to choose from. One looked perfectly normal, but the other...something seemed off. Sebastian used his foot to shift the welcome mat and, sure enough, symbols warding against demonic attack were painted onto the concrete floor beneath. These were not the same runes Lily used. Witches couldn’t manipulate magic like wizards could. There was, however, more than one way to skin a cat. Not that he would ever skin a cat. He imagined Sir Kipling’s disapproving eyes on him at the very thought. Crouching down, he ran his fingers along the symbols, studying them and trying to dredge up buried memories of when he dabbled in demonology—to his great regret, as it turned out.
From what he’d read and experienced, two other types of magical beings existed besides wizards: fae and demons. Well, technically three, if you counted angels. No one really believed in them anymore, but after what he’d seen Sir Kipling do at the museum… Demons didn’t usually shrink back from cats. Cats didn’t usually glow, either, for that matter. But he’d let Lily figure out what in the world her talking feline was up to. He’d stick to fae. Fae magic was unique. He’d never heard of anyone being able to use it directly, and he did only because it had been given to him. Burned onto his hand, actually. Nobody could use demonic magic, not witch or wizard. But anyone could summon them and, properly trained, force them to do their will. Thus, demonology, a dangerous—suicidal, really—area of witchcraft. The wards underneath Veronica’s welcome mat were ones only a witch who regularly brought demonic attention to herself would need.
Straightening, Sebastian took a quick glan
ce around and, seeing nobody, put on tight leather gloves and got out his lock picks. He made quick work of Veronica’s locks, including two deadbolts. This was one paranoid woman. It was with some trepidation, therefore, that he inched open the door, alert for booby traps or whatever else the crazy witch had left for uninvited visitors.
After a careful search of the studio, he’d found no booby traps, but plenty else. Primarily, there was a sophisticated alarm system that blinked an angry red at him from its mount on the wall of her office. The absence of any noise, however, made him certain the alarm was simply meant to alert the owner of an intrusion, and no one else. Veronica didn’t strike him as the kind of person who’d want security company personnel barging into her secret lair. And, since she herself was dead, he had little to worry about.
Surveying the rest of her apartment, he concluded that Veronica must have been an odd mix of professional and amateur. Or perhaps superstitious was a better word. She looked professional when it came to the mundane aspects: her wardrobe showed impeccable taste, and all her equipment looked top of the line. Yet, when it came to witchcraft, he saw an odd mix of true craft—the stuff that actually worked—and all the bells and whistles you used to impress your superstitious clients so they’d pay you more. Things like pentagrams, salt, crosses, garlic, the whole works. It seemed Veronica thought having everything just in case was the way to go.
Working methodically, he searched the studio a second time, looking for hidden files or compartments and putting everything back exactly as he’d found it. After a good hour, he stood in the middle of the apartment, hands on hips. He’d found not a scrap of material about demonology or Veronica’s client. Well, there was always her shiny, top-of-the-line laptop. Being the paranoid type, perhaps she preferred to hide files on jobs and clients behind digital encryption. Maybe that’s also where she stored her demonology material, though you didn’t often find such archaic knowledge digitized.
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Revelations Page 10
