by Sarah Fine
Jack gave me a long, questioning look. “And then what? Keenan’s not going to give you another chance. You go back on your word this time, and he’s never going to let up on you. Might as well kiss the daylight good-bye.”
“Awesome. Because more threats are all I needed today.”
He put his hands up. “Good news is, there’s really no better friend to have. Trust me—you want Keenan on your side. Once he decides you’re on board, he’ll stick by you. And no one’s better than him at pulling people out of jams.”
That friendship would come at the expense of betraying Asa’s father, who, despite his insanity, was willing to risk his most valuable possessions to save the son he hadn’t even known about before a week ago. “I wish things were simpler.”
“Boring.”
I let out a begrudging chuckle. “So, again I ask—which Jack are you? Winchester or Okafor?”
He leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees. “I’m whichever one you need. If we do this under controlled circumstances at the Headsmen’s safe house, I’m Okafor, and it’s all clean and neat. If things stay messy, then Winchester’s got it covered. Volodya’s already booked me.”
“And if things go to hell?”
“Brindle’s got my number.”
“Yeah, and so does Asa.” I shook my head. “You can’t go anywhere near that, Jack. It’s way too dangerous.”
“You worried about me?”
“Yes!” I had already been partly responsible for his grandfather’s death. There was no way I could have his on my conscience, too. “Besides, if it gets that far, I don’t want you there. I have to stop Brindle from getting to the magic inside me.” I reached out and patted his hand. “And I don’t really want to arm-wrestle you for it.”
His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. “Nah, I don’t really want that, either. But I don’t like the idea of you in the lion’s den all alone. So maybe Okafor’s your man in that case. Because Keenan and I will find a way to shut that shit down.”
“I’m counting on it, for my sake and for Asa’s. You’ll be able to track me if you need to.”
“Not sure we actually will need to—Brindle might come to us. We’re raiding his hotel this afternoon while he’s here at the auction, so we’ll have the panel. He needs both.”
I let my head hang back. “God. There are so many moving parts to this. Volodya’s people are trying to steal the panel this afternoon, too.”
“I know. I talked to Ilya. We’ll be in and out before they realize someone else was there. Good thing, too. Brindle’s security is tight, and Ilya’s little team isn’t up for it. They go in there, they’re not coming out.”
I cringed. “But Keenan’s team?”
“They can handle themselves.”
I thought of Reza and Asa and Brindle—they were like an unholy trio. “I hope so.”
Jack stood up. “You don’t worry about that. Just worry about yourself. Asa will make a play for the pages, and either Volodya will take him down or we will. Depends on how quickly you can let us know. Just push that sensor on your cuff—it’s pressure sensitive, and it’ll let us know you need the cavalry. Once you do, we’ll take over and get you out without Volodya knowing you had anything to do with it.”
I looked over at the cuff, which I’d set on the shelf next to the vial of Theresa’s magic. I was so relieved I hadn’t set everything in motion the night before—it would have been yet another thing unraveled by Asa’s trickery. “Okay.”
Jack gave me a warning look. “We’re the ones to get Asa up and running again. Remember that. It’s nothing Keenan hasn’t done before. You’re gonna want professional help for him once we get him free. It’s clear he’s pretty far gone. You want to give him every chance you can of recovering.”
I turned to the window. He was right—I wanted to give Asa every chance. But what would Keenan want in return, and would Asa really want that kind of help? I couldn’t help but wonder if what was really on offer was just another cage. “It won’t matter if we don’t get him away from Brindle,” I murmured.
“That’s for damn sure. And I’ll do everything I can to help, Mattie. I’m on your side in this.”
I looked over my shoulder at him. “Really?”
He nodded, and in his broad, handsome face, all I saw was honesty.
“I’m glad, Jack.” I took a steadying breath as I faced him once again. “Because I need to ask for a favor.”
Having never been to an auction, I had no idea an event that included so many people could be so quiet—or so tense. Volodya’s staff had cleaned up the ballroom, sweeping up the glass, replacing the shattered and overturned display case, rearranging everything so that now there were rows of chairs arrayed around the auction items at the front. Some, the most valuable, had been placed in the vault, to be brought out only at their special moment, but others were on display.
Those were auctioned off first. The auctioneer appeared to be British, or his accent was, at least. He stood at a podium on the dais, the bald spot on top of his head shining under the bright lights above. All the bosses and their tiny entourages were positioned throughout the room—Botwright near the front on the right, and Garza, now without her magic sensor, near the center of the room on the left. All the other bosses filled in the gaps—they’d come from at least a dozen countries, from six different continents. Volodya was not present. Theresa said he was nearby but could not stand to witness the dismantling of his collection.
Theresa warned me through the earpiece that Brindle’s crew had arrived. In a strained voice, she told me how Asa was glaring at the locked surveillance room as he entered. Once again, he had nothing in the few pockets he actually had in his suit. Today, his black collar was on display—it took the place of his tie, only just inside his shirt instead of over it. It was almost as if Frank wanted everyone to see it.
When the deadly trio entered the room, they had everyone’s attention. Daniil glared at them from his position next to the auctioneer, and Zoya watched them anxiously from her spot on my left. Sambor hovered near the entrance to the room, and Masha was standing at the door that led to the vault. Olga was nowhere in sight, but I knew that she’d been at work all night. The “escape” route was the same as it had been the day before, even though everyone who had been present now knew it was a glamour. I guessed we wanted people to think that nothing at all had been changed or modified. I could only hope that wasn’t true.
The first item was the set of broken pottery shards I’d been staring at the day before, with the now-familiar runes etched all over each surface. Initially, things moved quickly, with the auctioneer calling out each new bid and the price sliding higher with staggering speed. But each time, there would be a point when things slowed down and the hard decisions got made—how badly did the bidder want it?
Judging from the nervous glances in the room, there was more at stake than money. I wondered if each item collected was a potential liability, in that the winner might have acquired something that someone else . . . like Asa . . . would want to steal.
“Stop looking back at him, Mattie,” came Theresa’s voice in my ear. “You look weak.”
I stared stonily at the front of the room. Theresa’s voice was hoarse. I was betting there were some tears shed the previous night, and I wondered whether she had been alone or had escaped her sorrows in Volodya’s arms. Had she wept because of Asa’s obvious rage—or Volodya’s love, which sounded as painful as his hatred, if not more so? I couldn’t help my fascination with Theresa and Volodya. I couldn’t help hoping observing them would teach me something about the son they created.
“He just looked at you for the first time,” Theresa said. “Just stay aware, all right? No! Don’t look back there!”
I jerked my head around again, and my cheeks burned as I heard Asa’s quiet chuckle from behind me. With the back of my neck pricking with sweat, I sat through the bidding for dozens of items, which increased in size and value as an hour went by. H
opefully, across town, Keenan’s Headsmen had already nabbed the mosaic panel from Brindle’s suite at the National—and hopefully Ilya’s crew would survive their too-late attempt to do the same.
Meanwhile, the auction dragged on. How something could be simultaneously so boring and so nerve-racking still astounds me. The longer I sat there, the more fidgety I was. But with each minute came the knowledge that we were closer to the moment when Asa would make his move, when he would go for the pages or for me, when Reza would unleash his painful magic—which Masha and Sambor would counteract as best they could—or when Frank would unleash pleasure to sedate us all, something Daniil would be responsible for fighting.
I glanced over at Zoya, hoping she had some insight. She only shrugged helplessly. Whatever Brindle’s intentions, whatever Asa was planning, they were concealing it well.
Or maybe she was getting overwhelmed, because all the people in the room had their own games to play, their own hidden agendas. Donati, the boss from New York, bid aggressively on several of the smaller items but went silent as the bids rose. Garza had a habit of opening the bidding but then losing her nerve, and other bosses outbid her every single time. She’d always exit the bidding with a dramatic roll of her eyes and wave of her hand, as if the item hadn’t been something she wanted after all. Botwright bid on only a few items, and it probably wasn’t a coincidence that Frank Brindle tended to want those artifacts, too.
He outbid her in every case, with a smug smile on his pitted face. Botwright aimed a venomous glare in his direction every single time, while Myron and his blond counterpart sat on either side of her, looking uncomfortable as they eyed Reza and Asa.
And then, finally, we reached the final item. An image appeared on the screen behind the auctioneer, a worn page of the runic writing. “Here we have a selection of pages believed to be from the original Essentialis Magia,” intoned the auctioneer, “inscribed in the years following the execution of Akakios, in a language now extinct. There are approximately three dozen of these pages, believed to be consecutive. They were discovered initially in an excavated cave system outside of Rome and for many years were kept in a vault at the Vatican. However, within the last ten years, these pages have been in this private collection. The cases are specially sealed to preserve the vellum pages within, which must be protected from exposure to oxygen. These samples are considered to be in excellent condition, considering they are estimated to be over two thousand years old.” The auctioneer smiled. “The reserve on this lot, which is being offered as one collection, is fifty. Shall we open the bidding?”
Fifty million, he meant. It was the highest price by far, but all of a sudden the room came alive. The auctioneer smiled and pointed, and I whipped around to see Reza holding up his bid paddle.
“Ah, we have fifty—oh, fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-five!” The auctioneer’s voice rose as Botwright lifted her paddle and increased the bid to fifty-five. Then he waved at the back of the room again, toward Brindle, who merely flicked his fingers at Reza. “Fifty-five going once, and fifty-six, fifty-seven!” The auctioneer smiled at Tang, the boss from China, Volodya’s rival for control of the East. Then his head swiveled. “And sixty!”
Again, it was Botwright who had raised the bid. Flanked by her two agents, she looked like a sparrow sitting between eagles, but her hand was steady as she bobbed her paddle up and down, keeping up with the bidding. As she did, I glanced around at others in the room. Frank Brindle, Tang, and Botwright appeared to be the only ones in contention as the price soared over eighty million. Brindle’s smug look had gone serious, but he was still poking at Reza to get him to raise the paddle every few seconds. Garza, whose magic sensor had ostensibly made a play for the pages the night before, had not made a single bid for the collection, but she appeared to be watching the process with avid attention.
Asa, on the other hand, seemed detached. Despite Theresa’s admonishments, I used every Frank Brindle bid as an opportunity to peek at him, to see if he was about to make his move. But he was staring at the back of the seat in front of him. And instead of his usual hypervigilant fidgeting, he looked utterly bored. I frowned. He was running out of time to get this heist under way.
Finally, bidding slowed as each rise in price came with more contemplation. We were approaching a hundred million—at this point, about three million dollars a page. For something no one actually knew how to translate yet. To me, it seemed like a massive gamble, but here were the bosses, locked in a three-way war to claim the prize.
The auctioneer inclined his head toward Brindle. “And now we have one hundred million dollars, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, grinning. “One hundred million.” There was silence in the room, and the auctioneer looked at Tang, who shook his head, scowling. “No? Going once. Going twice . . .”
Brindle and Reza grinned triumphantly. They’d outbid Botwright yet again. Beside them Asa had his elbows on his knees, and his head was hanging. My palms were clammy with frustration.
“He looks like he’s asleep,” Theresa said. “He’s faking.”
That had to be it. I stared at Asa with new focus. What had he planned? How would he strike?
The auctioneer picked up his wooden gavel. As he raised it, I watched in disbelief. Did Frank think he was going to get to walk out of here with those pages, fair and square? Were we going to let him?
“Aha!” shouted the auctioneer. “One hundred one!” He pointed his gavel at Botwright, then swung it toward Frank. “One hundred one going once—do I see one hundred two? Yes, one hundred two, one hundred three, one hundred f— One hundred ten!” He sounded rapturous as Botwright signaled her new high bid with ten fingers. “Now we have one hundred ten, ladies and gentlemen, one hundred ten for this collection of pages! Shall I sell it, then? Hmm?” He leaned forward, staring at the back of the room.
I turned in my seat. We were all staring at Frank Brindle. He looked grim as he eyed Botwright. “You don’t have the capital for this,” he said.
Elizabeth Botwright turned, one eyebrow arched. “My finances have been vetted, my friend. But I think everyone will agree that this is a most indecorous time to discuss it.” She tossed an amused glance at Garza, who smiled.
In my ear, I heard Theresa make a bemused noise. “I’ll bet you everything I own that Garza threw all her capital behind Botwright. They made an alliance to keep Frank from getting what he wanted.”
And I was betting that Botwright hadn’t really wanted any of the earlier items she’d bidden for—she’d let Frank win every time, using up his cash. “Botwright’s kind of a badass,” I whispered, forgetting Theresa couldn’t hear me. “She totally set a trap for him.”
“One hundred ten million, ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer yelled. “Going once . . . going twice . . .” Brindle sat back with a deep huff. And then he shook his head.
The gavel slammed onto the podium. “Sold!”
Whereas there was usually clapping at this point, everyone in the room was silent. We were probably all thinking the same thing—everything was about to explode. Reza patted Asa on the back, and he sat up with a jerk, like he really had nodded off. The trio stood up. Several guests did the same, stretching stiff muscles, and waiters filed in with more champagne for the after-auction reception. All of them were armed, of course.
“Get ready, Mattie,” Theresa said. “Now’s the time.”
I got to my feet and edged over to the wall as I watched Frank, Reza, and Asa move into the aisle between the chairs. Daniil and Zoya inched closer to me while Sambor and Masha waited by the door, their focus on Reza. I kept my eyes on Asa’s hands, my heart pounding.
Brindle looked around, taking in the tense Russian agents in a single amused glance. Then he clapped his two men on the shoulders. “I’m ready for some dinner,” he said to Asa.
“Yes, sir,” Asa said in a dead voice.
Maybe that was the signal. I tensed, waiting for the lights to go off or my body to flare with pain. My fingers flexed over my skirt and
the vial of Theresa’s sensing magic I had hidden in my stocking—covered in Jack’s sweat, to prevent anyone from knowing I had it. If I nailed Asa with this stuff, he was going down.
I edged along the wall, ready to deploy my secret weapon—and then to summon the Headsmen. Just before the three men reached the doorway to the lobby, Reza turned his head, and our eyes met. I braced for agony. But instead, he merely smiled and shrugged, then followed his boss, who was moving toward the door. Asa didn’t even look in my direction as he trudged behind Brindle.
And then they were outside, walking toward the street.
I blinked. Zoya shook her head, as if telling me she sensed nothing. Theresa cursed in my ear. “They’ve already got their car waiting,” she said. “Shit! They’re gone.”
Brindle had lost the auction. Lost the pages he supposedly cared so much about. And he’d left them—and me—behind. “I don’t get it,” I whispered to Daniil. “Why probe the security if they weren’t going to steal the pages? Why go to all that trouble?”
“To make us look like fools,” Daniil muttered. He cursed. “I will go tell the Volodya.”
“Will he really let Botwright walk out of here with the pages? Will we?”
Daniil was looking very pale. “I don’t know how we’ll stop her now. We didn’t expect it to go this far.” He ran a hand through his hair. “This is going to lead Volodya to a very dark place.” He gave Zoya an anxious glance.
“He’s right, and he and his sister are probably planning to defect to another boss as soon as they can, just to save themselves,” said Theresa, whispering now. “I need to slip out as soon as I can before he tracks me down, too. I just can’t believe . . .”
I couldn’t, either. All of this—the whole elaborate scheme, the cost, the planning—and they hadn’t taken the bait. After that spectacular reveal of Volodya’s security, after Asa’s promise to come after me . . . they were headed back to their hotel. I looked down at the silver cuff around my wrist, meant to protect me from Knedas magic, but also the key to calling the Headsmen when I needed them.