by Sarah Fine
“Get in position.” Seeing as Kira and Daniil had magic that could disable attackers, they were going to ensure we had a way to get out. Kira would head through the Great Hall toward the Medieval Art section, on the other side of which there lay an emergency exit on the Central Park side of the building. Daniil would make his way to the exit to our left, through the restaurant just on the other side of the Greek and Roman Art display. Our prize was in that gallery, and that’s where Pavel and I were going.
“Then we get the party started.” Pavel slid an entire crostino into his mouth.
“And I leave early,” I said quietly. I was the one who would get the mosaic tablet out of the building while everyone else was occupied.
Pavel grinned, his cheeks bulging. “I’m looking forward to wielding Arkady’s magic.”
Daniil frowned. “Just control it, or we’ll be caught up in it, too.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“You have no idea how powerful my father is, do you?” Daniil asked.
Pavel rolled his eyes. “I know how to use relics.”
My hand tightened around my champagne flute. “This isn’t a game,” I said from between clenched teeth. “Our lives are riding on this.” And so was Asa’s.
“Let’s get to work,” Daniil said, casting one more wary look at Pavel, who was touching his belt buckle and frowning.
I finished my drink and set the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray, then looped my arm into Pavel’s. The crowd was slowly drifting in the direction of the Greek and Roman Art gallery to our left, and we followed. Our mosaic panel was in there somewhere. I’d spent the last few days memorizing every part of it, wondering what answers it could bring, wondering how men as dangerous as Volodya or Brindle might use it.
By the time we reached the gallery containing the collection, Pavel had guzzled three glasses of champagne. “I’ll be right back,” he said, looking around. “Got to drain the snake, as you Americans say.”
“Only idiots say that.”
“Don’t go far.” He pulled his arm from mine and headed off.
I turned my attention back to the art on display. Apparently most of the artifacts had been discovered in a tangled maze of tombs in the hills outside the city of Rome. I meandered past a selection of bronze gods, a few sturdy urns depicting javelin-throwing and running men, and a number of small portraits.
“You look a lot better than the last time I saw you,” said a deep voice behind me.
I turned slowly, knowing who I’d find there. I gave him a smile. “So do you, Jack.” No lie, either. His tuxedo was perfectly tailored to his muscular physique, and his dark-brown skin didn’t have the greenish cast it had had when Asa and I had left him in a broom closet in that hotel in Atlanta, drugged out of his mind—but also clutching the original Strikon relic. “Did you redeem yourself?”
He gave me a sheepish smile. “Only halfway.”
“You’re lucky you ended up with anything.”
“Only because Ward plays so dirty.”
“Says the man who was trying to double-cross him. That you ended up with anything is a testament to Asa’s sense of fair play.” He could have done anything he wanted to Jack, but he’d left him with a priceless prize. “And his belief that the Headsmen are a shade better than the alternative.”
Jack glanced around. “More than a shade. And the sooner you figure that out, the better off you’ll be.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.” I began to edge away, but he stayed close.
“I know why you’re here.”
Crap. “Do tell, Jack.”
He slid even closer. “Choose the right side this time, Mattie. For all our sakes.”
“Right and wrong feel like luxuries right now,” I admitted. I looked away from him, focusing over his shoulder, where several mosaic panels hung on the wall. “Can we continue this conversation some other time?”
Like . . . after I’d done whatever was necessary to get Asa back. Because the panel I needed to steal was right there. No more than ten feet away.
Jack’s broad hand closed around my upper arm. “Keenan said he would help you, and you screwed him.”
I winced as he squeezed. “I am sorry about that. Is he all right?”
“Fine. Just wondering why you’d help a murdering, scheming psychopath instead of the good guys.”
“I’ve seen the Headsmen in action, Jack.”
“We do what we have to, Mattie.”
“Then you should understand me perfectly.” I lifted my chin. “There is one thing I care about, Jack. And I’ll do what I have to do, too.”
He let go of my arm. “I’m gonna hate to bust you, girl.” He looked over his shoulder, right at the mosaic. It was masterful in its own way, thousands of chips of stone in dozens of different shades that somehow came together in the grisliest way possible. The original sorcerer, the blades entering his body, his face agonized yet full of fury and defiance, his eyes simple ebony shards. “But it can’t fall into the wrong hands. The stakes are too high.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “The Headsmen have two of the four original relics,” I said quietly. “It’s not like anyone else could collect all of them.”
Jack grunted. “Here’s hoping.” He glanced down at his waist, where his phone was vibrating. “Good seeing you, Mattie. Stay out of trouble, please. It won’t be pretty if you don’t.”
I frowned as I watched him shoulder his way through the crowd, his phone pressed to his ear, just as Pavel sidled up next to me.
“Was that Jack Winchester?” Pavel asked, scowling. “What did he want?”
“You know him?”
It looked like Pavel had something very sour sitting on his tongue. “Volodya uses him for his transactions on this side of the ocean. He was going to engage him for this job as well.”
No wonder he knew what I was up to. “But Jack turned him down?”
“Apparently he was already under contract.”
My mouth went dry. “You think he’s here for the same reason we are?”
“Why else would he be here?”
Jack had disappeared, of course. I’d assumed he was here as a Headsman, but that was stupid. He had told me he’d been undercover for years, and even Asa had heard of his Winchester alias. I leaned in close and pretended to kiss Pavel’s neck. “Well, he had his eyes on our prize,” I whispered. “So maybe it’s time for us to download.”
“Almost,” said Pavel, putting his arm around my waist and turning me so I was facing the rest of the collection. “You need to know who else is here.”
I gazed across the room. “Who am I looking at?”
“The blonde by the urns works for Donati. Local boss.” Pavel studiously looked away from the woman as her sharp gaze slid over the room. “And the guy eyeing up the headless statues over there—that’s one of Montri’s.”
I let out a breath and shot what I hoped was a casual glance toward the statues. Thankfully, the man standing there wasn’t Ho-Jun or anyone else I recognized. “Okay. So two bosses represented.”
“Three,” said Pavel. “Look by the portraits.”
I caught a glimpse of a dark-haired man in the midst of a crowd of guests, but it was enough. “Myron.”
Pavel smirked. “The coward.”
I didn’t defend him. I was still mad at him for stopping me from even trying to help Asa on the Harrods roof. “So Botwright might make a play for it as well?”
“If he’s her representative, she doesn’t stand much chance.”
“Still—shouldn’t we get our glamour ready? What if one of these guys tries to get to the panel before we can?”
“Wait. There’s someone else here,” said Pavel. He looked pained as his fingers ran across his belt buckle. “In the entrance hall.”
“You can feel him from here?”
“More than one,” he said, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. “And they’re strong.” He grabbed my hand and tugged me towa
rd the hallway, then both of us stepped behind a large pillar to peer at the crowd in the Great Hall. “See anyone you recognize?”
“Who exactly am I looking for?”
Pavel looked a little sick. “Strikon. And . . . something else. But it’s hard to tell because—”
“The Strikon makes it hard to sense.” I scanned the glittering wealth in the grand room but saw no one I recognized. “Where do you feel them?”
“I’ll be back,” Pavel said, covering his mouth. He made a retching sound as he bolted for the bathroom.
Concern rising, I turned back to the crowd. And that was when I saw them.
Hair slicked back from his perfect face, wearing a suave smile, the most powerful Strikon I’d ever met looked dapper and deadly next to an auburn-haired woman wearing a demure black dress.
There he was, behind them. Lean and tall, clad in a black tuxedo, his cheeks hollow and his face pale. I could just see the collar—he was wearing it in place of a bow tie. His expression was blank as his gaze raked the hall and homed in on me. But his eyes didn’t meet mine. Instead, they focused on my chest.
He must have sensed his own magic.
“Asa,” I whispered, breathless as need and love and hope fluttered mercilessly inside me. I was dying for him to look me in the eye, dying to know what his held for me.
There were only a hundred feet or so between us, closer than we’d been since that night on the roof. And my heart—it was beating so hard that it’s a wonder my little vial of sand wasn’t bouncing right off my chest.
I don’t care what I have to do, I silently promised him. I’m going to get you out of here. Tonight.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I took a few quick steps back as Reza looked toward the Greek and Roman gallery, letting the enormous column hide me from sight. My thoughts were whirling, landing on possibilities and discarding them just as quickly. I was in a building full of naturals, nearly all of them agents of bosses from all over the world. They weren’t here for me or Asa, though—they were here for the mosaic that could help decipher the secrets of the Essentialis Magia and the original relics.
Maybe this was the best possible place to get away, then. Maybe this was the perfect place.
What we needed, though, was the magic in my chest, the glamour that would occupy everyone nearby. I turned and walked quickly toward the sign for the bathrooms and met a pale, sweaty Pavel on the way. “I spotted the naturals you felt. It’s Brindle’s people. And one of them is Asa.”
Pavel scowled. “Did they see you?”
“Asa did. I think. But he won’t tell them.”
My conduit companion let out an impatient sigh. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. Now let’s download so we can get to work. It’s getting crowded in here.”
Pavel patted his pocket, where his phone lay. “Kira and Daniil are in position. They know we’ve got eyes on our prize.”
“Good. Where do you want to do this?” I pulled a lipstick from my clutch. It was fake, just a casing filled with a steel slug made to carry strong magic.
Pavel steered me behind the headless naked statues. “Can you stay on your feet?”
I arched one eyebrow. “I’m not the one who was staggering after the upload.”
He chuckled and held out his hand for the lipstick. “Ready when you are.” He pressed me up against the wall and slid his hand up my bare arm to my neck.
I glanced around. People seemed to be deliberately looking away from our intimate moment. “Okay. Here we go.”
I mentally opened the magic vault in my chest, and out rushed the Knedas magic like the slip of a knife across my skin. Sharp and potent and tasting like metal, blood, salt, sweat . . . power. Pavel flinched as it tore through him, and my fingers closed over his elbows, supporting him in case he stumbled. But he kept his grip on the relic, holding it clenched in his fist as the manipulation magic passed from his body and into the lipstick case.
We were both panting when it was done, but we were on our feet, still embracing behind the headless statues. Resisting the urge to shove Pavel away, I stayed with my back to the wall and let him slowly step backward. “Did Volodya tell you what it is, exactly?” I asked.
Pavel nodded. “It’s a fire and the system that suppresses it.” He pointed up at several knobs poking down from the ceiling, set at regular intervals throughout the gallery.
“Sprinklers?”
He shook his head. “In a museum? No. Gas. It goes off for ten seconds—and it’s loud. That’s all the time you have to get out of the room. The fire system will clear people out, and the alarm will blend with the one that goes off when we snatch the panel. All we have to do is get it down from the wall and get you out of here.”
We straightened our clothes and stepped from our little hiding place. A man’s genteel voice filtered through the intercom, announcing dinner in the restaurant in the next gallery. “Good timing,” I said, watching people turn away from the mosaic panel and head toward food.
“I’ll start it up when you get the thing from the wall,” Pavel said quietly, positioning himself in front of me as I approached the panel. “Ready?”
Ready to roll, my thoughts whispered. But all my plans had changed in the last ten minutes. I looked around for Asa. Once the chaos began, could I get to him fast enough? If I had the panel, surely I could use it to pull Reza’s attention from him long enough for us to get out, and it was so valuable that it had to be the Strikon’s first priority. I knew Kira was waiting for me near the Central Park exit, but I was planning to leave the panel behind and head out the front, which was closest—with Asa. He might be weak and hurting, but I could get him into a taxi and be speeding away within a minute. After that we could figure it out together. Finally. “Okay.”
Quick as I could, I reached up and grabbed the mosaic panel. It pulled off the wall easily but jerked loose from my grip. “Oh, crap. Pavel, there’s a wire . . .”
Pavel turned around as someone shouted, “The panel!” He cursed and grabbed my hand as if trying to get me to let go of the artifact, and then used his other hand to steady the panel.
He let out a choked gasp, and my head snapped back as an unmistakable rush of magic, deep and rustling like a whisper from the grave, poured into me, filling my mouth with the taste of earth. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe as it filled my chest, but then it streaked into my vault and the door slammed shut. I opened my eyes to see a few people staring at us, and Pavel leaning on the wall. I stared down at the panel, still hanging from its wire. “Pavel, the glamour!” I kicked him gently in the calf to get him moving as guards barreled toward us.
Blinking and clearly still stunned, Pavel reached into his pocket and shoved a pair of wire cutters into my hand. He reached into his pocket again and withdrew the lipstick, tearing off the top and holding the small cylinder tightly in his palm. An alarm pierced the hum of conversation. Guards shouted and people screamed as one woman pointed at flames creeping across the ceiling above. The stench of smoke filled the air. The hissing of the gas began, and people stampeded, half rushing toward the restaurant and half back toward the Great Hall and the main exit. I clipped the wire and dropped the cutters. Another alarm screamed, but no one seemed to notice as smoke and billowing gas from the waterless fire-suppression system filled the air. I hefted the small but surprisingly heavy panel with both hands and tucked it under my arm. I left Pavel holding the lipstick and bolted for the Great Hall.
No one around me seemed the slightest bit aware or concerned that I was in the process of stealing a priceless artifact. In fact, I had trouble holding on to it as I was jostled by fellow gala attendees frantic for air. I began to cough from the smoke even though I knew it wasn’t real. Arkady’s magic was good.
As I reached the threshold of the Great Hall, I spotted Reza, Asa, and the auburn-haired lady I now recognized as Lila, a reliquary under the employ of Frank Brindle. While Asa stood impassive, Lila was gesturing toward the exit, and Reza was co
vering his mouth and nose with his suit jacket and scanning the room. I made for them, planning to hand over the panel and run with Asa. I was so close.
Until more than a dozen armed men poured through the main entrance, wearing black bandanas over their faces. They started shooting before they had even reached the Great Hall. The screams and wails redoubled in a deafening symphony of terror. I pitched forward as someone collided with my back, and the panel clattered to the floor next to me. A bullet hit the column behind me, raining stone dust on my head.
“Everybody down,” shouted one of the men, but people were running and shrieking. As I got to my feet, I realized Asa, Reza, and Lila were gone.
Time for me to go, too. I grabbed the panel and, bent nearly double, ran toward the Medieval Art gallery. Sure a bullet would hit me in the back at any moment, my feet protesting every step, I sprinted past statues of saints and apostles and said a little prayer as I did. Almost everyone else must have been trying to flee out the front or through the Roman gallery, because this part of the museum had already cleared out. I reached a side gallery and turned for the final stretch before the exit where Kira was supposed to be waiting. But just as I turned a corner, an arm locked around my waist and swung me against the wall.
The moment I felt his body against mine, my brain exploded with frantic joy. “Asa!”
He reached down and ripped the panel from my grasp, then whirled for the exit. Stunned, I threw myself after him, wrapping my arms around his waist and wrenching him back. “Snap out of it,” I cried. “Asa, it’s me!”
He staggered as my weight stopped his forward momentum, and I reached up and touched his face, trying to turn his body toward mine. He froze for a split second as my fingers slid across his cheek. Then he tucked the panel under his arm and shoved me back, pressing a hand to my chest, right over my heart. I put my hand over his and held it there. “It’s me. Let’s get out of here right now. Together.”
I looked at his face, taking in the dark circles under his eyes. He was breathing hard, the hair at his temples damp with sweat, his head tilted as if he couldn’t quite place me, his eyes focused on my mouth. And then his lips were pressed to mine. I met his kiss with ferocity, relishing the slow, sensuous probe of his tongue, like he was savoring my taste. Finally, he pulled back. “Let’s go.” He took my hand and pulled me along, back toward the Great Hall.