“Do you remember the elemental blade spell I taught you?” said Murdo.
I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue at him. “Yes.”
“Start to cast it,” said Murdo. “Go through the mental disciplines of beginning the spell. But don’t summon any magic to empower it. Instead, try to empower it with the clarity of your mind.”
Incredulity tried to dissolve my clarity. “You want me to make a blade of…mental clarity?”
“No,” said Murdo. “I want you to clear your mind and try to cast the spell using the mental clarity. It will have an interesting effect.”
A dozen barbed retorts came to my tongue.
“Fine,” I said instead. I had to clear my mind again since I had gotten annoyed. I slowed my breathing, focusing on emptying my thoughts of fears and distractions. My breathing got slower, and I had to admit I did feel a little more relaxed. No warmer, though.
I started the mental discipline of the elemental blade spell, but I drew no magic to empower it. Instead, I fed the clarity into the spell.
Nothing happened. I felt foolish. I wasn’t really doing magic, I was just engaging in mental gymnastics. Still, I kept doing it, enjoying the brief calm in my head, my breathing and heartbeat both slowing…
And then, on my next breath, warmth flooded through me.
My eyes popped open as I gasped in astonishment, and my legs suddenly got wobbly. Murdo was at my side in an instant, his strong hand closing about my left elbow.
“Sorry,” he said. “I should have warned you. It can take you off guard the first time.”
I blinked up at him, too stunned to speak. For the first time since the Eternity Crucible, I didn’t feel cold.
I actually felt warm, honestly warm.
Unless you’ve constantly been cold for some time, you don’t know how nice it feels to be warm.
“How?” I croaked. “How…how did you do that?”
“I didn’t do anything,” said Murdo. “It’s the mental discipline. It forces your mind to clarity, and when it does, you relax your subconscious grip on your magic. Then the magic stops leeching away your body heat…”
“And I feel warmer,” I said. I closed my eyes and performed the exercise once again. The coldness had started to creep back over me, but once again warmth flooded through my limbs.
Oh, God, it felt wonderful.
“Yes,” said Murdo. He looked at my arm, realized that he had said he wasn’t going to touch me, and then let go of my elbow. “You’ll have to keep practicing it, of course, but after a few months your subconscious will ease its grip on your magic and you won’t be so cold all the time.” He took a step back. “It seems to have worked since you’re smiling.”
“Yeah,” I said. I smiled at him. It was an actual smile, not that mirthless rictus of a grin that seemed to be my default expression these days. “Hey…um, thanks. Seriously, thank you. That…that’s the nicest thing anyone has done for me in a really, really long time.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Stoker,” said Murdo.
He hesitated, seemingly caught between wanting to say more and some instinct of caution.
Caution won out.
“Good night,” he said.
“Good night,” I said, and he slipped through the door and closed it behind him.
Huh. I wondered why Murdo had helped me. For a moment, he had looked almost happy. Was he trying to seduce me? If he was, this was an inefficient way to go about it. For that matter, Murdo didn’t seem like the kind of man who would be nice to a woman in hopes that she would suddenly notice him. That never actually works, and while Murdo was quiet, he didn’t strike me as suffering from shyness or bashfulness.
Maybe he just had felt like being nice.
An odd thought occurred to me.
Maybe God had sent him.
“If you did,” I said to the ceiling, “thanks.”
Did it count as talking to yourself when you talked to God?
I don’t know. But I do know that I performed the mental exercise one more time before I went to sleep, and then I slept better than I had since before the Eternity Crucible.
Chapter 8: Banking For Fun And Profit
At 6 AM, I woke up and got ready.
Weirdly, I was in a good mood. Some of it, obviously, was the fact that I been warm while I slept.
And some of it was because I was good at what I did and enjoyed it. I admit it was kind of perverse. I mean, I was a thief who used illegal magic to steal things. I shouldn’t have enjoyed my work, but I did. I was good at it, and there’s pleasure in doing something that you’re really good at.
And some of my good mood was because I hadn’t been in a good mood for over a century and a half.
A thorough search of the bathroom turned up no cameras, but I might have missed one, so I Cloaked before I took a shower. I had never taken a shower while Cloaked before, but since I wasn’t moving much, it wasn’t a magical strain. After that, I got dressed in the clothes Nicholas had provided – a black knee-length skirt, a white blouse that buttoned up to the throat, and a black jacket. The clothes fit, but they were looser than I expected. That confused me for a moment since the sizes were right, then I remembered my problems with food over the last year. I had probably lost more weight than I realized.
I checked my reflection in the mirror, and to be honest, I was pleased with what I saw. For the last one hundred and sixty years, I had been basically wearing jeans, t-shirt, and a jacket every single day. I hadn’t dressed in a feminine way in just as long.
I liked it. I think Riordan would have liked it, too, and…
Riordan.
That put a damper on my mood.
I shook my head and finished getting ready. Morelli had delivered those camera earrings, and they did look nice. There was also a small black purse that matched the dress, and it held a wallet, fake identification with my picture, and a small phone that had been wirelessly paired with the camera in the left earring. I checked my hair in the mirror one last time, took the purse, donned a pair of high-heeled shoes, and headed downstairs. I spent so much time being stealthy that I took a sort of gleeful amusement in the loud clicks the shoes made against the concrete.
The conference room was already occupied when I arrived. Vass sat at the table drinking coffee, a paper plate with three donuts in front of him. There were two boxes of donuts on the table, along with a pair of big metal coffee pots. I wondered how much coffee and how many donuts Nicholas and his crew intended to eat, then I remembered that he likely had a bunch of soldiers based here.
Nicholas didn’t eat donuts. Or sugar or carbohydrates in general.
“Good morning, Miss Stoker,” said Vass around a mouthful of frosting. “Care for a donut?”
“I do not,” I said, crossing to the window and looking at the warehouse yard. The fires of Baltimore glowed in the north.
“Mmm. Pity. You could use some fattening up,” said Vass. I gave him an incredulous look. “More cushion for the pushing, as my second ex-wife liked to say.”
“I thought it was your third ex-wife who liked to say that,” I said.
“It may have. It may have.”
I rolled my eyes and turned around just as Murdo strode into the conference room. Like yesterday, he wore a three-piece black suit, a red tie around his neck and tucked into his waistcoat. He still kind of looked like a thug, but he looked like a thug in a nice suit.
“Hey.” I smiled at him. “You clean up real well.”
Murdo stopped at the end of the table and brushed some dust off his sleeve. “You think so?”
“I know so,” I said.
Vass rolled his eyes and took another bite of donut.
“Well,” said Murdo, “you don’t clean up bad yourself, Katrina Stoker.”
I smiled. I didn’t mean to, but I did.
“Well, isn’t that sweet,” came Swathe’s voice.
My smile vanished as Swathe and Morelli walked into the conference room. Both men had don
ned suits themselves. Swathe had a nice suit, but he didn’t wear it as well as Murdo did. Morelli merely looked sleek and efficient and deadly.
“Swathe,” said Murdo. “Morelli.”
Swathe smirked at me and then looked back at Murdo. “What’s this, Murdo? You’re sweet on Nicholas’s leftovers?”
“You ought to keep your mind on the mission,” said Murdo. “This isn’t a game.”
“Yeah, Mitch,” I said. “I’d hate for you to get shot because you couldn’t keep your insults to yourself.”
“Or maybe she’s sweet on you, Murdo,” said Swathe. “She seems the sort of woman who would like it rough.”
“Given that the success of our mission depends on her abilities,” said Murdo, “maybe you shouldn’t go out of your way to insult her.”
Swathe’s smirk widened. “Or maybe you’re just hard up, Murdo. I offered to take you to the brothel in Venomhold. The women there will do whatever you order them to do. When you turned me down, I thought you were just a prig. But maybe you would prefer Miss Stoker.”
A wave of anger rolled through me.
“The slaves in your brothels are so drugged up they don’t know what they’re doing,” I said. “Of course, that’s the only way any woman would ever sleep with you, Mitch.”
Swathe took a step towards me, his smirk turning into a snarl. “You’re a mouthy bitch.”
“And you’re a moron.”
I started flexing my fingers, drawing magic. Murdo stepped to my side, his face a cold mask. Swathe took another stride forward, his hand coiling into a fist. I think he wanted to sucker-punch me, or maybe Murdo. Vass smiled his big white smile as he watched us, no doubt enjoying the show with his breakfast.
Another half-second and we might have killed each other.
Then Morelli drew a pistol and shot one of the coffee makers.
We all froze. Hot coffee started spilling out, and Vass cursed and jerked back.
“Goddamn it, Enzo, that was my breakfast!” said Vass.
Morelli ignored him, holstered his pistol, and turned his bland gaze towards me, Swathe, and Murdo.
“That’s enough,” said Morelli in a calm voice. “You’re going to conduct yourselves as professionals, all of you. We’ve got a mission to do, and I’m not going to get myself killed because you’re squabbling. You.” He leveled a finger at Swathe. “Stop acting like a horny teenager. You.” He pointed at me. “It wouldn’t hurt to close your goddamn mouth occasionally. And you.” He pointed at Murdo. “If you want to play the white knight for Miss Stoker, do it on your own goddamn time. Now all of you shut up and follow me to the cars.”
I almost pointed out that it was the longest speech I had ever heard him make, but he was right. Sometimes I ought to close my goddamn mouth.
“You can’t talk to me that way,” said Swathe. “I outrank you.”
“Don’t act like an idiot and I won’t talk to you that way,” said Morelli. “Let’s go.”
We headed out the door. Vass continued munching on his donuts behind us, though he winked at me before the door closed.
Morelli led us to the yard. Two nondescript Royal Motors sedans, one blue, one black, sat outside the building next to Murdo’s Adventurer SUV. Morelli tossed a set of keys to Murdo, and he snatched them out of the air.
“You and Miss Stoker will take the blue one,” said Morelli. “Swathe and I will take the black one. Follow us into Washington DC. If you get pulled over by Homeland Security, there are falsified insurance and registration documents in the glove compartment.”
“But don’t get pulled over?” said Murdo.
“Exactly,” said Morelli, unlocking the front door of the black car.
I got into the passenger seat, Murdo started the engine, and we followed Morelli and Swathe out of the yard and onto the street. A few minutes later we were heading south on I-95, keeping a sedate speed in the right-hand lane as Murdo followed Morelli’s car. I fished the various documents out of the glove compartment and started going through them.
“Okay,” I said. “Looks like Corbisher’s shell company is named…Universal Importation.” I shook my head. “That even sounds like a fake shell company.”
Murdo grunted. “I wonder what we’ll be leaving in the deposit box.”
“Probably backup drives,” I said, drawing on my own previous experience of robbing safe deposit boxes for Morvilind. “That’s what companies usually store in safe deposit boxes. Either backup drives or legal documents. Individuals usually store gems, artworks, precious metals, that kind of thing.”
“How much experience do you have robbing banks?” said Murdo.
“Um,” I said. “What’s the statute of limitations for bank robbery?”
Murdo thought for a moment. “I don’t think there is one.”
“Then none. I have no experience robbing banks whatsoever.”
Murdo laughed and turned his attention to the freeway. I alternated between leafing through the documents and watching the scenery. I wanted to be familiar with the documents since I would be playing the part of Morelli’s personal assistant for our little ruse.
We got off the freeway and drove through the crowded surface streets of Washington. I watched all the landmarks– the Washington Monument, the Capitol, the Smithsonian, the Lincoln Memorial, and all the others. I caught a glimpse of the White House as we went past, and I tried to remember who was President now. Some nonentity in a suit, probably. Not that it mattered who was President and who was in Congress and who sat on the Supreme Court. The High Queen was the one who really ruled the world. The job of the President and Congress was to administer the United States for her.
The Royal Bank was on the south side of the Mall, behind the Smithsonian. Of course, this was downtown Washington, so we had to pay to park in a structure about a third of a mile away. I got out of the car and followed Murdo as we joined Morelli and Swathe, adjusting my purse strap on my left shoulder.
“We’re ready?” said Morelli. We all nodded. “Then let’s go.”
The four of us walked to the Royal Bank of Washington DC.
Most of the buildings in Washington DC had either one of two looks – a sort of faux Roman style with marble and pillars and domes and cornices and all that, or squat featureless blocks that looked as if they were designed by a committee of unimaginative bureaucrats. The Royal Bank was neither. It had been built in the Elven style, which looked like a blend of Roman and Imperial Chinese, with lots of pillars, lots of marble, and lots of high windows with sloping roofs. It looked big and imposing and rich.
We climbed the stairs, opened the glass doors, and stepped into the lobby. It was a huge space, with marble pillars, windows overlooking the busy street and crowded sidewalks, and a long marble counter with tellers’ windows. Huge portraits hung on the wall between the pillars, showing the High Queen, Duke Maelaeyar, Lord Mythrender, Duke Tamirlas, and the other chief Elven nobles of the United States. There were desks in orderly rows in the lobby, a junior banker seated at each one. Some of them typed busily at their computers, and others spoke with customers in low voices. It all looked expensive and tasteful and reeked of lots and lots of money.
Right now, the security arrangements held my attention.
A few yards in front of the doors stood a row of body scanners. Four middle-aged men approached. They all wore good suits, and they had the grizzled look of veteran men-at-arms who had kept themselves in shape. I noticed the faint outlines of shoulder holsters beneath their coats.
“Good morning,” said the lead security man. “Your names?”
Morelli produced his falsified identification and claimed to be a senior finance analyst with Universal Importation, come to secure legal documents in the company’s safe deposit box. Swathe identified himself as a lawyer in the company’s general counsel (which was kind of hilarious), Murdo as a security consultant, and myself as Morelli’s personal assistant. The guard scanned our ID cards with his phone, and then two more men stepped forward w
ith metal detecting wands. Security guards sometimes used these procedures to steal quick grope, but the Royal Bank didn’t tolerate that kind of unprofessionalism. The guards waved the wands over me, searched my purse, handed it back to me, and directed us to one of the bankers on the left side of the cavernous lobby.
As we crossed what seemed like acres of marble floor, I fiddled with my left earring, activating the hidden camera. I glanced around, keeping an expression of wide-eyed admiration on my face. I noted the position of the security cameras as I did. There were at least forty of them covering the lobby, one on every pillar and at junctions in the ceiling.
I also saw eight Elves standing at guard posts throughout the lobby. The Elves wore standard formal clothes for Elven men, knee length coats of blue or red buttoned to the throat, black trousers, and polished black boots. I suspected all eight men were Elven commoners and likely maintained magical detection spells at all times.
That meant no Masking or Occlusion spells. If I kept an active spell on myself here, they would sense it. If used any spell and they sensed it, we were all going to die.
We walked to the desk that the guards had indicated. The banker, a hungry-looking man in his thirties, rose and gave us enthusiastic handshakes. As we took our seats, the timer I had set on my phone went off, and I looked at the screen.
“Sir?” I said. “It’s the planning meeting at the central office. It’s starting in ten minutes.”
“Ah, damn it,” said Morelli. He pretended to think. “This shouldn’t take more than a half an hour. Your laptop’s still in the car?” I nodded. “I don’t need you here for this. Go back and transcribe the meeting notes. I’ll want to review them later.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, standing up. Morelli, Murdo, and Swathe all turned their attention back to the banker. I walked back to the security checkpoint at the front doors, and one of the security men stopped me.
“Just so you know, miss,” said the guard, “if you come back in, you’ll need to go through the entry procedure again.”
Cloak Games: Hammer Break Page 12
