by Martha Carr
Shay had lost count of how many times she’d shoved herself through her Warehouse One obstacle course that evening, but her aching muscles made it clear she had pushed well past her normal limits.
“I need… to do… this shit… more often.”
In a world where magic was real, being the best human wasn’t always enough anymore. Every small advantage could mean the difference between life and death, or worse.
Her body might be screaming at her, but the cleansing pain pushed all the lingering doubts from her mind, and she let out a quiet laugh.
Shay saved Peyton for a reason. He was doing her no good locked up in the warehouse waiting around for her to figure out a use for him. She could pretend to be the experienced tomb raider all she wanted, but that didn’t change the fact that she needed advice and help. If he could provide it, even if just a different perspective, then she would be an idiot not to take advantage of that.
Only problem was, she was rusty at taking advice… from anyone.
Shay took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Okay, I can do this shit. If I can kill a room full of men or dive into some dangerous lake looking for magic Nazi shit, I can ask for help. No big deal. No big deal at all. It’s just Peyton.”
She almost believed that.
10
“Okay, hot shot,” Shay said the next day as she hopped out of her car, ready for the morning. “You get your chance.” She was taking large steps across the warehouse floor, her heels clicking on the hard cement, excited to get started.
Peyton stuck his head out of the office door. “What? Huh?” He was holding a grande cappuccino in his hand and some of the froth was still on his upper lip.
“You’ve mentioned several times you have some better way to improve my business model or some shit.” Shay shrugged. “Not saying I believe you do, but nothing wrong with doing even better and if you can help with that, well… I’m at least willing to hear your plan.” She held up her hand. “Not saying I’ll follow it, though. Just to make that clear.” Okay, this is a kind of trust, right?
A smile lit up Peyton’s face. Man-Boy wasn’t the right name for him. Man-Puppy was more appropriate.
“It seems to me,” he began slowly, testing the waters, “that you’re interested in your rep.”
Shay nodded slowly. “Bigger rep means bigger connections. I have an alias I’m using online right now for jobs.”
“And how do you go looking for jobs?”
“Different sources… a couple of dark web forums out there for tomb raiders. A lot of people swapping information out there.”
“People give information away for free? You can’t trust those sources.”
Shay sat on the comfortable leather couch set up in the office. “Not for free. You have to give a little to get a little.”
Peyton rubbed his chin. “Okay, consider looking less at the end result and more at who might be interested. You know, reverse the process basically. Not the object but at the future owner. Hell, I could do it and cross-reference with a bunch of other stuff to really narrow down some good job candidates from people already highly interested. That way you could focus your efforts.”
“It’s worth trying.” Shay crossed her long legs and sat back against the couch. “Tell me you got more than one of those.” She nodded at the cup in his hands with the familiar green logo.
Peyton swallowed hard as he raised his eyebrows. “Next time? Hard to know when you’re gonna make an appearance.”
“Time to invest in one of those machines.”
“Office perk. I can swing with that. Used to have one back in my old apartment.”
“Of course you did.”
Peyton gave a nervous smile. “If I’m going to be effective for you I’ll need access to the forum.”
Shay stared at Peyton for a long moment. Giving him forum access meant she’d be giving up her first major secret. He could easily fuck her over if he screwed up.
Take a fucking contrary action. You can do it. Shay took in and slowly let out a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll show you the forum.”
Trust. It was more foreign to her than most of the strange Oriceran creatures she’d heard about.
Congrats, Tech Magician. I guess you’re the first official member of my inner circle.
Shay went out and got a high-end coffee maker that involved a lot of moving parts and could make more than she needed. Peyton was thrilled when she got back and immediately set it up.
Shay tucked herself into a comfortable overstuffed chair in a corner of the warehouse set up with a goose-neck brass lamp. She kicked off her heels and tucked her feet underneath her, settling in to read. She slowly worked her way through a German news article on her phone detailing the recent public assassination of one Hans Mayer in Munich. The picture revealed Hans was the old man from the café.
Shay arched an eyebrow as she read Herr Mayer. A fellow hitman. Well, both of us are in the past tense. You a little more.
He had in fact carried out hits for numerous organized crimes groups throughout Europe, Africa, and South America. The Munich police and Interpol had no leads on the death.
Apparently, unlike old soldiers, old killers don’t fade away. They just die in the cheapest places possible, kitchens and alleys.
“I’ve got a good possibility,” Peyton shouted from the office.
“That didn’t take him long. Good sign.” Shay pocketed her phone and slipped her feet back into her shoes, loping across the floor to the small office. She went and stood behind Peyton, peering down at the computer screen.
“More fucking gold?”
Peyton shrugged. “Yeah, I know, I know… artifacts are your main business model, but if you mix in some normal stuff, it’ll still let you build a rep and pay your bills.” He looked up at Shay like he wanted to say something but closed his mouth and looked back at the screen. “Besides, I think there’s some magic involved, and dealing with that will definitely be good for your rep.” He tapped the screen. “In Arizona, in the middle of the 19th century, the Peralta family of northern Mexico found a gold mine in the Superstition Mountains. They worked the mine and shipped the gold down south until they got taken out by some angry Apaches who ambushed one of their gold caravans.”
“Can’t spend gold if you’re dead.”
“Clever how you’ve managed to redefine dead.”
Shay thumped him hard on his shoulder, but a smile was spreading across her face. “We are a couple of pretty fresh zombies.”
Peyton held still, not sure what to do next, his hands lightly resting on the computer.
“Go on, already. If you’re going to be afraid of me at every turn, we’re done here.”
“Noted… Let me know if there’s a policy change in the company.”
Shay let out a loud laugh and patted him on the back. “We are going to get along just fine, Man-Puppy.”
“I’m going to need a new nickname. Something like Tech God. When I get close, computers just start working.”
“That’s going to need a tweak or two. Later… First, tell me about my next job.”
“Right… first things first. Most predictable thing about you. Okay, back to our story.” He flexed his hands, cracking his knuckles and pointed at the screen as he looked back at Shay. “Later, a German immigrant claimed he found the mine again. He went by the nickname the Dutchman, so they took to calling it the Dutchman’s Mine. Even though he allegedly told another person about it, no one’s ever been able to find that mine or any of the gold that was shipped out. These days it’s known more as the Lost Dutchman’s Mine.”
Shay frowned. “Lots of lost mines legends out there. Why is this one any different?”
“There’s a treasure hunter who already went after it, Adolf Ruth, who was mysteriously murdered in the desert, his skull blasted half-away by a shotgun, after he allegedly found a map to the mine.”
“That doesn’t sound like magic to me. That sounds like good old-fashioned American greed.”
/>
“A lot of drone and imaging surveys of the area haven’t turned up much, but if it’s concealed by magic, they might not be able to. No evidence of anyone suddenly striking it rich after Ruth’s murder either. So even if they found the map, they didn’t find the mine.”
Shay was about to write off Peyton’s first attempt when the map comment sparked something in the back of her mind. Some of the details seemed familiar somehow, even though she couldn’t remember ever reading about the Lost Dutchman’s Mine.
Shay furrowed her brow. “That’s not a huge amount to go on, and if I do modify my business model, I definitely don’t want to start spending a lot of time and money chasing down old rumors.”
Peyton grinned. “What if you’re not spending your money?”
“Listening…”
“I’ve got a client lined up who is willing to pay for you to find either the mine or the gold, including a deposit or a retainer or whatever the hell you want to call it.”
Shay held up her hand for a high-five from Peyton. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to talk to the guy. You get to live another day. These are the jokes, Tech-Wizard.” She let out a laugh as she saw a shudder pass through Peyton.
The next afternoon, Shay found herself sitting at a table in A.J.’s Kitchen, a local diner that she hit up on occasion. Although they didn’t serve pizza, they did serve grits, an old favorite from childhood.
Most places, especially places on the west coast, couldn’t get them right, but A.J.’s always did. Not too runny, not too thick with the right amount of salt and butter.
Shay eyed a man sitting two tables down digging into his grits with a spoon. She resisted the urge to throw a fork at him and yell, always use a fork, idiot.
Instead, she picked up her fork to scoop up a bite of her grits. After swallowing, she took a sip of her coffee and glanced down at her phone. The client would be arriving any minute.
Shay glanced around the room and resisted a sharp laugh. She was sitting in the corner, her back to a windowless wall. Without even planning it, she’d practiced defensive seating. Instincts are ingrained in me.
The comforting weight of her 9mm resting in her shoulder holster under her jacket and the knife in her boot were less of a surprise. There were just certain accessories a prepared and fashionable woman didn’t leave home without.
A man in a slick gray suit and salt-and-pepper hair entered. He was pushing his mid-fifties and attractive in a rumpled sort of way. More importantly, he matched the description of the client.
Shay eyed him for a moment, glancing toward the window to make sure she didn’t see any other suspicious movement. She waved to him, and he made his way toward her.
The man looked her up and down for a moment, blinking in obvious surprise, as his pupils widened.
“Greg Abbot?” Shay asked.
The man nodded. “And you’re the retrieval specialist?”
“Field archaeologist, tomb raider, whatever you want to call me. For now, just call me Shay.”
Greg stared at her for a moment before taking a seat.
“Problem, Greg?” Shay said.
“I… uh… I guess I didn’t expect such a beautiful woman.”
“Not on the list of requirements to get the job done.”
“No… of course.” His face reddened as he sat down.
Good sign… Shay paused as a waitress came to take Greg’s order. He only asked for some coffee. Shay waited patiently while the waitress came back and poured the man’s drink.
“The coffee is good here,” she said. “Not from a drip maker.”
Greg took a sip and nodded, steadily becoming calmer and more focused. “I don’t really know the protocol for this sort of thing. Honestly, this is the first time I’ve really looked for your specific kind of help on this issue.”
Shay looked him up and down. “First things, first. I guess I want to know a little about you.”
“Does that matter?”
“Yeah. Because if you’re, for example, a piece of shit, that means you’ll have piece of shit enemies, and they may ambush me with mercenaries. It’s good to know ahead of time who I might have to shoot.”
Greg blinked and nervously chuckled. “You’re very blunt, Shay.”
“Delicacy is required on the job, not before. The best way to have this turn out as a success for all of us is to have all the risks on the table.”
“I don’t have any of those sorts of enemies. Mine are very white collar and boring.” Greg took a deep breath. “I’m a distant but direct descendant of the Peraltas, the original family that owned the so-called Dutchman’s Mine.”
“Did you bring proof?”
Greg looked surprised but reached inside his jacket for a folded piece of paper and laid it flat on the table, turning it so Shay could read it. It was a family tree that showed the line weaving down to Greg Abbot. Not exactly direct, Shay noted.
“I suppose treasure seeking runs in my genes. I made a fortune in finance, taking chances just like my ancestors. I just got smarter and did it with other people’s money.”
Shay nodded. “Not as dangerous as smuggling gold.”
“You’d be surprised. The point is, I have through strenuous effort recovered some legal documentation that proves my ownership of the mine and the gold, but I need to find the mine or the gold first, for it to mean anything. My research has turned up a particular miner’s mark pressed into the gold that left the mine. I can use it to prove ownership if it hasn’t been melted down.”
Shay took a bite of her grits and swallowed, giving her time to think before responding. “Sounds like you’ve gathered a lot of good information. Why so much trouble finding the mine?”
“Hard one to explain, exactly. I’ve tried to fund expeditions of more conventional treasure hunters, and they’ve run into failure, sometimes before they even started. Several men have already died.”
“Really?” The question came out sounding more filled with curiosity than fear. Shay assumed the dead men just weren’t good at what they did.
“Yes, I half-wonder if the mine or gold aren’t cursed somehow.” Greg’s face pinched in displeasure. “With those… Oricerans influencing our world, who knows what sort of strange magic might be mixed in to all of it? Maybe the mine was cursed from the beginning.”
“And that’s why you’re looking for a tomb raider rather than a normal treasure hunter?”
“That indeed, Shay.” Greg leaned forward, intensity in his eyes. “I’m willing to put down twenty-five thousand, upfront.”
Shay resisted a snort, but she didn’t resist a comment. “That’s not a lot of money to me, to be honest.”
Greg gave a small nod, letting out a sigh. “I can imagine, given your profession. If you can find the gold or the mine, I’m willing to pay you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars more. I’m sure that would be adequate compensation.”
Shay grinned. “That’s more in line with my usual fee, Greg.”
His gaze momentarily roamed away from her face, and she resisted a frown. “See something you like?”
Greg pressed his lips together and looked away. “I’m only interested in the money, even if you do have a smoking hot body. You’re a bit young for me.”
“Now that’s a new one. You’ll find I don’t mix business with much of anything else.”
“Good to hear. I’m only interested in your tomb raiding skills and I need this to work.”
“Okay then, mine or gold, you said? How much gold to trigger a payout?”
“Even four bars would be worth more than enough to make this worthwhile. Today’s rates would mean two million dollars. If you recover more, I’m sure we could negotiate some sort of bonus.”
“Okay. How about 250,000 plus five percent of the value of any recovered gold? If I find the actual mine, I don’t want a percentage. I’m not greedy, but I do want a million dollars in that case.”
Greg’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
Shay gentl
y scratched her forehead with a well-manicured nail. The key to any negotiation was knowing just went to push and when to pull back. All her instincts told her to push hard.
“I just found a pile of diamonds lost for almost one hundred years on my last job. If you want some loser budget treasure hunter who will waste your time by dying on the job, then go ahead and hire one. I’m sure they’ll do just as well as last time. But if you want a field archaeologist with actual experience dealing with magical artifacts and threats, then don’t cheap out on me.”
Shay locked gazes with Greg and he returned the look, evaluating his options.
The man let out a long sigh as his forehead wrinkled. “A twenty-five thousand retainer?”
“Correct. That will act as your proof that you’re serious about this before I waste any of my time.”
“I… am willing to pay, but I must admit, I’m not all that comfortable with this.”
Shay shrugged. “You have to spend money to make money. You, of all people, should understand that.”
“It’s not that.”
“What is it then?”
Greg frowned. “It’s like I told you. There may be a curse involved. Danger. And… well, you’re a young woman.”
Shay snorted. “Trust me. Compared to a lot of what I’ve done, your little penny ante curse barely qualifies as danger. Spare me your chivalry.”
“You’re sure, then?”
Shay picked her fork back up to shovel down some more grits. “Trust me, as long as your gold’s not under a lake, I’m not worried.”
11
Shay rubbed her forehead as Peyton paced back and forth in front of her in Warehouse Two. She was sitting in the new office chair she bought Peyton, waiting for him to calm down.
A mixture of annoyance and confusion risked giving her a headache. If she got one, she was going to pop the Tech-God in the head so he would have one, too.
