The Amulet Thief (The Fitheach Trilogy Book 1)

by Luanne Bennett

  “No.” I offered nothing else.

  His eyes narrowed on me. His chin went up next along with his pursed lips, and I was bombarded with the instinct to get as far away from him as humanly possible.

  My leg muscles twitched, itching to move me anywhere but in his direct line of reach. I finally managed to turn my body in the direction of the bar when a hand slid around my waist, followed by the brush of lips across my temple.

  “There you are, darling.”

  I lifted my eyes to Greer’s long enough to let him see how pissed off I was.

  Bite me, darling, I threw back at him, accompanied by a sugar-coated smile.

  I’m sure he got the message, because he smiled back at me and delivered his own message: Wait till I get you home, darling.

  “Is that a threat?” I muttered.

  “Excuse me?” Arthur Richmond said.

  Greer ignored the comment and extended his hand to our host. “Greer Rialcnis.”

  So now we were using aliases.

  “Rialcnis? What an unusual name. Have we met before?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m the ‘plus one’ on the invite.”

  He nodded bye-bye to our host and steered me deep into the crowd, leaving the girls to engage Richmond on their own.

  “What was that all about? Rialcnis? I thought we were here to get his attention, not run away from the man.”

  “From what I could see, you were about to do just that.” He gestured in the direction of Leda and Morgan. “Looks like we have his attention. The question is, can we get into his office before we lose it?”

  “Do you really think he’d keep the amulet here? Shouldn’t it be in a vault, or some fort guarded by something…I don’t know…dangerous?”

  Greer looked at me like I’d lost it. “I think you’ve been watching too much Sci-Fi channel.” He tugged my arm toward a hallway with a rope strung across. “Let’s move before someone catches us back here. I can assure you we won’t get a second opportunity if that happens.”

  “Down there?” I pointed in the direction of the hall. My heart was beating so fast I could hear the blood swooshing through my ears. I bet Greer could hear it, too. It didn’t seem to bother him that I was a beat away from a heart attack, because he stuck his hand under the rope and lifted it.

  “That’s right. And by the way, we’re not looking for the amulet.”

  “What?”

  “We need his contacts, whom he’s working with. That’s how we’ll find it.”

  I stopped short of ducking under the rope. “And remind me again why it’s necessary to drag me along.”

  “Because you’re the closest living thing to that piece of metal. It knows you. If it’s been in that room, you’ll know it.”

  “And if it hasn’t?”

  “Then it hasn’t, but we’re going to rule that out. Besides, you might recognize something in his office. A name, a picture.” His cheek grazed against mine as his mouth reached my ear. “Anything,” he hissed.

  I pulled back and looked at him. “Wait. Let me get this straight.” I was dumbstruck by his callous logic. “You’re risking my safety on the almost zero chance that the amulet is in that room, or that I might remember some small detail about something from when I was five years old?”

  The air expelled from his lungs. “Don’t be so bloody dramatic, Alex.” He lifted the rope and motioned for me to go first. “I have no intention of letting anyone kill you.”

  “Whew. What a relief.” I flattened my palm against my chest. “No really, I feel so much better now.”

  He ignored me and held the rope while I slipped under it. Either we were incredibly lucky, or security was waiting for us around the corner. I couldn’t imagine Arthur Richmond would make it this easy for an intruder to infiltrate his private quarters, let alone with something as precious as the amulet at stake. My concerns were validated by the security camera mounted around the first turn. I’m not sure how he did it, but Greer ordered me to stay behind while he slipped around the corner and somehow managed to manipulate the lens up toward the ceiling.

  “How did you do that?”

  “Warrior secret.”

  “But—”

  “Let it go, Alex.”

  A sign that said OFFICE hung on a door at the end of the hall. Of course it was locked, but Greer whipped out a contraption that looked similar to a seam ripper from a sewing box, and a couple of flicks and turns later, we were in.

  “Tool of your trade?” I asked.

  “There are easier ways in, but we don’t have time for a lesson on matter.”

  The room was ideal for an academic recluse, or someone who took little pleasure in the company of any color outside the range of brown. Dark and clammy, it reminded me more of the basement of the public library than the lair of a New York art dealer.

  “Keep it clean, Alex. No calling cards.”

  “As if anyone would notice.”

  “Just do it.”

  The hair on the back of my neck rose. Other than the obvious, something didn’t feel right. We were in the office of the man who might have stolen what was mine, but I still felt like I was going to pay dearly for being there.

  Greer plowed through the drawers of the large kneehole desk, while I stood in the middle of the room debating the politest way to burgle Arthur Richmond’s office. The eeriness in the room was too distracting, and if Richmond smelled the breach, I was convinced the hounds from hell would come charging through that door and we’d both be dragged straight back to purgatory with them.

  I scanned the room for anything that might trigger a memory. The smell of stale tobacco mixed with moldy old paper filled the air, and I questioned if anyone had actually been inside the room for months or even years. Even the occasional opening of the door would help air it out.

  “Greer, what are you doing?” I looked back to see the neatly stacked documents on top of the desk turned into a single pile of unorganized trash. He’d managed to make a mockery out of the OCD desktop in less than two minutes. “I thought you said to keep it clean.”

  He continued bulldozing his way across the desk. “Forget it. Just start looking.”

  I focused on the large bookcases lining the walls. The shelves were filled with books on art, antiques, and history. Old Sotheby’s and Christie’s auction catalogs were stacked along the lower shelves, photographic works of art in their own right, repurposed as decorative objects. Picture frames covered the walls where some of the bookcases only reached about four feet high. Photographs of what looked like family hung side by side with expensive artwork. I knew the difference between a cheap print and the real thing, and if Arthur Richmond wasn’t careful, his investments would rot from the mold and mildew filling my nose.

  “Some conservator you are,” I mumbled.

  A large panoramic photo in the middle of the wall showed a group of men dressed in matching outfits. His college class picture, I assumed. Others were of picnics by the lake or other family outings. A girl in a graduation cap and gown twisted her face at the camera—a daughter?

  “Who would have thought a man like Richmond would have such a large family,” I said. Arthur Richmond was repugnant. The thought of him reproducing just seemed morally wrong.

  “There’s nothing here, Greer. Can we get the hell out of—” My mouth dropped open as I stared at a spot on the wall. I took a step closer and craned my neck to see if my eyes were playing tricks on me, or if I was seeing what I thought I was.

  “What is it?” Greer stopped rooting through the desk and came to see what I’d found. I ignored his question and continued to stare at the wall. As I raised my arm to point, Greer’s eyes followed in the direction of my index finger

  “Alex?”

  I walked up to the wall and put the tip of my finger on a photograph. The man in the picture had a large black mark in the center of his forehead. It looked like a birthmark, perfectly centered just above his eyes. “I’ve seen him before.”

  He
took a good look at the man’s face, and his expression went stone cold.

  The face was hard to forget. As I recalled where I’d seen him, my memory was disrupted by the uneasiness of the room. I could no longer hear the muffled voices coming from the party. The clanking of cocktail glasses and the steady rhythm of music was no longer audible from down the hall. I took a last deep breath before turning to Greer, silently asking if he would keep his promise to me.

  “Time to go,” he said.

  That was the last thing I heard before everything stopped, and the room began to shrink into a hermetically sealed sphere so small it seemed to disappear into the pores of the wooden bookcases. The sound of the pictures crashing down from the wall and Greer’s shoes pounding the floor, it all sounded like it was coming from a deep tunnel. But I wasn’t scared, because Greer had me. That’s all that mattered. He had me.

  SEVENTEEN

  I was thankful for the silence. Every moment of that tiny place of peace was a gift. The pounding inside my brain was finally slowing to a much more tolerable dull throb. As if a narcotic had been injected in my veins, the pain relented just enough for me to feel some sense of still being alive.

  One eye opened into a thin slit, and I could see shapes moving around a dark space with a glare of light illuminating from the center.

  Where am I? Who am I? What am I?

  The shapes stopped to look down at something, and I realized I was moving. They were looking at me. “What’s happening?” I heard one of them say, but the voice was mine.

  The sounds in the room were more like vibrations, the kind you hear when your ears are plugged and you’re listening from the inside out. It was like a holler from the other end of a long tunnel.

  I tried to move again, only this time in a controlled, voluntary fashion. I shoved every ounce of will into that one little thought, and my right arm finally moved from the awkward position it was tucked into under my ear. My left wasn’t any more cooperative. No matter how hard I screamed at myself to get up from the cold surface beneath me, my limbs refused to work. Sleep paralysis came to mind, but I was pretty sure I was awake.

  An occasional blow hit the back of my legs or the center of my gut, but the pain was muffled just like the sound. Something smashed down on my side and then rolled me on my back, releasing the pressure on my right arm.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  The slit in my right eye opened wider and the left one followed. I could see now, but only through the thin film that covered my pupils like a wash of egg whites mixed with a little Elmer’s glue. If I could just hear what they were saying, I was sure I could make sense of what was happening.

  My head dropped to the side again, and I realized the gel circling my cheek was coming from my mouth. Drool covered the floor beneath my face, wet and cold against my skin.

  Could someone please bring me a towel?

  I was lying on a bed of sharp gravel, I thought, on account of all the pain shooting through me when I moved. Cement would have been kinder. Why was no one helping me? Was there an accident? Shouldn’t I be in a hospital? I thought about this for a moment and realized I was not in the company of friends. Doctors didn’t administer more injuries or intentionally cause pain.

  The air vacuumed from my lungs like tiny paper cuts sliding across the inside of my chest wall. Even the vibration of the shoes walking toward me sent a pounding pain through my head. They stopped inches from my eyes, and for the first time I could actually see something clearly. A black cowboy boot with a steel toe was aimed directly at my face. I shut my eyes and braced myself for the blow, but when it never came, I reopened them to see a set of kneecaps lowering toward me.

  “Thank you.” I don’t know why I said it. I doubt the mercy was for my benefit.

  “Save your breath, darlin’.”

  Darlin’. Darling, I remember darling. Greer didn’t wear cowboy boots, though.

  The pounding resumed its assault on my brain, and I realized I was pushing myself up on one arm. My vision was clearing, bringing the immediate space into focus. Someone was laughing on the other side of the room. I knew this because my hearing was getting stronger. It was a man, and he was walking toward me. His steps were patient, each strike of his heel leisurely followed by the thump of his sole. He stopped in the spot where the boots had been a moment earlier.

  I was back against the floor. The cold seemed to elevate the pain, or maybe the paralysis was just wearing off. My movement was returning, but unfortunately my strength seemed to be drying up. At least my vision was still coming back. It must have been, because how else could I identify Arthur Richmond standing over me?

  He looked down at me and smiled. Not the reassuring kind of smile—the kind that said: you are so fucked.

  “Alex Kelley.” Touché to that poker face at the party. “You’ve been a very difficult young woman to track down.”

  The side of my jaw was beginning to feel like something very hard had been slammed into it. I managed to lift my hand to my face, and I winced when I felt a large welt along my brow. Maybe that’s why my head was throbbing. I couldn’t see any blood, but I could feel the bruises. Someone had fun with me, and I was thankful for no memory of the assault.

  Richmond watched me explore my own face. His head cocked as he looked at me sympathetically. “I do apologize for all the damage, Ms. Kelley. I’m sure it will heal, in time.” A single click echoed through the room, and I looked up to see the barrel of a gun pointed down at my knee. “I’m afraid the next blow won’t heal as nicely.”

  I rolled my leg instinctively out of the path of the impending bullet. This amused him. That sickening laugh was back as he adjusted his aim and fired. I howled as the pain shot through my leg, sending a jolt of adrenaline through my body. He must have missed my kneecap, because my legs bent up toward my torso in an involuntary attempt to crawl into a fetal position.

  “Don’t worry, Ms. Kelley. Just a slight flesh wound. We’ll work our way toward the bone—slowly.”

  “Mr. Lutz,” he said to a third man in the room, “would you be so kind as to fetch me the syringe?”

  Syringes were not good. I’d had my share of drugs since coming back to New York, and experience told me I had no chance of making it out of this place if that needle made it past my skin.

  “Now, may I call you Alex?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Tell me, Alex, where is the amulet?”

  Ah, I remembered. Greer and I were looking for the amulet in Richmond’s office. Well, I guess that cleared up the misconception that he had it.

  “I don’t have it,” I said. “It was stolen.”

  “Hmm…” he mused, obviously thinking me a liar.

  “I will ask you nicely one more time. I encourage you to cooperate, dear.” He retrieved the syringe from the big guy. “If you lie to me again, you’ll be waking up to something far less pleasant and patient than me.”

  “Has anyone ever told you,” I mumbled through my half functional lips, “that you look just like a registered sex offender?”

  Did I just say that? Out loud?

  The smile on Arthur Richmond’s face curled into the complete opposite of kind. There, I said it. I don’t know where I got the balls to do it, but I said it. Maybe it was stupid of me to irritate the man with the gun, but I didn’t give a shit. If I was going to be used and then most likely killed, I’d inject a little of my own medicine along the way.

  “Would you like me to teach Ms. Kelley some manners, Mr. Richmond?” Lutz asked.

  Richmond proceeded to move around me. He stopped where my feet had been before the gunshot sent them jerking in a new direction. My defiance quickly shifted to panic as he leered down at me, and my gut instinct told me I was about to regret my insolence.

  “No. But thank you for offering, Lutz. I think I’d like to take care of Ms. Kelley myself.”

  He reached for his belt and unbuckled it before lowering his zipper. One of two things was about the happen her
e: either he was going to beat me senseless with that leather strap holding his pants up, or he was going to make me regret not only the day I was born, but every day in between.

  My eyes shot open to see who was nudging me. What I saw standing next to Arthur Richmond made me reconsider opening them, but the urge to close them again was overruled by my fascination.

  “That’s more like it,” I said.

  My eyes slammed shut in an attempt to clear the hallucination. I peeked, but I was still there staring down at me.

  “Get up.”

  I got up as directed because I knew I was in the middle of a strange dream. Why else would I be talking to myself and moving around like the whole Arthur Richmond thing never happened? One step later, I was crashing back down to the floor, but this time the floor was soft and covered with leaves and dirt and trees as far as I could see. My dream was taking place in a forest. I’d slipped through some sort of hole in the sky, landing square on my tailbone.

  “That fucking hurt!” I yelled. “What the hell are you?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Well, unless I had a twin at birth that I’m not aware of, then no, it ain’t so obvious. In fact, it’s a freaking perplexity.”

  “I am you, and you are me,” she said. “Come on, Alex, indulge me.”

  I reminded myself that this was a dream, never forgetting that Arthur Richmond was somewhere on the other side of that dream doing God knows what to me while I was out cold. Maybe this was my mind’s way of blocking the trauma—a survival mechanism.

  My mirror image took off through the trees, and I followed. “Slow down. I can’t—”

  “You need to unleash your speed, Alex.”

  “Who are you?” I huffed.

  “Alex,” she said. “That’s our name, isn’t it?”

  I slowed to a crawl and finally stopped in the middle of the path. “If you want me to follow you, you’re going to have to slow down.”

  She turned and marched toward me. I could smell her disdain as her eyes ran over my face. “Do you know why you can’t keep up?”