by S. C. Stokes
“You should have given me the chance,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
She was hurting, and it was my fault. I couldn’t look at her; instead I scanned the room, looking for other hiding places. The mask had to be here.
“Tell me about Section 9.”
Lara let out a sigh. “Section 9 is a new division of the CIA that was formed after the events here in New York City.”
“After the attack? Why?” I asked, pulling language books from the cupboard in order to search its depths.
“The attack made it apparent that humanity had been living in a shared delusion about the supernatural. While it appears the world is still treading water on how to respond to this new knowledge, the CIA has decided to embrace it and learn all they can about it.”
“The Modern Manhattan Project,” I whispered.
“What?” Lara asked.
“Magic, it’s your new frontier, and Section 9 is your answer to the arms race you see coming,” I said as the magnitude of Lara’s answer dawned on me. “What part do you play in all this?”
“Section 9 recruited me out of college. The academic papers that made me a pariah, got me my first interview with the agency. They covered my student debts, put me through The Farm and set me up here to further their studies and understanding of the supernatural.”
That explained the ass-kicking I had been dealt, but the truth was every bit as disconcerting as my imagination had been.
“What does Section 9 want with the mask?”
“Uh, uh, uh,” Lara replied. “I answered your question. Now answer mine.”
“Fair enough.” I dumped the last of the language books on the floor, revealing a depressingly mask-less cupboard.
“Magic. Nature or nurture?” Lara asked.
Ever the anthropologist, I mused to myself. “It depends on the species,” I replied, hunting for other hiding places. Time was running out. It wouldn’t be long before the building was surrounded by first responders.
“Species?” Lara asked. “You’re going to have to give me more than that.”
“Wizards are born, vampires are made. Does that help?” I replied, holding her gaze.
“Vampires?” Lara asked, one eyebrow rising. “Now you’re messing with me.”
I fought the urge to laugh. “You know me better than that. What Section 9 doesn’t know about the supernatural could fill enough books to bury this museum. Vampires are as real as the spell keeping you in your seat. Fortunately, not very social creatures, and not commonly found here in the US.”
“So your magic is innate then? One cannot simply learn to be a wizard?” Lara asked.
“More or less. One can learn how to channel their gifts, but the gift itself is a part of our nature. There is no school out there turning normals into wizards, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Normals?”
“Non magical folk,” I replied spotting the air conditioning vent in the wall by her desk. It was worth a look. “That’s three questions though. My turn. What does Section 9 want with the mask?”
Bending down, I examined the grate. It had been painted the same shade as the wall. Slipping my fingers through it, I tried to pry it free, to no avail. The screws holding it in place looked untouched. Peering through the grate I couldn’t see anything beyond, but that was no guarantee.
“Leave the poor vent alone. You’ve already destroyed enough of my office.”
“All of which could have been avoided by telling me where the mask is.” I drummed my fingers on the wall.
I couldn’t leave empty handed. Lara had told me about the mask, it had to be here.
“But then we wouldn’t have had a chance to talk,” Lara replied with a grin. “Isn’t this better?”
“Now you’re stalling,” I said. “What did Section 9 want with the mask?”
“Some of our agents found the mask in hands of an extremist group, the Inquisition. Are you familiar with their work?”
I shook my head. “Enlighten me.”
“They’re a fringe group that has taken poorly to the discovery of magic. Like their namesake they have devoted themselves to ridding the world of any trace of it. I imagine they’ll be big fans of your work.”
“Wonderful,” I replied, leaning on the desk in front of Lara. “Their ignorance is breathtaking. Without us, they wouldn’t have a world to enjoy.”
“What do you mean?” Lara asked, an eyebrow rising.
“A question for another day, my dear. Besides, you still haven’t answered my question. Why the mask?”
“The Inquisition were going to destroy it, so our agents stole it and shipped it home,” Lara replied, matter of factly. It was as if the notion of her having agents was just par for the course.
“So you have no idea what it does?” I asked.
“Not yet, but I’m working on it. Do you?”
“Yes,” I said, watching the seconds hand on my watch crawl by. “You’ll be disappointed to learn that the mask isn’t a weapon and it has no use beyond the original purpose of its creation.”
Lara cocked her head. “Which is…?”
“Tell me where it is, and I’ll tell you,” I said, sweat running down my neck.
“You’re getting desperate.” Lara laughed, her full lips parting as she studied me. “How long do you think you have? Minutes? Seconds? Now cut it in half. You’re stealing from the CIA, Seth.”
She was right. I’d been operating on bad intel. If the museum was a front for their research, there was no telling how quickly they would respond. It was safe to assume backup was already en route.
“Surrender, Seth. Cut a deal, we could do great things together,” Lara offered.
There was something hopeful in her plea, but I hadn’t survived this long without a healthy dose of skepticism and paranoia. Lara was probably sincere, but her CIA masters were another matter.
“I had hoped you would make this easier, Lara, but you leave me no other choice.” I stretched out my arms as if I were about to cast a spell, feigning a confidence I didn’t feel at all.
“What are you doing?” Lara asked, her eyes widening.
“You’ve forced my hand. I apologize in advance. This is going to leave a right mess.”
Lara’s eyes flitted from my hands to the filing cabinets and back. It was brief. A blink and I might have missed it.
“Thank you, dear.” I headed back to the filing cabinet. I’d already checked the drawers, but I’d neglected the base. I yanked open the bottom drawer. Grabbing both sides, I lifted it out of the cabinet and dumped it unceremoniously on the floor, revealing a hollow compartment beneath. Reaching in, I found a sack roughly the size of a dinner plate and only a little thicker.
Lara's face fell as I lifted the sack. The bag was a tight weave treated with silicone and featured a drawstring at one end. Opening the bag, I almost cheered.
The Máscara de la Muerte. The mask’s fearsome visage was stained dark brown, quite likely by blood. Lines had been etched in the ancient timber. As the mask rested in my hand, a surge of power washed through me.
The Máscara de la Muerte was back where it belonged.
“You can't steal the mask, Seth,” Lara said, her voice rising with each word.
Setting the mask on the table, I opened my briefcase. “You don't understand, Lara. I'm not stealing the mask—I’m returning it.”
“Returning it? To who?” Lara asked. “The Brujas de Sangre are gone. No one has seen or heard of them for centuries.”
I ignored the question. Answering it would tell Lara more than I was prepared to share. After the revelation on Section 9, I had to tread more carefully.
Instead, I lifted a folded duffel bag out of the leather suitcase and loaded the mask into it, followed by the unbreakable china.
“You stole the plate, too?” Lara replied. “That’s from the exhibit.”
“Force of habit,” I replied. “You may not believe me today, but I hope one day you will. I'v
e never lied to you, Lara.”
Lara looked like she had sucked a lemon. “No? You merely forgot to mention you were a wizard and a thief.”
“I prefer the term Arcanologist,” I replied. “Thief seems a little pedestrian, don’t you think?”
“Arcanologist?” Lara asked.
“Yes, I find and study artifacts of arcane significance, but my education was more on the job training. I wasn’t feigning interest in your work, Lara. It intrigues me. You intrigue me. You’re not like other people.”
“I suppose you think that justifies seducing me and abandoning me before our wedding day.” Her voice brimmed with pained indignation.
Guilt welled up within me, but I did my best to set it aside. There would be a time and place for it, hopefully in a future that didn’t involve a cell.
“It seems you and I remember our courtship very differently.” I stopped packing the duffel. “If memory serves, you were the one who dragged me back here after the party. I must say I much preferred your desk when you weren’t trying to kill me on it.”
Lara looked at the letter opener and smiled. “I think you had it coming.”
“Perhaps, but believe me, this isn’t what I wanted. I hope one day you’ll understand.”
“You could explain it to me now. You have a captive audience.”
Her body trembled as she fought to move.
“I would, but you are right. I’m out of time.” I peeled off my suit coat, gloves, hat, and vest. There was little point in concealing my identity now. I needed to get out of the building, fast. Now that Lara knew, others would too. As I set the jacket on the desk, my eyes hovered over to the files.
The Section 9 classified files.
Picking them up, I began loading them into the duffel, along with the mask.
“You can't take those, Seth.”
“Sorry, hun,” I replied. “I need to know everything your new friends know about the mask and where it was found. It’s a matter of life or death.”
“Seth, you’re stealing from the CIA. It’s going to be death. Just how big a target do you want to paint on your back? Is the mask worth all this? You're a wizard. You must know how the world will see you. Ever since the attack on New York, the world of magic, your world, has been of interest to the CIA. You're the one super weapon we don't understand. Whether you like it or not, you're the Manhattan Project of the 21st-century. The government that understands the secret to your power will win the next arms race. It’s enough that you’re stealing the mask. Don’t give them any more reasons to hunt you down.”
I shook my head. “That's what you normals will never understand. Magic is a gift, not a weapon. Tell your people they best stop dabbling with things they do not understand, before it—”
An abrupt ringing cut me off.
The light on the phone on Lara's desk flashed, as the ring tone increased in volume.
Ignoring the phone, I scooped up another handful of files and layered them neatly into the duffel.
“You are going to want to get that,” Lara said, nodding toward the phone.
“Why would I want to do that?”
Lara stared at the handset. “Because it's for you.”
3
The phone rang again. Lara's words seemed to echo through my skull. What did she mean, for me? No one even knew I was here. Unless...
I gave the office another scan, looking for any signs of surveillance. There were no obvious cameras, but given everything I'd learned, it was hardly reassuring.
“Do you mind getting that?” Lara asked. “I'm a little tied up.”
“Very funny.”
Her humor had returned, which was either a good sign or a terrible one. I wanted to believe that the shock of finding me in her office was beginning to wear off, but on the other hand she could just as easily be trying to stall. Trying to portray a false sense of security while Section 9 mustered reinforcements. I might be a wizard, but there wasn't anyone on Earth who didn’t have a healthy fear of the CIA.
“Who's going to be on the other end?” I asked as I shoved the last of the Section 9 files into the duffel.
“If I had to guess,” Lara said, “someone from the agency.”
“How do they know I'm here?”
My eyes settled on the handset. Each ring caused my heart to beat a little faster.
“The evacuation protocol triggered an alarm. I imagine they've been watching with interest ever since. It's not every day someone is crazy enough to try and rob them.”
“Watching?” I tried to keep my voice from wavering as I considered my options.
Lara nodded toward the Trojan horse resting on the filing cabinet. The statue itself seemed to be made of clay but on closer inspection, its eyes were small black lenses. A literal Trojan horse, very clever. The CIA had been watching me the whole time. Loading their stolen relic and classified documents into my bag probably wasn't winning me any friends. But that was me, winning friends and influencing people wherever I went.
“What do they want?” I asked. “I'm out of time and I have places to be.”
“Take the call. Hear them out,” she said. “It will be better for your well-being, and in spite of all this I’m still very fond of you.”
“I don't suppose there's any chance they will be amenable to me borrowing the mask.”
Lara laughed. “More likely they will want to dictate the terms of your surrender.”
Well, that was never going to happen. I had been looking for this mask all my life. And I have a predisposition for making unhealthy life choices. There wasn't a snowflake’s chance in hell I was going to part with the mask now that I had it.
Besides, it was my birthright.
Letting out a sigh, I picked up the handset. “Office of the curator. How may I direct your call?”
“Isn't that cute?” The voice chuckled. Its southern drawl was as subtle as a freight train. Only a Texan had the skill to make the word cute sound like it had four syllables in it, three of them being u's.
It took me all of a second to decide I didn't like him.
Don't get me wrong, I love Texans. Their ability to insult someone while maintaining a perfect air of polite conversation was something I'd come to appreciate during a summer I spent there a few years back. I had spent several months chasing rumors of Amarillo Slim's lucky hat. The legendary Stetson had gone missing early in 2006, leading to a spate of horrific luck for the wily old poker player. Robbed three times in four years, some might think it a coincidence, but as a wizard, I knew better. Just how Slim had come by the artifact was a mystery but I was confident the old card shark had a little more than Lady Luck in his corner. I had come up empty-handed, but developed a healthy love for the Lone Star State.
That love didn't transfer to my new acquaintance though. Something about his tone came off condescending. It was as if I was the bothersome fly he was going to swat at his leisure. Opting for caution, I held my tongue, not out of deference but out of morbid curiosity for what he had to say.
“Not that talkative, eh?” the man asked. “Not to worry, probably best you do more with listenin' than talkin' anyway.”
“How do you figure that?” I asked, zipping up the bag.
“Well,” the voice replied, “you might have been dumb enough break into our facility, but surely you're beginning to realize the magnitude of your mistake.”
The voice was stalling for time and mine was fast running out.
“What mistake would that be?”
“You have in your possession a number of items that belong to us. Normally, we would respond poorly to such a flagrant act of aggression but if you leave that duffel on the table and surrender yourself, we will be willing to make an exception for a man of your talents.”
“A generous offer, but I think I'll pass.” I lifted the duffel over my shoulder. Becoming a lab rat didn't rate a spot on my to-do list.
Besides, I had more pressing matters to attend to.
“Leaving? Without
so much as a goodbye to your fiancée. I must say, Mr. Ryder, I am bitterly disappointed with your manners.”
His words stopped me in my tracks. They already knew who I was; worse yet they knew about my relationship with Lara. His words held a subtle hint of a threat left as yet unspoken.
I couldn't leave though. Not while there was a chance that Lara would be held complicit in my actions.
“You seem to have me at a disadvantage,” I said. “You talk about manners but you haven't even introduced yourself.”
“Oh, my name isn't that important, but you can call me the Director. Now do me a favor and pop the phone on speaker. I think it’s best Agent Stiel isn't left out in the dark again.”
There was little to be gained in refusing his request, so I set the handset down and tapped the speaker button. “So, Director, you're on speaker. What do you want?”
“Bless your heart.” The director’s voice resonated from the cradle on the desk, his voice bearing all the sincerity of a rattlesnake offering to huddle together to share warmth. “Agent Stiel, I must say I'm disappointed. After all our effort to extract the mask, here we have it being stolen from right under our noses, and by your fiancé, no less. It's an ugly ole' thang.”
Lara grimaced. “In my defense, I did have the agency run a full background check on him. It came back clean.”
“Oh? So now it's the agency's fault that you lead the fox straight into the hen house?”
Lara paused. It was a trap. I could see it, and so could she. Trying to pass the buck back onto the agency would see her colleagues turn on her, but taking responsibility could well turn her into a scapegoat, costing her the job or worse.
“I'm just playin' with you, darlin'.” The director chuckled. “Truth be told, your husband-to-be is a cunning little fox, and his alias is as good as anyone I've ever seen. It’s not surprising that it slipped through the system. After all, it's mostly true. It's just missing a few key details.”
My situation was deteriorating rapidly. The director knew far more than I cared to share. The truth was that my alias wasn't an alias as much as it was an omission. I learned long ago that the Caldwell name was about as discreet as a billboard in Time Square. In my line of work, it was far easier to be a nobody than somebody. Seth Ryder was a collector and purveyor of enchanted relics, able to deal with individuals on both sides of the law without attracting unwanted attention. Seth Caldwell, on the other hand, he came with considerably more baggage. Given I hadn’t spoken to my father in years, I saw little reason to be afflicted with the drama his name dredged up.
