Midnight Labyrinth

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “Then why’d her parents—”

  “Because they’re assholes who wanted her to become a doctor or something. That’s not the important part. Chloe has bruises, and I don’t buy the excuses.”

  “Have you asked her?”

  “She always has a reason. A fall. Someone who saved her from falling. A doorjamb when she wasn’t wearing her contact lenses—”

  “But you doona believe her,” Gavin said. “Is she typically a liar?”

  “She’s not a liar.”

  Gavin said, “But you think she’s lying.”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  “No,” Gavin said, leaning forward. “You need to understand this, Ben. Everyone lies. We all do it, and we all do it for roughly the same reasons. Vampire. Mortal. We lie because we’re ashamed, we want something we doona have a right to, or because we’re afraid. So what you need to discover with your little Chloe is: Which one is it? Ashamed, greedy, or scared?”

  Ben thought about that. It wasn’t greed. Was it fear or shame?

  Both?

  He closed his eyes. “If her boyfriend is abusing her—and I’m not honestly sure he is—then it could be both fear and shame.”

  “But you’re not sure?”

  “No.”

  “Easy.” Gavin sat back in his chair. “I’ll put one of my security people on her. Don’t worry, it isn’t a favor. I’ll send you the bill.”

  Ben blinked. “You think we should spy on her?”

  “Yes.” Gavin set down his empty tumbler. “If it’s nothing and she’s just going through a clumsy streak, then she’ll never be angry at you for accusing her boyfriend of abuse. If he is hitting her, you’ll know for sure and you can take care of the situation. Or have one of my people do it.”

  Ben tapped his chin. If Chloe ever found out, she’d be pissed. Of course, the whole point was that Chloe was never going to find out.

  Never.

  “Okay,” Ben said. “You have a human in mind? I don’t want some burly guy who’s going to scare her. The last thing she needs is to think she has a creepy stalker with everything else going on.”

  Gavin gave him a withering look. “Do I look like one of the O’Briens? I’m not a gangster, my friend. I’ll put one of my female guards on your Chloe. She’s very skilled and very subtle. Your friend will never know she’s being watched.”

  “Okay.” Ben nodded. “That could work.”

  “Of course it’ll work. Here, have a drink.” He poured two more inches of whisky in Ben’s glass.

  “Thanks.” Ben added a bit of the cold water and enjoyed the warmth of the liquor sliding down his throat. Scotch had never been his drink of choice, but when he was with Gavin, he drank whisky with no e. “This is good.”

  “I know.”

  He could feel the amber liquid going to his head. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the side of the chair, drifting in the early morning hours.

  Gavin said, “You know, it’s interesting to me.”

  “What is?”

  “Tenzin was wrong about something. That doesn’t happen often.”

  “More than most people think,” he muttered.

  Gavin continued, “She said you weren’t brooding about Chloe, but you were.”

  “I wouldn’t call it brooding. I—”

  “She said you were brooding over someone called Emilie,” Gavin said, watching Ben carefully.

  Ben froze.

  “Who’s Emilie?” Gavin asked with a smile. “Do I need to follow her too?”

  5

  Ben stormed into the loft an hour before dawn. Tenzin heard him stomp through the kitchen.

  “Tenzin!”

  She popped her head out of her room. Ben was angry. He didn’t look bonded at all. He was supposed to be relieved and most likely a little drunk.

  Gavin Wallace was a… What would they say in Scotland? There were so many inventive Scottish insults she’d learned the last time she was there she could barely keep them straight.

  Bampot. Gavin was a definite bampot.

  He was supposed to make Ben stop brooding, not make him angry.

  “What?” she yelled. “I’m busy!” Tenzin had discovered when Ben was angry, it was better to put him on the defensive. “You leave books and notebooks and papers lying everywhere, then go visit your friends. I had to clean up your stuff. You made a mess in the kitchen, and you didn’t—”

  “Stop trying to pick a different fight,” Ben said. “Why did you tell Gavin about Emilie?”

  Tenzin made her eyes wide. “Who?”

  “Don’t play dumb. Emilie. The girl from the museum.”

  “The one you’re obsessed with?”

  He put a hand in his hair and tugged. “I am not obsessed with her, Tenzin.”

  “You’ve been brooding.”

  “I am obsessed with a painting. I’m annoyed with Emilie.”

  “Oh!” Tenzin said. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “Because it’s none of your business. And you shouldn’t have told Gavin. Now he knows I’m looking into a job, and I don’t want him—”

  “A job?” She flew down to the dining table, which was covered with books about World War II and surrealism. “For what?”

  “A painting.”

  “What painting? We don’t do paintings.”

  “We don’t do paintings yet.” He flipped open a book and pointed at a grainy photograph. Tenzin saw a maze and a figure standing at the entrance, but the details were too difficult to make out.

  “This is the only time they were displayed together,” Ben said. “It’s called the Labyrinth Trilogy.”

  “Isn’t that a movie?”

  “No, it’s—”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s a movie. A very odd movie.”

  “Can we stay on topic, please? The Labyrinth Trilogy was a series of three paintings by Emil Samson. They were thought to be destroyed, but two survived. The third… I don’t know. I can’t tell yet.”

  “So this is what you were obsessed with?” Tenzin asked. “Not the girl?”

  “The girl was interesting, but…” He scowled. “Why did you tell Gavin I was brooding?”

  “He’s your friend.” Tenzin flipped through the book. “I thought he could make you stop brooding. I don’t understand surrealism.”

  “No?” He turned the page in the book she’d been looking at. “I’ve always enjoyed the dreamlike nature of surrealist art.” He picked up another book. “But I agree, it can be a little weird. Samson’s paintings were good though.”

  “Maybe I need to go to the museum.” Tenzin made a face. “Because I don’t get it.”

  “I’ll check night hours this month.” He continued to flip through books.

  “Paintings,” she muttered. “There isn’t much money in paintings.”

  He snapped a book shut. “What are you talking about? Paintings go for millions at auction.”

  “Only if they’re desirable or you have a buyer looking for something specific. They’re… trendy. Fashionable. They have no intrinsic value like gold or jewels or silk.” She flipped through a book titled Lost Treasures of World War II and wanted to laugh. Many of the “lost” treasures of the humans had simply disappeared into immortal hands. Oleg, the fire vampire, had a treasure trove in Russia.

  “I cannot imagine having everything I owned, even my name, stripped away from me,” Ben said.

  “Can’t you?” Tenzin could. She put down the book. “The war was an awful time. I didn’t hear much news then—I was in Tibet—but the little bits that encroached on me were bad.”

  “Emilie’s family…” Ben rubbed his face and went to the sofa. “Maybe I am a little obsessed.”

  “With her?”

  He closed his eyes. “I don’t know. I’m definitely obsessed with the story. How many families had that happen, Tenzin? How many families were impoverished and had all their possessions, all their history, stolen?”

  “Many,” Tenzin said. “Mil
lions. Humans are unspeakably cruel to each other.”

  “And vampires aren’t?”

  She shrugged. “I know very few vampires who kill without purpose, and when we kill, it’s usually more efficient. Humans are far more cruel than vampires.”

  He looked as if he’d counter—this was an old argument—but he didn’t. “Getting back to the painting,” he said, “I understand what you’re saying about intrinsic value, but—”

  “Oil on canvas is oil on canvas, whether it’s Rembrandt or a five-year-old.” Tenzin sat next to him.

  He shook his head. “I refuse to get into this again. You don’t care about paintings. I get that. But this painting—the missing one—wasn’t just a painting to Emilie’s family. The artist was her great-grandmother’s brother. This had sentimental, not just financial, value.”

  “So?”

  “So…” He shrugged. “What if we could help them?”

  “For money?”

  “No, not for money.”

  Tenzin sighed. Oh Ben. He really did love a damsel, didn’t he?

  “The woman ran away from you,” Tenzin said. “She didn’t want help.”

  “I hadn’t offered help,” Ben said with a smile. “At that point, I was just trying to get her number. She was cute.”

  Tenzin raised an eyebrow. “But it’s the painting you’re obsessed over. Not the girl?”

  “There are plenty of cute girls in the world.” He reached over and tugged a lock of her hair. “But there’s only one Midnight Labyrinth.”

  “Until you find it,” Tenzin said quietly, “and it’s reproduced on postcards and cheap hotel art all over the world.”

  “You’re such a romantic.” He looked at her. “But I think I have to try.”

  “Because of the girl?”

  Ben thought about the question. Was it about the girl?

  The girl who sprang to mind wasn’t the one Tenzin was thinking of. He wanted to find Emilie, yes, but the girl he was obsessed with was the girl in the painting, the one who had survived the labyrinth and the monsters. She was the one who intrigued Ben the most.

  He wanted to see the monsters.

  “It’s a challenge,” he told Tenzin. “Lost art from World War II. A painter who achieved renown only after his death, partly on the strength of his story. Though I’d point out that this recent show at MoMA has spurred definite murmurings among the collecting community. I’m seeing lots of subtle activity online from people looking for Samsons and trying not to be noticed.”

  “Do we know anyone who owns some?” Tenzin asked. “Does Giovanni? Might be a good time to sell.”

  “These things go in streaks. They can be trends as much as anything else.”

  “More than anything else.”

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, picking up the laptop that was sitting on the coffee table. “I’m hungry.”

  “That was not a statement, it was a question,” Tenzin said. “I’ll make you something, but it won’t be fancy.”

  “You’re the best, Tiny.” He went online and jumped art-collecting websites and message boards for a few minutes as Tenzin went to the kitchen to make him food.

  Within minutes, the smell of frying onions and carrots drifted into the room. He could hear the sizzle as she put something in oil. Tenzin was an amazing cook, and she cooked enough to keep leftovers for days.

  Ben sorted the books that had been helpful and left them on the large library table near the bookshelves. It doubled as a dining room table on the few occasions they had company, but he and Tenzin usually ate at the low coffee table in the living area, sitting on cushions around the table.

  Within minutes, she placed a large bowl of vegetable korma in the middle of the table with two bowls of rice next to it.

  “Eat,” she said. “Art later.”

  “Uh-huh.” Ben put the book down and joined her.

  It would probably surprise most humans and vampires, but Tenzin prayed before she ate. Or she said something. She didn’t do it in public, but at home she lifted her hands, palms up, and murmured something in her old language before she ate. Was it an invocation? A blessing? An expression of gratitude or a curse against anyone who might try to poison her? He had no idea.

  “Gavin is bottling his own scotch now,” Ben said.

  “That sounds like it would be exciting if you liked scotch.”

  “You like scotch.”

  “Occasionally.” Tenzin spooned two generous ladles of korma over Ben’s rice. “You’re not brooding anymore.”

  “One, it’s not brooding. It’s thinking. And two, I have a rough plan, which helps.”

  “A rough plan for what?” Tenzin furrowed her eyebrows. “The painting could take months of work. Finding pieces like that can be more maddening than satisfying.”

  “I wanted to start with the current owners of the two existing paintings. The ones at the museum. I’ll investigate them, find out how they collected the paintings, then look into the acquisition.”

  Tenzin picked at her food. “They don’t have it, and they have no idea where it is.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because they’d already have it, wouldn’t they?” she said. “Two of the three? Collectors are collectors whether they collect coins or paintings. They’ve looked for the third painting. I can guarantee you that. Probably put considerable funds into it.”

  “Then we investigate where they’ve looked and check out where they haven’t. At least we’ll be able to conserve some of our time.”

  “We?” Tenzin asked. “Our?”

  Ben raised his eyebrows.

  Tenzin asked, “Who’s paying for this, Ben?”

  He opened his mouth. Closed it.

  Tenzin continued, “Because this is time and money.”

  “We don’t have any other jobs right now.”

  “It’s a waste of our time and resources.”

  “We have the time, and I won’t pull company funds for this,” Ben said. “I’ll fund this on my own if I have to.”

  Tenzin thought for a long time. She ate most of her small portion before she answered. “Fine,” she said, “but if someone calls tomorrow and says they need us to fly to Guam to dig up a seashell and they’re willing to pay us for the privilege, you have to drop the Labyrinth thing.”

  “Midnight Labyrinth,” he said. “That’s the name of the painting. That’s what we need to find.”

  Tenzin paused. “Okay, that is a cool name for a painting.”

  “It’s really cool.”

  “What did Gavin say about Emilie? Has he heard anything about these paintings?”

  “We didn’t talk about Emilie,” Ben said. “I managed to brush him off, but I’m sure he knows I’m hiding something.”

  “If you didn’t talk to Gavin, where were you for so many hours?”

  “Do I need to tell you?” Ben glanced at her.

  “I suppose not.”

  Ben smiled internally. She looked like a little kid pouting. Tenzin was nosy and wanted to know everything. That didn’t mean he told her, but he did try to keep her informed. How had she put it once?

  If I don’t know where you’re going, how am I expected to track down your murderer if you’re killed?

  Oh, Tenzin.

  “I was with Gavin most of the night, but we were talking about something else.”

  “Not Emilie?”

  “No.” Should he tell Tenzin? If Chloe’s boyfriend was hitting her and Ben told Tenzin, the boyfriend would end up dropped fifty miles offshore from a distance of a hundred feet in the air. Ben wasn’t sure he wanted that on his conscience, even for an abusive asshole.

  “If I tell you, you have to promise not to overreact and kill anyone.”

  Tenzin crossed her arms. “Would this be in perpetuity?”

  He considered this. Tenzin was literal. If you made a bargain or agreement with her, you needed to be very, very specific. “If I tell you what Gavin and I were talking about, you cannot bring any h
arm to either of the parties involved for a period of no less than six months. After that, we may have to reconsider.”

  She nodded. “Very well. Tell me.”

  “I’m not sure, but I think Chloe’s boyfriend might be hitting her.”

  Tenzin felt the black void creeping into her mind. “Who is he?”

  “Not yet,” he said firmly. “Tenzin, I’m not sure.”

  She pushed back the void, but she could feel it whispering on the edge of her mind.

  Tenzin didn’t have many rules. Most human morality was too changeable. But using violence against those weaker than you was a simple matter of scales.

  Violence against an opponent of equal strength? Honorable. The scales were balanced.

  Violence against someone weaker or less skilled? Dishonorable. The scales were unbalanced.

  Since Ben would not nurture a relationship with a naturally violent person, it was most likely that Chloe was the victim of unprovoked violence from her partner.

  That was unbalanced.

  “That’s what I was talking to Gavin about,” Ben said. “I’m not sure, which is why you can’t hurt him. I may be paranoid. Gav’s putting one of his guards on Chloe and tracking her during the day. If she finds out, she’ll be pissed.”

  “She’ll be dead if he hits her the wrong way,” Tenzin said. “One hit at the wrong angle. That’s all it can take sometimes. If you care about this woman, you should kill this man and do it quickly.”

  Ben let out a low breath. “You are scary as shit when you’re pissed. Do you know you’re hovering off the ground?”

  Tenzin looked down and realized he was right. She’d been sitting at the low table in the living room, enjoying her meal. Now she was floating a foot and a half above the floor, eyes level with Ben.

  “She can come here,” Tenzin said. “She’ll need a place to stay.”

  He gave her a skeptical look. “You want a human who doesn’t know anything about our world to move in with us? How do you not see that as a bad idea? I was thinking I’d help her find a place of her own.”

  “But then she would be alone,” Tenzin said. “She could become depressed and frightened thinking about her boyfriend. She might return to him.”

  “The one who hit her?”

  Tenzin stayed silent. Intimate abuse was complicated, and Ben didn’t understand it. Another reason he should have told Tenzin about this man far earlier.