Okay, Vic, I told myself. Walk in there like you own the place, and you can wrap anyone you want around your finger. Everything is in your hands, from start to finish. You’re the star of the show, right? Just how you like it.
So why didn’t it feel that way?
The appearance of a dark figure in the corner of the mirror interrupted my reverie, and I turned to face the Ghost, who was standing in the doorway. I walked over to him, plucking a rose from a vase on the shelf and trying to erase the shadow from my expression.
“If you have finished donning your armor, Athena,” he said as I pinned the rose to his lapel to make us match, “the battle awaits.”
I sighed and tried valiantly to smile.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
§
They parted to let us through. A hush rippled through the mass of rowdy guests, before the noise surged back up to an even louder roar of excitement. Some of them unabashedly stared; others started talking to each other animatedly, and it was plain that most of the discussion was about us. A couple of men dropped wine glasses; a couple of women turned and dragged their companions from the room.
“Think I overdid it?” I whispered to the Ghost.
“Never,” he whispered back. “But it does seem that perhaps you are as much Aphrodite as Athena.”
I stifled a giggle and squeezed his hand as we continued to slip through the crowd. In any case, the space created by all the attention made navigating the landscape an easier task than last time, and it was only a few minutes before we reached the large room containing all the celebrities. The stage was set a little differently this time: a little jazz ensemble was playing “I’m a Jazz Vampire” in the corner that had previously held the champagne fountain, and most everyone was dancing. As planned, the Ghost and I had arrived a little later than before, and the cast had all arrived already—Cointreau and della Rossa, Arnaud and Lumière, and the Montpelliers were all on the floor. A quick survey of the room also revealed Harrington and Emerson watching from the corner. Jackson was of course absent, likely on his ten o’clock cellar run. Everything was in place.
The ornate antique clock on the wall told me we still had over fifteen minutes until showtime, and so silently thanking the twins for their lessons, I turned to the Ghost. He stepped back adroitly and extended his hand with a flourish.
“Care to dance?” he asked.
§
“Do you really think this is going to work?”
“I do,” the Ghost answered patiently for probably the twentieth time.
Curled up in the corner of the basement with a cup of coffee, I was watching him throw shuriken at a target. He’d started out with one at a time, stepped it up to five, started alternating hands, and then blindfolded himself. Neither the increasing difficulty nor my incessant distractions seemed to impact his flawless aim in the slightest. Impressed but preoccupied, I continued to assail him with my onslaught of worries.
“But what if it doesn’t? What if I can’t get his attention right when I need to? Or what if he doesn’t even show up this time?”
“Then you will find another to be your hand,” he relied calmly over the whistles and thumps of metal slicing air and oak.
“Well, okay,” I conceded. “But that Bobby Emerson seems pretty sharp. What if he’s there and he figures it out? What do we do then?”
At last he stopped, pulled the blindfold off, and turned around.
“You are afraid because you believe you are powerless.”
I blinked. His words had aimed and struck right at the heart of the problem, just like his knives, and I paused, thinking about it.
“Come,” he said, motioning for me to join him.
Confused but curious, I walked over to where he was standing in the middle of a chalk circle on the floor. He handed me a shuriken, arranging my fingers so I was holding it correctly and then he gestured towards the target.
“Throw it,” he said.
“But…” I glanced at him hesitantly. “I have no idea how to do this. I could hit anything. I could cut your eye out or something.”
He laughed silently at that. Then moving me gently so that I was standing perpendicular to the target and in front of him, he reached his arm around me and placed his hand on top of mine. Slowly at first, he guided my arm through the throwing motion, indicating when I should release the knife. After a few times, it felt natural enough, and I was ready to try.
But then I remembered something. I turned to face him, still encircled by his arm.
“Wait,” I told him. “I hate to say this, but didn’t he—I mean, aren’t you…not supposed to teach me this stuff?”
To my surprise, he just shrugged, still holding onto me.
“He is my captain and I honor that. But I am no one’s servant. I do as I wish.”
I looked at him for a long moment. No one’s servant, he’d said. And me? Did I always do what I was told? Was I just a card in someone else’s deck—or could I be the dealer instead?
Abruptly, I broke free, turned back around, and fiercely hurled the knife. It hit the target dead center, shuddering as it sank its sharp teeth into the thick wood.
The Ghost smiled at me.
“You see?” he said. “You have any power you choose to use.”
I just smiled back and held out my hand for another knife.
§
The agility and grace that made the Ghost so deadly also made him a fantastic dancer. He lifted me, swung me, twirled me, and sometimes almost threw me, and I matched his pace. We whirled around the floor with our feet barely touching the ground, practically breathing in time. If I’d still been worried about not getting enough attention, my concerns would have been put to rest; what I probably should have worried about was forgetting entirely what we were supposed to be doing there. Luckily, my talented partner brought me back down to earth. After a few minutes, he spun me in and whispered in my ear.
“It’s done,” he whispered and spun me out again.
I raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief; I’d been right there the whole time, and I hadn’t noticed him doing anything. He grinned a confirmation and I was impressed. A quick look at the clock told me that his timing was perfect—the Gang would be here in three minutes, and they’d need this mess to be well under way by then.
As if on cue, I heard a gasp and a most un-ladylike exclamation in Italian. Maneuvering us around so we could see through the dancers, I saw della Rossa dragging Cointreau off the floor. She motioned angrily to a servant, who shot out of the room, and then turned in a furor back to Cointreau. I strained to make out their voices under the music and the cascade of voices.
“It’s gone!” della Rossa said, holding up her left hand. Cointreau frowned, examining her now-unadorned ring finger.
“When did you lose it?” he asked her, clearly baffled.
“I didn’t lose it!” she fumed. “It just disappeared!”
I bit back a satisfied grin.
Right about then, the song ended, and the Ghost whispered in my ear again as he dipped me.
“I will leave you now, my Ariel,” he said. “Your tempest has already begun.”
§
“So, how are you planning to get in?”
“Through the door, kid,” Shifty said, walking a little faster down the alley so I had to scramble to keep pace with him.
“Come on, you’ve got to tell me,” I said.
“Does it matter how? You’re gonna bat your eyelashes, and we’ll go in as whoever we are, and that’s that, right?”
“Not this time,” I insisted. “This fella’s unshakeable. It’s going to take more work than that.”
Shifty gave a long-suffering sigh.
“Fine,” he relented. “We’re gonna be plumbers on an emergency call.”
“So Jackson and the guards will just let you in?”
“Pretty much,” Shifty said. “There’ll be something about how we’ve never been there before because we’re the backup crew, and the
re’s something wrong with the pipes, and all that baloney.”
I thought about it for a minute as we turned the corner, approaching a warehouse full of workers in grey jumpsuits, busy assembling some kind of machinery.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Jackson’s pretty sharp. Do you really think he’ll buy it?”
Shifty smirked at me.
“Everyone buys it. Just watch.”
Unconvinced, I crossed my arms and waited in the doorway while he walked right into the center of the room. When he got there, he stepped up onto a soap box and clapped twice. All the men stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him.
“Listen up,” he shouted in crisp French. “Message from the management. You’re all done for the day.”
Confused, but seeming to take him seriously, they all looked at each other and back at him. Finally, one spoke up.
“But…why?” he asked timidly.
Shifty turned to flatten him with the withering contempt that came so naturally to him.
“Why?” he repeated incredulously. “Because your boss says so. Since when isn’t that enough to take the rest of the day off?”
The fella stared at him again for a second and then shrugged.
“Okay,” he said. And to my amazement, they all put down their gear and started heading out.
Shaking my head, I sneaked around the departing workers and over to Shifty, who was already walking around the room, picking up enough discarded jumpsuits to outfit the rest of the Gang. That was what he’d been was after, I realized. Not bad.
“I see your point,” I admitted. “But Jackson’s no warehouse drone. What if he wants to check up on you?”
“Well, that’s not part of the plan,” he said, reaching out and pinching my cheek affectionately. “So I guess it’s up to you, kid.”
§
Jackson burst through the door and, as planned, he barreled his way straight over to Cointreau and della Rossa. Suddenly becoming vulnerable instead of furious, Tia latched onto his arm and released a flood of distress. She had no idea how this could have happened. One second the ring was there and the next it was gone. She knew she hadn’t just lost it, so there’s no question it was stolen. Please, please, couldn’t he do something about it?
And he would have, but just then, one of the guards from outside came in to tell him about a situation going on outside the back door. It seemed there was some trouble with the pipes, and an emergency crew of plumbers had showed up to take care of it. Of course, they didn’t want to let them into the cellar without asking him. Leaving a fretting della Rossa with her helpless fiancé, he went to go check it out.
I tried not to look like I was listening, focusing on looking conspicuously alone on the dance floor. But I couldn’t help overhearing—and maybe stealing a glance or two.
“So, I understand there’s a problem,” Jackson said, getting straight to the point. “But why do you need five people? And what’s all that stuff for?” He gestured to something obscured by the door.
“Well,” Shifty responded, and then he let out a string of gibberish that sounded remarkably believable. That must have been the “all that baloney” part. But as I’d predicted, Jackson was skeptical.
“I dunno,” he said. “I’d like to oversee your work—”
But everyone has a weakness; that’s when he missed a step. He paused, and looked at della Rossa, who was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief and looking at him pleadingly. His iron resolve bent just enough, and he made his choice.
“But I can’t do that right now. So go ahead, but make it quick.”
He looked as if he was considering sending the guards with them, then appeared to realize they had to stay at the door. So, defeated but too preoccupied to care much, he let my burglars go and went back to della Rossa.
I permitted myself one little moment of satisfaction before readying myself for the next strike. However, at that moment, I felt a hand on the small of my back. Reflexively, I turned to the man standing at my side—and I was please to discover that the mark had come to me.
“I couldn’t resist, Mademoiselle,” oozed Pierre Arnaud. “Such a lovely flower simply must be picked.”
I looked at him from under my eyelashes and stepped forward, letting him entwine me in his arms.
“Well, you can pick me any time,” I told him, as the next song began.
§
“You’re absolutely sure you need fifteen minutes?” I demanded.
A heckled Screwdriver nodded as he scraped the plastic covering off of two wires and twisted their ends together.
“Mm-hmm,” he confirmed. “Like I said, that kind of safe’s uncrackable.”
“How uncrackable?” I asked dubiously. “We’ve opened some tough ones before.”
“I mean, maybe you could do it, assuming you’re not too rusty by now.” He dipped the wires in some caustic-smelling substance. “But without your pretty little ears”—he reached out and tugged one of them, getting the stuff all over it—“it’s gonna have to be blown.”
I grabbed his arm, using his sleeve to wipe off my ear.
“But if you have to blow it, why will it take forever?”
“Because it takes a while to set it up so that it’ll sound like this”—he tapped the floor with a soft thump—“instead of this.” I flinched as he picked up and threw a little bag of gunpowder to the floor, creating a loud bang.
“Ah.” I thought about it, sifting bits of gunpowder through my fingers as he went back to attaching the wires to a metal box. “Is it worth it?”
He grinned.
“You tell me, honey. Would you rather figure out how to cover a big explosion, or buy me a couple of extra minutes?”
I made a face and stood up.
“Okay, you win. Good luck with your bomb-making.” I started to walk away, but I couldn’t help myself; I had to stop. “Hey,” I called over my shoulder. He looked up.
“What is it?”
“I’ve been wondering for the longest time,” I said with a sharp grin. “When do I get my crocheting lessons?”
He blushed and started furiously hammering something.
“All right, you little rascal,” he grumbled. “Get outta here.”
§
Fifteen minutes in, and I was wondering if maybe I should have just found a way to cover a loud noise. Dancing with Arnaud for twenty-five minutes just to gain them five was becoming excruciating; I couldn’t help thinking it would’ve been easier to just knock over something heavy to cover a blast. Next time, I thought, I would crack the safe, and he could endure the slimy rich fella with an inflated sense of his own wit and a bad case of wandering hands. But for now, I had to play my part.
“I’ve always found that American girls are the most beautiful,” he was saying as we danced, “including you of course, chérie.”
I smiled, struggling to look at him as if he owned the moon, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. Luckily, he had plenty to add to that.
“I would guess you are from…South Carolina?”
I nearly choked on my laughter, but he looked so thrilled with himself.
“How did you guess?” I lied, trying to sift all the mockery out of my voice—as if he would notice anyway.
“I knew it from your accent,” declared Arnaud, pulling me in uncomfortably close. “I have spent some time there myself. I happen to own a summer home on the beach, in fact.”
Don’t roll your eyes, Vic, I told myself. Just say the lines.
“You do?” I asked, trying to look impressed. “Do you own a lot of houses?”
“But of course,” he answered, and began to go on and on about all the places he had, this or that “villa” or “flat.” Spinning away to avoid listening, I didn’t think I could take much more of this. At least Cointreau was a nice fella. Why the hell would Simone pick this slimeball over him?
And then, as I spun back in, I saw out of the corner of my eye that maybe she hadn’t. On the other side
of the room, the next piece of the plan had fallen into place. With della Rossa following Jackson around, and me occupying Arnaud, the ex-lovers had been left alone. As I’d hoped, they had eventually found each other in the crowd. They looked much happier dancing together.
Perfect. That little victory could get me through the next ten minutes—I just had to keep Arnaud from noticing until then. Continuing to fawn over his nonsense like an awed schoolgirl, I really hoped it was worth it. Whatever was down there had better be good.
§
“I just don’t see why it’s going to take fifteen minutes to get out once he gets the safe open.”
“Because there’s a lot of stuff in there,” Big Six told me, shining a flashlight around the warehouse. After a minute, he stopped on a corner full of big wooden crates. He and the Torpedo walked over and started picking them up in stacks.
“Okay,” I said. “But if we’re really going to be pressed for time, why can’t we just take whatever it is we need?”
“Too obvious,” the Torpedo answered.
He hefted his stack, apparently decided it was too heavy, and wandered over to find a set of dollies on an enormous shelf in another corner with Big Six in tow. I followed them across the room again.
“So what?” I persisted. “What’s so important that’s in there that no one can know we were looking for it?”
As they so often did, they looked at each other, and then back at me.
“Actually, we have no idea,” Big Six said.
And then, before I could say anything, he reached out, picked me up, and dumped me into the cart. Taking it down off the shelf over my protests, he put it on the floor and started racing me around the warehouse. I shrieked, covering my eyes when we almost ran into boxes and appliances and walls. Eventually, he stopped and hoisted me out of the cart, and he and the Torpedo started loading it down with crates. When I finally stopped laughing, I got unsteadily to my feet.
Canon in Crimson (Symphony in Red Book 1) Page 17