“What else do you want to know?”
“Well,” Tony said, homing in with a predatory keenness, “I hear you had a run-in with the vigilante in red at the scene of the last attack. And who knows? He could very well be the key to all this. Maybe if you could tell me more about him, that would help me think of something about this ‘Them.’”
R7 clenched her fists, making the wiseguys behind her shuffle tensely.
“I don’t know anything about him. Other than that he’s a cocky son of a bitch,” she growled. Until Spence gets something off that damned coat of his, she added to herself.
“Well then, I guess I don’t know anything else about whose payroll this German is on,” Tony said with a shrug and a languid puff on her cigar.
Finally, R7 lost her patience for the game.
“Look, let me give it to you straight,” she said, leaning across the table and setting off the clicking of a few revolvers throughout the room, which she flatly ignored. “I can keep taking down these robots one at a time—your men have seen me do it, so you know it’s true. But unless you help me figure out what Von Krauss and his bosses are after with the damned things, I can’t really solve the problem. So if you won’t tell me who the crazy German might be working for, you should at least tell me what you were keeping in that safe at El Fey.”
Tony paused, watching her intently for a moment, and then she tilted her head to one side curiously, waving off her pistol-pointing men with one hand.
“Wait a second,” she said carefully. “You don’t know what this is all about?”
“If I did, why the hell would I be here talking to you?” R7 demanded.
Tony waited for a second longer—and then she laughed out loud.
R7 sat back in her chair again, crossing her arms defensively and watching the mob boss laugh, a deep, rich belly laugh. Well, whatever she’d expected, it definitely hadn’t been this..
“I’m sorry,” Tony finally said, wiping a tear from her eye. Her entire posture had changed, the subtle lines of tension and focus eased from her face. “I honestly didn’t realize that you were completely in the dark. I mean, I assumed—” She broke off, shaking her head. “Well, it doesn’t really matter. If you’re this far behind, you’ll be useless to me without some help.”
“So,” R7 said carefully, “you’re...going to tell me what was in the safe?”
“I’ll do better,” said Tony, standing up behind the desk. “Come with me.”
Completely lost now, R7 stood up and, flanked by guards, she followed
Tony out of the office and back down the stairs to the first floor, past the industrial kitchen. When Tony unlocked the cellar door, R7’s confusion turned to wariness. As she sidled into the dark, cramped space with no means of escape in sight, surrounded by enemies, her instincts screamed that this was the perfect place for an ambush. You went through tougher things at training, she reminded herself, as Tony’s men ignited the lanterns in the narrow stairway, lighting their way down. Focus on the mission’s objective: Tony’s about to give you vital intelligence.
She stepped into the cellar behind Tony, letting the armed wiseguys follow her in. Inside, Tony flicked on an electric light—and R7 gasped. From floor to ceiling, in stacks and piles, in crates and on shelves, in wood and metal, ornate and plain, big enough to fit a person in and small enough to hide under a pillow, was an extensive, varied, priceless collection of puzzle boxes.
Suddenly, everything made a lot more sense.
Chapter 23—Hey Jealousy
When the Ghost and I came out of my room together in the morning, I was prepared for a lot of teasing, whistling, and blush-worthy jokes. Instead, no one seemed to notice. We got a lot of cheers and compliments on the previous evening’s success, but no one so much as raised an eyebrow about anything else.
No one except Alger, of course. Not five minutes had passed before he wandered through the living room amid our excited exchange of gory detail about the Cointreau heist, let his eyes flick over the Ghost’s arm wrapped around my waist, and met my gaze. I looked back at him defiantly, but he might as well have been observing a new spoon in the kitchen for all his face gave away.
Well, if no one else was going to say anything, I decided, then we might as well make it our secret. The Ghost laughed and affectionately called me Loki when I made the suggestion, but he agreed.
And for a couple of months after that, while the rest of the Gang laid low in the wake of our recent victory, he agreed to pretty much everything else I wanted, too: not just clandestine rendezvous, but more lessons on throwing shuriken, trips to Moliere plays and the Louvre, and midnight walks along the Riviera that Alger surely would’ve deemed too dangerous for me to take alone, back when I would’ve asked permission. The Ghost was endlessly kind, patient, and fascinating, and he never once made me feel stupid or small. Everything was perfect—a fact I had to remind myself of every now and then, when I couldn’t avoid talking to Alger.
But the day I stopped being able to avoid it entirely came when we got the invitation.
It was mid-afternoon on a Saturday, and the Ghost and I were sharing a chair and playing bridge against Shift and Screwdriver while the twins, the Driver, and the Doc bet on the match, when Alger strolled in and held up a gold-embossed card with a flourish.
“Gentlemen,” he said, earning instant attention from all of us, “I’m pleased to tell you that the Cointreau gambit was a success. The Baroness has invited all of us to dinner at her chateau.”
The room erupted in cheers, and my friends, starting with the Ghost, hugged me and congratulated me, the card game immediately forgotten.
“It was definitely you, kid,” Shifty said. “We know how sharp you were out there.”
I blushed a little and glanced at the Ghost, who smiled and kissed my cheek.
“You think so?” I asked.
“You bet,” Screwdriver chimed in. “You should’ve seen the security fella when—”
“Yes, that’s all very well,” Alger said. “But I’d be remiss if I didn’t note that this”—he held up the card—“is for tonight. So when you’re done reminiscing, you might consider getting ready to go.”
After the initial scramble to look at the invitation, a flurry of activity swirled up in the house, starting in the living room and tossing detritus into the halls, stairway, and bedrooms. With a mix of satisfaction and bemusement—the look I knew meant he was scheming—Alger started to leave again. But on the way out, he pulled me aside.
“Do me a favor, will you?” he asked, keeping his voice below the general murmur.
I unsuccessfully tried to reign in a surge of hope.
“What is it?”
“Don’t draw too much attention to yourself,” he said. “Yvonne’s a bit…sensitive.”
My pulse dropped back down with my spirits. That was it? Nothing else—nothing for me to do? Not even the slightest concession that I’d done well so far? I gave him a hard look, searching his expression for something beneath the calculation, and eventually gave up.
“Right,” I answered stonily, not even waiting for his response before I turned on my heel and stalked off.
§
Soon enough, we were on our way. Since Alger had told me to tone it down, I wore one of the custom dresses Marie Riviere had been most pleased with: a low-cut one with a corset back and a slit fit for a chorus girl. Alger shot me a look that could have made marble bleed when he saw me, but by then, it was too late for him to make me do anything about it.
On the way there, I wondered who this Baroness person was, exactly. I’d always vaguely pictured some stuffy Queen-of-England-looking woman with a fan and easily offended sensibilities. But now that we were really going to meet her, I was curious; what would she really be like? How did Alger know her? And what were we trading for this opportunity? It could’ve been any of the priceless items we’d taken from Cointreau: jewelry, antiques, first-edition books, art, and countless other little treasures.
&n
bsp; So I was pretty surprised when, after an hour or so of driving out into the countryside, we reached the gates outside the Baroness’ place, and Alger stepped out of the car with just an envelope. I looked to the Ghost for an explanation, but he shrugged.
“Some things must remain a mystery, my Pandora,” he told me.
I sighed in familiar frustration as a valet scurried out and took the car. After approving our invitation, the guards let us through the gates, and we were escorted down a long path, through a garden, under stone arches, and to a door at…well, they don’t call it a château for nothing. The place stood like an army in formation over the estate, sanded stone and towering turrets arrayed over countless rows of windows. It was hard to imagine a person actually living there. The whole Gang had fallen silent, and even I was a little overawed.
Alger, of course, was impassive. He walked up to the door as if it were just an old friend’s apartment and knocked. A butler answered—not your standard doorman, mind you, but a real butler. Professional that he was, he almost covered his surprise when he got a load of us, then looked back at Alger and shook his head as if to say, well, don’t blame me.
“Just a moment, sir,” he said, and disappeared.
After the obligatory few minutes of waiting you always have to do for an important person, I heard footsteps clicking towards the door. I couldn’t wait to see this; I had no idea what to expect.
Possibly the one thing I wasn’t expecting was the woman who actually showed up. When Yvonne Devereaux appeared in the doorway, I couldn’t stop my jaw from dropping. First, she wasn’t old at all; in fact, she couldn’t have been more than a few years older than me. Second, she was anything but stuffy—in fact, she was ravishing. A regally beautiful woman with miles of unfashionable but luxurious red-gold hair, she wore a beaded dress with gold sequins, perfectly fitted and cut at the most risqué end of tasteful, with real diamond earrings half the size of her head; four-inch, actual gold stiletto heels; and a feather boa on top of all that. She was intimidating even to me. That’s the goddess who stepped out to stand eye to eye with Alger, and looked him up and down.
“Algernon Slade,” she said slowly, as if she couldn’t quite believe it.
And then she reached back and slapped him right in the face.
The resounding crack rang out through the courtyard. Most of us instinctively stepped back, except the twins, who stepped forward. Was this all a mistake? Was it going to be like Tony’s? Suddenly, I wished more than anything that I’d brought the hairclip-knife.
But then Alger started to laugh, briefly rubbing his reddened cheek.
“I suppose that’s fair,” he said easily, kissing the multi-ringed hand that she’d just used to strike him. “But you invited us for a reason, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Her tone softened just a little. “Did you bring it?”
“I did,” he answered, producing the envelope as if by magic from behind his back. She snatched it out of his hand and edged a few documents out from inside, peeking quickly at them and then shoving them back in.
“You didn’t look, did you?” she asked him sharply.
“Of course I looked. But not to worry,” he told her, giving her the smile that used to leave me speechless. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
She tried to glare at him, but just as I’d felt myself do a thousand times, she eventually decided to let him win her over.
“Very well,” she said. “You and your little entourage may come in. But don’t think I’ve forgiven you.”
Contradicting that immediately, she took his arm before turning to sweep theatrically through the doorway, pulling him along with her. He nodded over his shoulder at us, indicating that we should follow.
The problem was, I really didn’t want to do that. I wasn’t sure I could stand listening to them talk, let alone watching them together, for an entire evening. Not that it had anything to do with me, of course, but there was something about the way she looked at him, the way she touched him—everything he’d taught me to notice, I couldn’t stop noticing now. And it was already getting under my skin.
Speaking of skin…suddenly, I noticed I was digging my fingernails into the Ghost’s arm, and if I wasn’t careful, I was going to draw blood.
“Sorry,” I whispered, loosening my grip.
“It is nothing,” he said with a smile.
Grateful for his kindness and chiding myself for reacting so strongly, I shored up my defenses, and we followed everyone inside. There, solicitous staff ushered us into a private dining room that I swear was made entirely of velvet and gold brocade. The tables were set with an elaborate array of priceless genuine china, jeweled silverware, and lead crystal glasses. The twins, sitting at a table with the Doc and Screwdriver, looked like they were afraid to touch anything. The Ghost and I, trailing in, were seated with Shifty and the Driver.
Alger, as you’ve probably guessed, was on his own with our hostess, but fortunately I managed to avoid facing them. I was in control now, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed watching their cozy chatting. Take deep breaths, Vic, I reminded myself. It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter. But the problem was, although I’d been able to avoid watching what was happening, that didn’t stop me from hearing it.
“So, my thief,” she was saying, “when I heard you were in town, I couldn’t believe you had the nerve to be alive. I considered having you killed myself on sheer principle.”
He laughed.
“Well then, I imagine I owe you for sparing my life.”
“Yes, you do,” she answered with a dramatic sigh. “But I suppose I could never have gone through with it, anyway.”
“And why is that?” Alger asked obligingly.
“It would be such a shame to waste something so beautiful,” she said.
“Oh, I don’t think you’d go to waste without me, darling,” he replied. She giggled, lapping it up. Then she took a quick break from the conversation, clapping her hands twice to make a legion of servants appear out of the woodwork with dinner.
I tried to eat but quickly realized that wasn’t going to happen. For some reason, smoldering coals seemed to have replaced my stomach. How could he talk to her like that? I fumed. How could he stand it? More importantly, how could I? I stabbed viciously at the stuffed pheasant on my plate.
“You okay, kid?” Shifty asked me. I looked up at him, having already forgotten that other people were around, and nodded.
“Yeah, sorry,” I answered. “I’m just, um. Not used to using a knife like this.” But at the moment, I was thinking that I’d like to get used to using one another way.
“Well, mon chère,” the Baroness continued. “Since I have decided to let you live, tell me one thing.”
“Anything you ask,” Alger said gallantly.
“Well then. Who is the girl?” asked the Baroness.
“The girl?” If I didn’t know better, I would have been certain he had no idea what she meant. Now I saw why he’d told me not to draw attention to myself. Well, it served him right.
“Yes, the girl,” the Baroness said, instantly exasperated. “The one in the red dress. Is she yours?”
“You mean Victoria?” His laughter cut the air with a sharp edge of scorn. “Hardly.”
“Are you sure? She’s…pretty,” she said, forcing out the word with an effort.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said dismissively. “She’s a perfectly ordinary girl.”
The embers in my stomach had begun to boil my blood. Heat started to course through my veins, burning my throat and spreading down my arms. He knew I could hear them, but he didn’t care. He really just didn’t give a damn, did he?
I picked up a glass of wine, trying to give my hands something to do other than ball up and bury their nails in my palms. The Ghost met my eyes with concern, gently reaching out to brush my cheek with his fingertips. Though he couldn’t know what I was hearing, he plainly understood what it was doing to me. Looking meaningfully at the door and back, he
silently suggested that we could leave if I wanted.
I tried to smile at him, but my teeth were clenched too tightly, and I just shook my head. Part of me wanted to run, to leave the room before I heard any more, or find a way to shut it out. To distract myself, as I’d been doing every day, from something too painful. But cruel curiosity won out in the end and I had to keep listening.
“Don’t lie to me, thief,” the Baroness warned. “I heard a rumor you were at Emile Montesquieu’s with a girl in red a few months ago, yes?”
“Only because she works for me, darling,” he assured her. “Besides, she’s with one of the boys now. Surely you’ve heard that as well?”
“I suppose,” she admitted petulantly. “But do you expect me to believe that would stop a scoundrel like you?”
She was unpersuaded, and I knew what that meant. If Alger wanted to stay on her good side, he’d have to say something truly convincing.
“Honestly, Yvonne,” he said, dropping his voice conspiratorially. “She’s just a little rat I picked up on the streets in America. I kept her around because I felt sorry for the wretched creature, and that’s all there is to it. Alright?”
The heat consumed me. From my toes to the roots of my hair, I glowed with red-hot wrath. Bloody vermillion haze scalded my vision, much more intense than the last time. I thought I might breathe fire.
And that’s when the glass shattered in my clenched fist.
Quick as a spark, the Ghost’s hand shot out and caught the falling shards before they hit the table, but even he couldn’t catch the stream of blood flowing from my hand.
“What the hell, kid?” Shifty hissed, as I stared at the lacerations the crystal had left behind. “Did you just break a lead crystal glass in one hand?”
I didn’t answer, complying mechanically as the Ghost eased me out the chair, supporting me with one arm, and walked me over to Alger. I glared malevolently at him while Ghost showed him my mutilated hand, and the Baroness looked on with obvious amusement.
“A crack in the glass,” the Ghost lied quietly. “I will take her to see to it.”
Canon in Crimson (Symphony in Red Book 1) Page 19
