by LJ Swallow
Morgan breaks back into that smile. "You’re a strange girl."
"And you’re a strange guy."
He inclines his head to the hallway. "Yeah. Time to sleep."
I watch as he walks away, then he stops and looks back. "And that’s why I think we’re not so different, Syv. Are we?"
I don’t have a chance to reply before he disappears into a nearby room.
I walk into my empty room and stare around. How did Morgan manage to drill past the girl who was about to flirt with him and make a drunken proposition? Instead, Morgan turned our encounter into something more intimate than if I had dragged him in here.
Chapter Sixteen
The Institute is quiet the next morning. I sit in the lounge with the strongest, blackest coffee I can find, annoyed nobody is around to see how amazing I am for getting out of bed before noon.
Death marks do that to a girl.
In an attempt to ignore the black stain and stay distracted, I sort through my full voicemail bank. I scribble notes on jobs that sound interesting. Col left two messages, asking me to contact him. Interesting. He rarely uses his phone—is he reaching out in response to my call, to solve our argument?
Still no word from Malvorn, the guy who recruited me to take the sought-after item, despite leaving him a message too. I don’t usually have issues with his jobs. Not death threat type issues, anyway. No way will I work with Malvorn again, if this is what happens to me.
I have a couple of jobs lined up. Do I go ahead with them?
One is to locate a fancy trinket for a vampire, from an ex-lover, and another to track down a missing book for a witch. Nothing urgent, and items I've found before with no issues. Good.
Dex walks into the lounge room where I sit with my feet on the table, legs crossed. He scratches the corner of an eye and looks at me.
"What's this?"
"Just some work I'm lining up for after you save my life." I flash him a grin.
"Agree to work with us full time, Syv."
I take the pad from him. "Maybe part-time. I prefer my independence."
"Aren't you curious?" he asks.
"About what?"
"About your origins. We can help. I bet whoever your ancestors are, they come from the first time the portals opened."
My mouth dries. I’ve considered this many times and denied it. "Ignorance is bliss."
Morgan catches our conversation and interrupts. "Is it? Because I swear that this mark and people pursuing you is more than the box. The item is important, yes, but why would they try to kill you if you're just a random thief?"
"As I keep saying, 'kill Syv' is a popular pursuit." I stretch my arms above my head and crack my knuckles.
"I've watched you closely recently," says Dex. "I've uh... taken out a few people who followed you."
"Dex! That puts you squarely in the Horsemen's crosshairs." He did? Wow.
"How about 'thanks, Dex'?"
I sigh. "Thanks, Dex."
He scowls at my not-one-hundred-percent-sincere gratitude.
"How about 'thanks Morgan'?" puts in a nearby voice. He stands in the doorway, a smug look on his face. "I've found a clue to our nephilim bone whereabouts."
I leap to my feet and grab my jacket—I'll deal with Dex later. "Where? How?"
"Cillian checked in with the Horsemen, and Ewan's found a record of bone relics. They're rumoured to be nephilim but could be ordinary human bones."
"But if they're nephilim they'll be bigger." I straighten. "Let's go."
"Hold up." Morgan waves at me to sit. "They won't be easy to access. They're held in a private mausoleum."
"Mausoleums? Been there, done that. Why complicated?"
"A well-protected one. First, we need to get near the place, then we have to break in. If something important is inside, you can guarantee it will be warded."
"By what?"
"Well, if you've never detected the bones, I presume angel magic will protect them."
"Shit." My risen spirits sink as quickly as they rose. "I can't go near angel magic. It hurts."
Cillian tips his head. "Oh?"
"Yeah. I'll show you the scars sometime. How about you guys?"
Morgan purses his lips. "We've never had dealings with angels, but I guarantee they won't want anybody's hands on the nephilim’s remains."
"Is this a whole skeleton? Or just a pile of bones?"
"No idea, Syv. Why?" asks Morgan.
"Because we could just take a little bone." I hold my thumb and forefinger centimetres apart. "Like a toe or something? They might not notice."
A laugh rumbles from Dex. "I think they will notice. And if you have problems around angel magic, we could all have issues getting close too."
Cillian touches my shoulder. "Don't stress, Syv. We'll sort this."
I force a smile, attempting to show I'm okay. Usual Syv, with her usual optimism.
Optimism lacking right now.
"Where's the mausoleum?" I ask. "Please don't tell me it's far."
"A West London cemetery."
My spirits lift. At least we’re in the right country. "Awesome. Let’s go.” I stand.
"Wait until this evening, Syv. I don’t want somebody to see and report us for desecrating graves."
I sink back down again, without protest. He has a point. Once, an over-eager me sought out a vase left on a grave in daylight. I was spotted pulling the fresh flowers out and sprinting away with the stolen item. Let’s just say, it’s a good thing I can run fast.
My third harem member arrives, holding the contract they keep waving around. Cillian’s expression is filled with consternation.
One thing I hate is pressure into something I’m unsure about, and this continuous badgering matches Bastian's coercion. "I hope that’s not the bloody contract again." Morgan and Cillian exchange a look that pickles my scalp. "What?"
Cillian places the paper on the table. "We're in trouble with Donovan for allowing you to stay here without signing."
"Was this a ploy? Luring me from my awesome digs at the fae place?" I narrow my eyes. "I didn’t say I was staying."
"And you have nowhere to go," Cillian reminds me.
"Col would let me stay with him. Don’t think you can blackmail me because you believe I’m weak. The death mark hasn’t affected me physically or mentally yet."
All three guys share a laugh. "Weakness is never something we’d accuse you of." Morgan smiles and I feel a strange pride from his understanding.
I grab the paper from the table and scan the contract. Seven boxes worth is a lot of money to earn. Plus, there’s the weird camaraderie growing between us. "I'm not selling my soul here, am I?"
"No. We just need confidentiality. Exclusivity."
"We watch each other’s backs, Syv," puts in Dex. "I signed even when I had doubts."
Morgan nods. "We have complementary skills. That's why we want you on our team."
Team. The last time I played for a team, I was goal attack in the netball squad at school. My involvement was short-lived, thanks to an unfortunate accident between a ball I threw and the captain's face. She landed in hospital with an unwanted nose job.
So, I don’t do ‘team’. All attempts end in injuries for somebody.
I can’t. I don’t know—or trust—these people enough to sign a piece of paper. I thrust the contract back at him. "If you help cure my mark, I'll sign and help you find your boxes."
Cillian’s pained look doesn’t leave, and he’s paler than usual, his bright eyes troubled.
“Is something else wrong?” I ask him.
“Donovan wants to see us, Syv.”
Shit. Is this about Bastian?
I’d normally make an excuse to avoid the meeting, but I’m increasingly entangled with these guys—literally in some cases. If this is about Bastian, then I need to defend Cillian if I can.
Donovan waits behind his desk, and I step around the symbol on the floor—a force of habit rather than worry the thing will zap my
demon ass. He nods at the two chairs arranged in front of the desk in a silent command to sit.
The last two times I’ve met Donovan, he carried a relaxed aura with no sign of his superior role here.
Not this morning.
He holds a hand out for the contract in Cillian’s hand and licks a finger before flicking to the second page. “Unsigned.”
I tense further at his displeased tone. “I explained to the guys that I’ll sign when I’m comfortable.”
“When you’re comfortable?” He makes a noise in his throat. “You have accommodation here.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” I say cautiously.
“Syv. You require my help; therefore, you must help me.”
“This is beginning to sound like coercion,” I retort.
Cillian sucks in a breath.
“Is that so?” Donovan places the contract on the table and stands before walking to the window and staring out. “I had an interesting phone call last night.” He turns. “I hear you had an altercation with Bastian de Lyon, Cillian.”
Cillian shifts in his seat. “He annoyed me.”
“Annoyed you?” Donovan’s calm continues to slip. “You used magic against him, which is forbidden. Now Bastian wants to involve the Horsemen in ‘solving’ the situation which would not end pleasantly for either you or the Institute. I spend months convincing people Dwellers can be trusted and avoiding antagonism to existing supes, and you attack fae royalty!”
“Sorry,” mumbles Cillian.
Donovan walks over and looks down at him. “Your commitment to your team and other Dwellers should prevent such reckless behaviour. Do you know how hard this was to smooth over?”
Cillian lifts his eyes. “Smooth over?”
“Fae can be bought. The Institute holds items of interest to Bastian, and in return for one, he’s agreed to keep this matter between us. I cannot give the Horsemen a reason to walk into the Institute and make demands.”
I side-glance Cillian, who watches Donovan warily. “Thank you.”
Donovan makes the same sound in his throat. “Please be assured that I will not help again. You’re lucky I need you to help me with Syv and the boxes.”
“Syv, who’s sitting here,” I say.
He tips his chin at Cillian. “I suggest you try harder to persuade Syv to sign and join the Institute.”
“I’m trying.”
“Use your persuasive powers.” He arches a brow. “I’m sure Syv already had a taste of your charms.”
I bristle. “Again, Syv is sitting here.”
Donovan turns his head. “Have Cillian’s actions not taught you that you’re safe with us? That we will help you? All I’m asking is you sign the contract and agree to return all boxes to me in return for our help. That isn’t much to ask.” No, asking me to sign something is a lot to ask. “I need some guarantee that if we help you that you’ll keep your side of the bargain.”
“You have my word.”
Donovan splutters. “Your word, Syv? Come now, your reputation preceded you. I’ll need more than that.”
“Don’t pressure her,” Cillian interrupts. “I’m sure once Syv spends a few days around the place, she’ll warm to us more.”
Whoa. I glance between the pair. Without a word, Donovan returns to his seat. He pushes the contract to one side. “Show me the mark.”
I tug my sleeve and stretch my arm towards him. He peers at the mark but doesn’t touch my skin. “Interesting. No change.”
“I guess somebody hit pause on the timer counting down to my death,” I say lightly and shake my sleeve back into place.
“Now, tell me what you’ve discovered about nephilim bones.”
“Ewan discovered some exist in a Mausoleum in central London,” says Cillian.
He nods and folds his arms on the desk in front of him. “Why are the Horsemen involved in the search for your ‘cure’?”
“Because we’re friends. They owe me for helping them save…” I clear my throat. “They owe me.”
“Don’t involve them,” says Donovan. “They are likely to interfere.”
“Only to help,” I protest.
“And are you going to find the bones today?” He points at my arm. “In case the clock starts ticking again.”
“Tonight,” I say. “I find thieving more productive at night. Fewer interruptions.”
He chuckles. “I’d like the address, please.”
“Why?” I ask. “Are you coming with us?”
“No. I don’t involve myself in direct action. As Cillian knows, I require regular updates from those who are ‘in the field’ as it were.” He smiles. “In case there are any incidents and we need to locate you.”
“Between us, I’m sure we’ll be fine,” says Cillian.
“Well, let us hope so. I have an idea.” Donovan stands and gestures to the door. “Let’s show Syv our weapon collection. Perhaps there’s one she’d like to borrow.”
“You’d give me a weapon belonging to the Institute?” I ask cautiously.
“Temporarily. Again, perhaps a little something to entice you to us.” He picks up a pen and hands it to Cillian. “Write down the address. And then I think it’s time Cillian took you for a tour of the Institute. Perhaps if you know our work better, you may be more inclined to help.”
Chapter Seventeen
Cillian walks with shoulders hunched and hands in pockets as he moves along the corridor and away from Donovan’s office. I bite my lip as I try to summon up something light-hearted, but his aura tells me he wouldn’t find flippancy amusing right now.
“Should we get the others?” I ask him.
“Nah. I’ll make this a quick tour then we can prepare for tonight.” He finally straightens as we reach the end of the corridor. “There’s not a lot to see, which could be why Donovan wants you to check the place out.”
“I’ve already checked the place out.” His eyes widen. “Not like that! On the way to the library, I poked my head into rooms.”
“Like this room?” asks Cillian.
He tugs down a gold handle and opens the heavy wooden door. A large room, black and white tiled floor, expansive windows at one end. Empty. “Yeah. What’s this for? Meeting where you all sit on the floor?”
“No.” Cillian approaches a wall at the opposite end and as I follow I notice a cupboard built into the burgundy painted wall. He places a hand over a square and pushes until space opens. Inside, an array of daggers and swords hang on a rack behind.
“Oooh.” I stare like a kid in a sweet shop and I’m also hit by magic emanating from some. “Is this Donovan’s secret stash?”
Cillian reaches in and takes out an ordinary looking, short-bladed dagger with a black handle. “Some who come to stay with the Kirkas also train to help the Institute, and they’re given weapons.”
“Train to do what?” I cock my head. “I thought this was a benevolent home for Dwellers.”
He smiles and puts the dagger back on the rack. “Kirkas existed before Dwellers and are in the same line of work as the Horsemen. Although, the Institute is more into research and monitoring than running around slicing vamps’ heads off.”
“Then why the weapons?”
“Some are also in a similar line of work to you, Syv. The Kirkas believe that some objects should be retrieved and stored away from any supernaturals—including the fae and the Horsemen.”
My mouth parts. “Do the Horsemen know?”
“They knew about the Kirkas but saw them as a crazy human organisation investigating the supernatural. Now the Institute are involved with Dwellers the Horsemen are aware they do more.”
“Shit.”
Cillian frowns. “Why ‘shit’?”
“You met them. Do you think they’d want outside interference?”
“Ah. We stay in our own lanes. If they leave Dwellers alone, everything should be alright.”
I can’t hold back any longer and grab a dagger from the wall. My palm tingles with the fae e
nergy in the ivory carved handle and although there’s no magic around the blade the silver shines brighter than the others. This is a metal from the fae realm that I’ve come across a few times.
“Don’t think about taking that,” warns Cillian.
“I wouldn’t!” I say and give him a mock pout. “Col would like this.”
“Yeah. No acquiring things for him from the Institute or Donovan might change his mind.”
As if worried I’ll pilfer something, Cillian gently closes the door.
“Col is more interested in trinkets and jewellery,” I say. “He hasn’t asked me to find a weapon recently.”
Not since the huge-ass sword with a hefty hilt inlaid with gems and fae magic that hummed to me. How I smuggled that out of the human museum is a small miracle because it wouldn’t exactly fit in my boot or bag. I joked that he planned to start a war, but Col merely thanked me and added the weapon to his room of secrets. Maybe he wanted to keep this away from other fae?
“Does the Institute collect other items?” I ask as we pad back across the tiles to the doorway.
Cillian snorts. “Why? Did you want to find trinkets and jewellery for the Collector?”
“Again, no,” I retort.
“Is that a lie, Syv?”
I huff. “I get the feeling I wouldn’t want to mess with the Kirkas.”
We step back into the hallway and as we continue we only pass the occasional person and each looks human to me. I don’t detect any magic, anyway.
“Where is everybody?”
“Most Dwellers live in the other wing and many keep themselves hidden, still unable to deal with their sudden exile. Others involve themselves with Kirkas investigations so they’re not here.” Cillian leads me to the library. “You’ll find people researching too.”
The musty smell hits me as we walk inside, and I tip my head to look up at the shelves and high ceiling. A smattering of people sit at the tables, hunched over books.
“I’ve visited here. There’s nothing of interest.” I spin on my heel and Cillian’s laugh follows me as I march down the hall.
I attempt to open a door at the end, but the handle won’t move. “Ooh secret room. Is this where the Kirkas keep their stash?”
