by Meg Cowley
“Hello?” Jamie flicked the speaker on.
“Jamie, oh Gods above, Jamie, help me, you gotta help me, man! She’s done it!” Nick squeaked with panic as his breath wavered in irregular huffs.
“Woah, what’s happened? Slow down.” Jamie shot me a worried look, all our enmity forgotten. I edged forward, drawn by the unbridled fear in Nick’s voice.
“She opened the box. She did it. She did it.” Nick spluttered and his voice cracked. “He didn’t deserve it, not like that,” he sobbed.
“Not like what? What happened?”
“She opened the box and he died. I never saw anything like it. He died. He’s dead!” he repeated, clearly in shock. “Gods above, what is that thing? We’re all screwed. I can’t do this. I can’t do it, I want out. I’m trapped. You gotta help me!”
“We will, we’re on our way now,” Jamie said, his voice radiating strength.
“There’s no time, she’s going to do it agai—” The line went dead.
I stared at the phone with rising horror. Jamie’s slack face echoed my dread. As one, we turned and left.
It was a tense taxi ride to the hotel, but not because we were brooding on our earlier argument. Worry for Nick overwhelmed us. I hadn’t even met him, but if Cleo had scared him that much, if she had somehow opened the box, then I knew I was right to be worried. I fought the urge to chew on my nails, the old habit I could never quite kick when I was really stressed.
We hung back when we arrived on the fringes of the glittering crowd as it migrated towards the two events. Most entered the charity auction as expected. A few trailed past to the other ballroom, and the event few knew was to happen that night.
Jamie offered his arm and I slipped my hand through the crook of his elbow without a word, like the arm candy I was supposed to be, minus the simpering. We both took a deep breath. I wondered if his heart pounded as much as mine. Adrenaline charged me. Every cell was on high alert, scanning, probing for danger, and ready to react, should the need arise.
With our faces schooled into indifference, we followed to the small ballroom. The flash of a token changing hands caught my eye ahead. The doorman accepted it from the guest without a word and let him pass. We didn’t have one. What would we do?
Jamie edged us past a slow, elderly lady – who looked like she belonged at the real auction, not this demonstration – brushing close to her as he squeezed through the gap between her and the wall. As we approached the doorman, he held out a token, handed it over, and walked past.
I fought to keep the surprise off my face and my steps moving smoothly with his as the man nodded us past. I shot him a sidelong glance. “How?” I hissed.
“The old lady,” he mouthed and rubbed his finger and thumb together.
Pickpocketing! I couldn’t believe it. “I don’t want to know where you learned that skill,” I muttered through the gleaming smile now pasted on my face.
He chuckled and tugged on my arm, moving us to the fringe of the crowd so we could stand close to the wall at the very back of the room. Under the pretext of our own private conversation, we scanned the room. International men and women filled it, each as different as the next. It looked like there were people representing most corners of the globe. We could feel the hum of magic; there were Magicai here, but they were shrouded as we were, so we could not discern who was Magicai and who was Ordinary.
We were careful to have one flute of champagne whilst we waited for Cleo to make her no-doubt grand entrance. The last thing we needed was to further cloud our heads.
The ting ting ting of metal on a champagne flute tinkled across the room, and the expectant crowd hushed at once. From a side door, Cleo entered. I knew it was her from her first step. Cleo was slight in build, but her presence filled the space.
We watched her as if she was a predator. She was, of a sort, a wolf in our midst, even worse than the rest of the company we found ourselves in. She radiated confidence and control. Her gaze cut across the entire room in one sweep with cool indifference – no fear that some of the world’s most powerful and wealthy were before her – and it was a struggle not to shrink away. I felt Jamie stiffen beside me as her attention swept past us. She would not recognise him today, but he must have feared it.
Behind her, a pedestal was wheeled in by two black-suited men, who stood to either side of it. Atop it, a silken covered object; we knew what it would be. I could feel it from here. All attention moved to it.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said in a clear, cutting voice. “You have been called here tonight to witness a demonstration of the item in question. All proper bids for it shall be accepted at the auction in Paris, and you shall receive the details accordingly, as before. Tonight is to whet your appetite.” Her predatory smile swept over us once more.
My ears pricked. Paris. We had her next step. Where, though? When? How would we find out the details? We would surely not be receiving an invite.
“You are all busy people; I shall not delay. Bring him out.”
Jamie gasped at my side as they dragged in a struggling figure, but I felt him relax slightly.
I raised my eyebrow at him. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. Not Nick, then. It did not ease my own growing dread, however. We were about to witness something horrific, I knew it. The man she dragged forward was in stark contrast to the rest of the attendants.
Dirty and dressed in torn clothes, with matted hair and a bloodied face, he screamed through the rags in his mouth and struggled against the bonds tying his hands and feet. He was tossed to the floor like a piece of rubbish.
Not one person spoke one word for him. Many had probably done much the same in their own lines of work; the infrequent – or perhaps the not so infrequent – offing here and there.
“Since I have no use for this traitor, I thought I would save him for tonight,” she said in a sweet, honeyed tone, which dripped with venom.
His eyes were filled with tears that spilt forth and left pale streaks along his dirty cheeks. Cleo looked at him without an ounce of compassion. His muffled voice no doubt begged and pleaded, but words that could not be formed around the gag and came out as indistinguishable, strangled cries.
Jamie and I stood close, our sides touching, and our hands found each other and clutched tight, seeking some faint kind of reassurance and strength from each other.
Cleo swirled the silken sheet away from Pandora’s Box with a flourish and it fluttered to the ground in a cascade of shining ripples. Aged dark wood. Carvings faded with time. The box looked like nothing more than a dusty piece of rubbish. Worthless and innocuous.
“Here, I have a sample taken from inside Pandora’s Box. I have taken precautions so it is not contagious, but I assure you, the contents of the box are quite the opposite.” She plucked a syringe from a case behind the box. “Hold him.”
Her men sprang forward and pinned the man to the floor. He was only partly visible now between the heads in front of us, and I was glad of it. They all leaned forward with open curiosity. I wanted to run. I focused on the warmth and solid strength of Jamie’s hand in mine. I would not run. We had a job to do. No matter what happened, we had to try and retrieve that box.
Cleo advanced with the syringe. I could see a bead of liquid at its tip glinting in the light like the smallest crystal of a chandelier. The men jostled as their captive bucked underneath them, and Cleo stopped to plunge the syringe into him. Obscured by the crowd, I could not see. And then they began to stumble back, away from the sight before them.
I could not look, and I fought the urge to turn my head into Jamie’s shoulder. Instead, I focused on Cleo, who watched the spectacle before her with wide-eyed pleasure, as if she beheld some kind of miracle.
But it was no miracle.
His screams rose in intensity and pitch until it was one, long, never ending shriek, which shredded my nerves. And then, it faded into a gargle, and after a few more seconds, silence.
The room held only silence.
&nb
sp; Not one word.
Not one rustle.
Not one gasp.
I did not dare guess whether they were held in suspense by horror or anticipation of what we had just witnessed.
I could not look at his body, now on the floor, and visible through the thinned crowd who had stepped away from him. I held in a retch as my traitorous eyes looked anyway. Indescribable. It did not look human. He looked as though he had been tortured for weeks, months even, though it had taken less than a minute for him to die.
Cleo moved, her heels tapping on the marble floor. She drew herself up with a lazy, triumphant smile. “I trust this demonstration will show the item’s power to you. I will see you in Paris to commence bidding.” She gestured to the main door and swept out. The box was already gone, being bundled through her exit.
I felt its magic vanish and glanced at Jamie. I could tell he had felt it, too. Had she shrouded it? Had she moved it somewhere else? We had to find out, but first, we had to leave. We held each other up, our faces frozen in indifference as we strolled out with the rest of the guests as though we had no care in the world, surrounded by their hushed whispers in many tongues.
It took the last of our willpower to reach the disabled restroom and lock ourselves in. I rushed to the toilet and emptied the contents of my stomach into it, cradling the cold porcelain as I gasped for breath. Beside me, Jamie sunk down the wall to the floor, white faced and wide-eyed.
I dashed my face with cold water from the faucet and dabbed it dry with a paper towel.
“Come on,” I said, my voice as empty as I felt. “We have to find it whilst it’s here.”
Jamie nodded and stood. His eyes were dull, blank.
We gripped forearms and cast out a net of magic: a searcher that would trace the Box’s unique brand of power. Wider and wider we cast it, into every nook and every cranny until we had covered the entire hotel and beyond it.
We could find no trace of it. Slowly, our arms fell to our sides and the net disintegrated into nothing. Somehow, Cleo had gone already and taken Pandora’s Box with her. Were we dealing with a Traveller? Had she cut a doorway to another place or reality? We did not know, but the box was gone, our work had failed, and a man was dead.
That night, we could not sleep. With the lights on, we huddled together on the bed, sitting up with the duvet bunched around us, and stared into nothing until the sun rose again.
The next morning, we were exhausted and hollow. I couldn’t count how many times the man’s death had replayed in my head; every sound and every sight until I wished I could have scoured my brain clean of it. However, it had greater reaching consequences than the delicacy of my own nerves.
What we had seen had implications for Jamie and me: we were tangled in something far worse than we had thought, and far greater. This bidding war, the resultant winner, and the growing knowledge of Pandora’s Box and the truth of its powers was now a matter of world safety. If Pandora’s Box was opened, I had no doubt we would all die as horribly as Cleo’s first victims.
We had no idea where the box was, and no idea where to start looking. Our sole clue was Paris. We packed and left for the airport at once.
Chapter Seven
We showed at the street named Villa d’Orleans at eight. I checked the message on Nick’s phone again. The last of the battery was draining and the screen dimmed as it activated the energy saving mode. I wondered how much time we had before we’d lose contact. We were in the right place at the right time.
It was pitch black as we turned by the block of flats; no streetlights penetrated here. We could smell waste from the half open dumpsters tucked inside the alley. I held in a retch at the stench.
I looked down the secluded, tiny street — more of an alley than anything else.
“Why does he want to meet here?” I frowned.
Jamie didn’t answer at once “I don’t know,” he said at last.
Not for the first time, I wondered if it might be a trap. Cleo couldn’t possibly know we were onto her, but she clearly had no qualms about disposing of leaks in her operation.
I’d already contacted my usual network for any information; to no avail. We were going in blind, and Nick was our only lead. Suddenly, our ‘inside man’ felt more like a growing liability than an asset; it felt like events were spiralling well outside our control. We were playing chase, not leading the hunt – and we were woefully behind.
Even Jamie’s confidence had taken a knock. We were on speaking terms, at least. We didn’t have a choice if we wanted to see this through and succeed. We had not mentioned our argument once, and I didn’t intend to be the one to bring it up.
I turned to tell Jamie I thought we should leave – my gut instinct screamed it – but before the words left my mouth, a shadow detached itself from the pool of black before us. A drawn, white face loomed.
“Nick!” Jamie said, exhaling with relief, but then he started forwards. “You look terrible, man.”
Nick jumped as Jamie moved forwards, and his eyes darted around and past us. “You’re alone?” he said, wincing as I shifted my balance and the soles of my shoes scraped upon the cracked tarmac.
“Yeah,” Jamie replied. I could hear the concern in his voice. “What’s she done to you?”
A nervous laugh erupted from him. “She suspects me, you know. Living on borrowed time, you know. Gotta be careful, you know?”
“Yeah, sure. Look, this is Zoe, Zoe, this is Nick. Zoe’s going to help me get you out of this mess, mate.”
Another nervous laugh. “Oh good, good. Haven’t slept in days. She keeps us awake, you know? See who’s going to crack first, you know?”
He was barely making any sense. Jamie and I shared a look.
“Right. What can you tell us?” Jamie asked.
The nervous laugh became a dry, heaving sob. “He died because of me, you know – Andy. She suspected me right from the start, knows we were always close.” He gestured between himself and Jamie. “I passed it off on Andy. She killed him. I can’t believe she killed him.”
His arms were clutched tight around himself and his head shook back and forth uncontrollably. “She’s paranoid. Watches everything. Watches us all. But I have to tell you. You have to stop her. She’s testing it on people,” he whispered, and we had to lean in to catch his words.
“She kills them. It’s horrific. Their screams. I couldn’t sleep even if I tried. All I can hear is their screams.” His voice grew quieter and quieter and we had to lean even closer to hear him. “I want to get out. I need to get out. I’m just the tech guy, I don’t know any of this stuff. I don’t belong here. I don’t know how to escape. Jasmine, she keeps me going, you know? But I’m scared. Terrified. For my own life, and for her. Will I see her again? What if she opens that box and I’m next, Jamie?”
Nick was visibly shaking now. He was a wreck of a man. What had she done, what had he seen, to make him this unhinged?
“Where is the auction, and when?” I interjected quietly.
Even so, he flinched at the sound of my voice. “We can trust her? You sure?” His wide eyes bulged in the dark as he examined me.
“Yeah. One hundred percent.”
Nicks breath came in uneven rattles.
“Where, and when?” I repeated.
“Catacombs. Sacellum Crypt,” he whispered. “Tonight. Midnight.” He backed into the shadows again, turning to leave.
“Wait.” Jamie stretched out a hand.
Nick paused, jittering.
“Don’t go back. We know where it’s happening. Leave now, whilst you can.”
“I can’t,” whispered Nick. In the faint light, I thought I could see a gleam of tears in his eyes.
“But—“
“She’ll go after Jasmine if I leave.”
Jamie’s hand fell. “We can find a way. After tonight, Jasmine will be safe; it won’t matter whatever Cleo’s threatened. Come with us.”
But Nick shook his head jerkily and wrung his hands together, back
ing further away. “Can’t do it. Can’t risk it. Can’t.”
He dashed away before we could reply. Jamie’s own fists shook and his jaw was tight. I wouldn’t have wanted to be Cleo if he found her. This was above and beyond the threat of Pandora’s Box for him. It was personal.
I hoped and prayed we could get Nick out of there safely when it all went down.
Chapter Eight
Tonight.
We had three hours to pull this off.
We crammed into the tiny hotel room to reflect on Nick’s information. He’d left at once; a bag of nerves. Jamie had been silent as I’d checked us in. He was worried, I knew.
The room was so small our knees touched when we sat across from each other on twin beds, but at least we had separate beds, as tiny as they were. The smell of damp pervaded, and the decoration was faded and peeling. But we were close to the Paris Catacombs, where we would need to be to have any chance of retrieving Pandora’s Box. We couldn’t afford for it to be sold on. We might never see it again, and the worst could happen. Naively, or intentionally, the box could be opened.
“He was never like that.” Jamie’s voice broke the silence, distracting me from my morbid thoughts.
I flicked my attention to him and raised an eyebrow.
“He was always confident. Carefree. He seems broken now. I’ve never seen him like this.”
“You’re worried for him.”
“Yeah.” Jamie’s sigh carried his burden. “He’s the closest thing I’ve had to a friend in years. And his daughter. I don’t want anything to happen to him. She needs her dad, and she deserves better than what she has now. He’s the key to giving her a better life.”
“Why is he tangled in all this, then?”
Jamie shook his head. “He made a mistake. He thought this would be the way to do it: get enough money so he could give her a better life. He realises now the mistake he made. And now...? I’m not sure. I think he’s losing the plot.”
“Fear does that to people,” I said quietly. I remembered how crazy my parents had seemed when my twin, Emily, had gotten ill. They would have sold their souls for a cure. It drove them crazy that they had practically unlimited magic and they couldn’t save her. “It’s no use dwelling on it.”
