by Sarah Fine
Keenan had called it the bible for naturals, a mythical book full of secrets. Pages have been found, he’d said. He hadn’t mentioned it needed translating. “But can’t you just use the picture here? Why do you actually need the panel itself?”
“Because it is what is inside that matters, not just what we see. Records attached to this particular artifact indicate several layers of pigment were applied many years apart. There are images and writing hidden beneath. So not only is it a crucial piece of our history, but with the proper equipment, it could very well be the key that unlocks all the secrets.”
“How do you know all this?”
Volodya looked shocked. “It’s as if you think I’m an ordinary man.”
I scooted a little closer to the window and touched the tender spots on my neck. “No worries there.”
He continued. “I must be the one to possess this panel. I have acquired portions of the original tome, the only pages known to remain.”
I wondered if that was why Keenan had been so eager to nab him. “So you’re going after the key. And Frank wants it, too.” Now it made sense—the man had decorated his entire casino with those runes. The entire place memorialized them. They were everywhere you looked. And yet it turned out that no one knew what they said. “Does he have pieces of the Essentialis Magia, too?”
“Mr. Brindle has managed to collect reproductions. Possibly the largest compilation in the world.”
Maybe Keenan had some of them, too? “It sounds like a lot of people will want this thing.”
“We discovered that the panel and the rest of the collection were in the archives of the museum only a few months ago, when the curator announced the plan to put them on display. This is the first time they will be available for viewing by the public, starting on New Year’s Day. But on New Year’s Eve, there will be a gala to raise money for the museum, and an opportunity for patrons to have a look at the rarities in a private show.”
“And we’re going.”
“It turns out that I need a good reliquary on my team. And I’ve decided to give you the opportunity. If all goes well, we’ll have the prize in hand by the new year, and I will help you make the trade.”
I shook my head. “You would never actually trade this precious panel for Asa.”
He waved my concern away. “If you end up with him in the end, does it matter how you get there?” He smirked as he watched me. “There is nothing you wouldn’t do.” He leaned forward. “It’s the only reason I’m still alive.”
For a split second, I considered telling him Asa was his son. I wanted him to have a taste of my desperation, of my longing, of my determination. I wanted to knock the calculating look right off his face. But then his brow furrowed and his nostrils flared, and I remembered exactly who I was dealing with.
Volodya murmured something in Russian but didn’t translate for me. The sedan pulled into a parking garage, and when we got out, we were ushered through a tunnel to an elevator that carried us down to Volodya’s lair.
“I have assembled the group that will accompany you to America,” he said as he ushered me into his inner sanctum.
“Oh, great,” I muttered as Pavel jumped back from a gold chess set, wiping his hand on his pants. His dark swoop of hair fell over one eye as he straightened his skinny tie.
He began to speak in Russian, but Volodya held up an imperious hand. “English only. Don’t be impolite.”
Pavel’s cheeks darkened. “Apologies, sir,” he said quickly.
“You are terrified, Pavel. Is it because you are scared I will cut off your hands as a punishment for touching my possessions, or could it be that you’re afraid I’m going to punish you for failing to bring Mattie and my relic to me?”
Pavel’s Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. “I will never forgive myself.”
Volodya grunted. “That is less important than whether I will forgive you. This is the chance to redeem yourself.”
Pavel nodded curtly, and then his gaze darted over to the fireplace, where I realized two people were standing with their arms around each other. Volodya impatiently beckoned them both forward. “Come along. Come along.” He turned to me, his gaunt face stretched into a smile as he pointed at one half of the couple, a pale man who looked to be in his twenties. He had short brown hair and dark circles under his eyes. “Like my son, I am telling you.”
I squinted at the guy. “Like your son?”
“Oh, I do not have children of my own. But I would claim Daniil, if he’d let me.”
The young man bowed his head. “You are too kind, Volodya. My father would be so grateful that you honor him in this way.”
“Daniil will be accompanying you,” Volodya said to me and Pavel. “He is Strikon. And he has brought something of his father’s for our use.”
“Who is his father?” I asked.
“Arkady Igorevich Kalagin,” the young man said solemnly. He unsheathed a knife from his belt and handed it to Volodya, who examined the blade.
I took an involuntary step back, and Volodya laughed. “You see, Daniil? Your father’s power is renowned.”
Daniil gave him a sad smile. “It is no consolation, I’m afraid.”
Volodya clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll get him back, my friend. You may rely on that.” He held on to Daniil—something most people were probably unwilling to do to a known Strikon—as the other half of the couple came forward, a woman who looked a little older than Daniil, maybe thirty, with round cheeks and striking blue eyes. She tucked a lock of her pin-straight black hair behind her ear and gave Volodya a tense, anxious smile.
“Mattie, this is Kira, and she is our new Ekstazo. Exquisite.”
Kira bowed her head. “Thank you, sir,” she said, her accent thick.
“And Mattie is our reliquary. Undetectable to magic sensors just like Pavel is, able to smuggle in the magic you will need to escape the venue after you capture my panel.”
“What kind of magic are we talking about?”
“Something my father created,” said Daniil. “Before he was taken by the Headsmen.”
Volodya held up the knife and smiled at me. “You will carry the magic from this blade through security at the museum and make the transfer into a new relic just before you are ready to use it. Your tickets to the gala will be waiting for you in New York. I will be eager to hear word of your success. Call me for instructions as soon as you reach the safe house in Manhattan after the event.”
Pavel and Daniil nodded, while Kira merely scooted closer to Daniil. He slid his arm around her and gave her a gentle smile. It was hard to believe he was the son of Arkady and Lishka, two people who were, by all accounts, straight-up evil. I reminded myself to watch them all very closely—these people were not my friends.
And I was safe only as long as our interests were aligned. “Wait,” I said as Volodya began to gesture us all from the room. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
The others looked at me, seemingly shocked that I would address Volodya in this manner. But they didn’t have as much on the line as I did. Volodya only gave me a detached smile and gestured for the others to leave. “What is it?”
“I need proof.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Proof of . . . ?”
“Proof that Asa’s really with Frank Brindle. I need to know you’re telling me the truth before I go on this hunt you’ve cooked up.”
“You believe you have a choice?”
Anger lashed through my chest. “You know what? Yeah, I do. If you didn’t need me, you could have just killed me by now. So if you want me to carry and release that magic at the right time and carry out your plan for you, then show me. Show me how you know.”
He looked me over. “Are you sure you want to travel down this road? I told you it would hurt.”
My heart pounded at the ominous tone in his voice—and the eager glint in his eye. “I’m sure.”
He began tapping on his phone. “When Pavel told me that you believed I had taken As
a Ward, I began to make some calls. I will admit, I was curious about the man. So many stories. So much destruction. So sought after, and so hard to catch. Who had managed it?” He paused and looked down at his phone. “I consulted some of my agents in London and advised them to gather any information they could. One of them sent me this. It’s from the VIP terminal at Stansted Airport.”
He held it out for me to see. I cradled the phone in my palms as I stared down at the image. There were four men in the frame, their legs frozen midstride.
I didn’t recognize two of them, but I bit my lip as I focused on the man between them.
Asa.
Their fingers circled around his biceps. His shoulders were high, like they were exerting upward pressure to keep him on his feet. He was wearing sweats and a T-shirt and flip-flops, despite the cold outside. And around his neck there was a thick black collar.
The light reflected the sheen off the planes of his face. I imagined it slick with sweat. His hair looked wet and disheveled. He was looking straight at the camera, so I could see that his expression was blank, his eyes dead.
“I have images from three other cameras in that terminal as they made their way out to their private flight,” Volodya said quietly. I didn’t look up, but I knew his eyes were on me, knew he was feeling—and probably savoring—every pulse of my anguish. “In all of them, he looks the same. It is the collar . . . they use it to control him.”
I raised my head as a tear slipped down my cheek. Volodya was staring down at the image of Asa now, looking pensive. “I must say,” he murmured. “He does look familiar.”
I quickly shifted my attention to the fourth man before my brain settled on his statement. And immediately, a cold drop of fear slid right down my spine. Devilishly handsome, his dark eyes glittering, a smirking Reza Tavana walked behind Asa.
I glanced at the time stamp. “This was taken only a few hours after he was captured on the rooftop.”
“Which means they could be anywhere, but my agent reported their flight was destined for New York City.”
My eyes widened. “Not Las Vegas?”
“Frank Brindle is also in New York. He has been invited to the gala, in fact.”
“Will Asa be there?” Would I really get that lucky?
Volodya shrugged. “It would depend on if he can be used. It’s possible they will simply take as much magic from him as they can. Not as good as a sensor, who learns to interpret the signals he feels in his body, but still. If the magic is powerful, it can be a useful tool even to someone who does not wield it naturally.”
I squeezed my eyes shut at the thought of Asa being drained. “Okay.” I pushed the phone back toward Volodya. “Thank you.”
“And now you believe?”
I opened my eyes and looked up at him, feeling rage and love tangle tight inside my chest. “Yes. Just tell me when we leave.”
Volodya took a deep breath, nostrils trembling as he inhaled my suffering. “Tonight.”
“Good. I’d like someone to get me a room and a change of clothes. I’m going to take a shower and rest. Then we can upload Arkady’s magic for transport.” My voice was steady. And hard. I couldn’t get Asa’s blank look out of my head—or the memory of Reza’s smirk. He was enjoying seeing Asa submit.
He was enjoying Asa’s pain.
I gritted my teeth as I headed toward the door.
“Mattie. One more thing.”
I looked over my shoulder.
Volodya raised his gaze from the screen of his phone. “I will find out who he really is. You cannot hide it from me forever.” Without giving me so much as a glance, he turned and walked deeper into his room, toward the darkened nook between the bookcases, once again just a lonely black silhouette set against the flames.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I perched on the edge of the leather office chair and looked around one more time. This terminal was part of the hotel’s business center, just three computers and a printer in a tiled alcove with textured walls and a small fountain burbling in the corner.
Keeping an eye on the hallway leading to the lobby, I pulled up a browser and logged in to the e-mail that Theresa had given me. I could only hope it would still be active.
It was, but there were only junk e-mails in the inbox, advertising penis-enlargement drugs and dates with hot girls. I clicked on the “Drafts” folder.
Hey. Wondering what you’re doing for New Year’s.
That was all it said. No address for the recipient.
I glanced over my shoulder for the billionth time and clicked “Edit,” picking up the message where it left off.
I don’t know if you want to join or not, but I’ll be gathering with some fellow ancient art lovers and wearing something fancy to make that guy I have a crush on wish he’ll be leaving with me.
I read it over a few times. Was that enough information to go on, or was it not specific enough? I peered at the clock on the wall. It was nearly noon, and in a few hours I was going to head to the Met with my little team of Russian mobsters to case the joint before the gala that evening. We were leaving nothing to chance—we had all arrived in the United States in separate cities and converged on New York from different directions. Pavel and I were both in this hotel, but Kira and Daniil were in another, closer to Central Park. They thought all of this was necessary to keep Brindle and anyone else who was paying attention from believing that Volodya was going to make a play for the panel—until it was too late.
Absently, I rubbed my chest. Thanks to my little vault, we’d easily smuggled Arkady’s piece of Knedas magic into the city. I couldn’t help but feel strange with it inside me. Arkady had been vicious. He had reveled in the thought of hurting people, or worse, making them hurt themselves—I remembered too well how he’d smiled as he influenced a bartender to blow up a crowded restaurant, just for fun.
“Spilling all our secrets?” I looked up to see Pavel striding down the hall.
I quickly logged out and closed the browser. “Yep. My mom is head of an international magical spy ring, so I made sure she knew exactly what I was up to.”
He stopped behind me and glanced at the blank screen. “You understand there could be agents anywhere, yes? And that the Volodya will have us hunted down if we cannot follow through with the plan?” He looked terrified at the prospect.
I stood up. “You don’t seem to understand that I want us to succeed as badly as he does.”
“Then you should get ready. Daniil and Kira are going to meet us in an hour. You did not respond to your texts.” He nudged my purse with his toe.
So he’d come looking for me. I’d been so absorbed in filling in Theresa that I’d almost gotten myself caught. “Must have had the ringer off.” I stood, picked up my purse, and walked toward the lobby. After a few steps, I turned to see if Pavel was following.
He wasn’t. He was staring at the log-in page I’d just closed.
By the time we hit the steps of the Met for the gala, I was wound tight. Also, my feet were hurting. However, I looked damn good. Though Keenan had said Volodya was strapped for cash, he had been generous with our expenses. My dress was sapphire blue, with a high neckline, but lace and mesh in the bodice more than hinted at my curves. I’d pulled my unruly hair into a sexy twist.
Pavel, Daniil, and Kira had all cleaned up well, too. Kira and Daniil seemed stunned by the grandeur as we entered under the center arch of the building and handed our invitations to the attendant. Pavel, on the other hand, looked slick as a snake. He had snubbed a tuxedo in favor of a blue suit, and when the jacket parted at his waist, I could see his silver belt buckle.
Nodding to it, I said, “It doesn’t really match your outfit.”
“I don’t really care,” he replied. Then he nodded at the little vial of sand that hung around my neck. “Neither does that. But I know exactly why you wear it. Because of this.” He tapped the buckle.
I thought back to the first time we’d seen each other, on that street in Prague. Something t
ells me you’re the girl I’m looking for, he’d said as he stared at my chest. I’d had no idea why at the moment, but now I knew my necklace contained Asa’s magic.
“So the belt buckle is a magic-sensing relic. How powerful?”
“Enough to tell me who we’re dealing with in there. At least who carries magic and who doesn’t.”
“Can you feel what’s inside my vault?”
He slid his arm around my waist. “No. Not a trace. But that’s why you’re here.”
I tensed but didn’t push him away. We were supposed to be here together, one of two desperately rich and connected couples, here to mingle and be seen. “So,” I said as we strode between giant pillars and into the entrance hall, full of glittering dresses and shiny black lapels, shimmering jewels and lips. Waiters were circulating with flutes of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. “Sense anything interesting?”
Daniil and Kira moved close—obviously they were wondering the same thing. Pavel shifted uncomfortably and grimaced. “This place is crawling with naturals.”
I glanced around. No one seemed to be paying us much mind, but that didn’t mean we weren’t being watched. “We knew this thing was in high demand. Doesn’t change the plan.”
Kira touched Pavel’s shoulder, and he relaxed. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know how magic sensors stand it.”
At that I felt a pang in my heart. “If any of them are here tonight, they shouldn’t be too hard to spot. Just look for the most miserable, sweaty person in the room.”
Daniil took Kira’s hand from Pavel and pulled it back to his own body. “Good to know. Are we all clear on the plan?”
I smiled and accepted a glass of champagne from a handsome waiter. “Lay eyes on the prize.”
“Identify the players,” said Pavel, eyeing a tray of passing salmon crostini.
“Download the glamour,” whispered Kira as she leaned her head on Daniil’s shoulder.
