Night Latch

by Anela Deen

  “Clever that way, are you?

  “Sometimes.”

  Foster tilted his head slightly, his mouth quirked in false amusement. “Let’s say it is here. How does that change anything?”

  “Because if it’s here, I’ll open it.”

  “With the key.”

  “Yes, so to speak.”

  “So to speak,” he repeated softly. “I’ll put this plainly since you appear to enjoy talking in circles. Give me the key or my guys will put three bullets into your friend.”

  “It’s me,” I answered immediately. “I’m the key.”

  Foster regarded me in silence, eyes shining with intentions I couldn’t read. Silence was bad. I didn’t need any guesses to know that for a certainty. I hurried to fill the quiet with more explanation.

  “The stone Nick’s brother sent him is long gone, you know that. I’m betting the only reason you let me walk in here alive is not because you think I have another magical rock, but because you’re desperate for a solution.” He kept looking at me, gaze steady, expression unchanged. “And you’re curious.”

  “I think,” he said, “you should be glad you can’t hear my thoughts right now.”

  There’s a comment to turn my blood to ice. I shoved my hands into my pockets to hide their shaking. Time to fake some confidence.

  “You asked me to put it plain, so here it is: Show me the box and I’ll open it for you.”

  “Because you’re a locksmith?”

  “Because I’m the key.”

  “What an odd thing to say.” Then he smirked, eyes flicking to one of his men standing nearby. Tattoo-Guy. “What do you suppose? Is he full of it?”

  “He’s full of a smart mouth,” the other man rumbled. “I’d enjoy breaking it.”

  “You typically do,” Foster replied easily. “All right then, we’ll agree that I’m curious.”

  He motioned to the redhead who came forward with a non-descript, black briefcase. The latches clacked loudly in the hollow shell of the paper mill as he opened it and beckoned me forward. I glanced down at Nick, reluctant to step away from his side. He didn’t move or speak, his eyes still closed.

  Steeling myself, I crossed the three strides that separated me from Foster. His brute pivoted the open briefcase so it faced me.

  “Now then,” Foster said, a feral shimmer in his brown eyes. “Show me the impossible and open it. If you can.”

  Nestled in a square cut-out of black foam, sat the box. In person, the pale blue Larimar stone glittered in the white light of the camping lanterns, beautiful as a clear sky in spring. The etchings scratched into each side had the look of an oil stain in contrast, a spilled pollutant the color of mercury. Now that I knew who’d made them, they reminded me of the scrawled spray painted on the mausoleum wall the night I’d met Moreau. However ancient he was, he’d clearly never acquired decent handwriting skills.

  “Well, Sam?” Foster prompted. “Will you give it a try or are you ready to give up this bluff you concocted?”

  His voice held enough derision that it felt immensely satisfying to reach in and watch the stupefied expression wash over his face as I flipped open the lid.

  His lips moved, his voice a mere breath. “Impossible.”

  “Not when you’re the key.”

  His eyes narrowed a millimeter. He glanced between me and the box. “This is a trick.”

  “Did that look like sleight of hand to you?”

  “Then how?”

  “You watched me do it.”

  “I have watched many attempts to open this box, both human and machine. Only the key can open it.”

  “Not every key looks the same,” I said, and just as easily, tapped the lid closed again.

  Faster than I could dodge, Foster planted a hand on my chest and bulldozed me backward. I stumbled, tried to catch myself, and landed hard on my tailbone. Gun in hand, he loomed over me, the calm menace in his eyes somehow more terrifying than if he stood there raging.

  “It’s a mistake to trifle with me, Sam,” he said with unnerving gentleness. “Tell me what you really did.”

  Did I dare tell him the truth? He looked seconds away from killing me. Something told me he wasn’t accustomed to things going against his expectations.

  “I can open anything,” I said. “Any lock, including the kind bound up with incantations.”

  He said nothing for a moment, then turned back to the briefcase and tried to lift the lid himself. It didn’t budge. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

  “Get up.”

  “You want me to open it again?”

  He answered with a warning look.

  “I can do that,” I said. “But I should tell you, before you take it back to your client, that it doesn’t work.”

  Threat replaced the warning behind his expression. “What doesn’t work, Sam?”

  “It can’t force anyone to obey the commands of the person holding it. It doesn’t have the power to compel people.” I slowly got to my feet. “The box is a hoax.”

  Foster smiled a second before he grasped me by the collar and reeled me in close. I tried to push away but he held me with brute strength I would not have expected from such a narrow-shouldered guy.

  “That is not a lie you want me to believe, Sam.” He put his face close to mine. “I tend to visit my disappointment on others, and if what you say is true, I’d be very disappointed.”

  “They say therapy can help with that sort of thing.” The muzzle of his gun jabbed me painfully in the ribs. “I can’t make it do the things claimed about it. The power to control minds doesn’t exist.”

  Foster absorbed that. “But the power to control locks does. A power you possess.”

  Danger there. “You should worry less about that and more about getting out of town before the police get here.”

  His brows lowered an inch and he glanced at his henchmen somewhere out of my line of sight.

  “He didn’t have a phone on him or in his truck, boss. I made sure.”

  “That’s because someone else has it,” I said. “She called the police as soon as I arrived.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Maggie appeared beside me. “I’ve been trying but I can’t get a signal.”

  “There’s no one with you,” Tattoo-Guy, sneered while my pulse did cartwheels. “We were watching the road. You drove alone and arrived alone.”

  “All without my phone,” I pointed out, though my voice didn’t sound quite right anymore. “I left it with a friend. She made the call for me.”

  Except she didn’t. It didn’t make sense. Foster had called me from here so he obviously hadn’t run into signal issues. Granted, access could be spotty in this area, working one minute and then failing the next. Seemed like the kind of rotten luck I’d run into considering the past couple of days.

  “Even if what you say is true” Foster said, “and the authorities are on their way, I wonder why you’re telling me. It would take very little time to end your lives.”

  “Rural Iowa isn’t a landscape known for easy places to hide,” I said, trying to think past the fear stitching up my sides. “If the police arrive and find bodies, they’ll start searching right away. They’ll find you. If we’re alive, they’ll take us to the hospital, ask us questions. They’ll be delayed.”

  Silence again while Foster held my gaze. The smirk that followed wasn’t promising.

  “He’s not buying it. You suck at lying.” Maggie glanced around at the men. “We need to move to Plan B.”

  I groaned inwardly. I hadn’t wanted it to come down Plan B. For one thing, Maggie seemed far too eager for it, and for another, it had the potential to go disastrously wrong. Threatening them with the police was one thing. Who could say how they’d react to this other scheme? I’d only agreed to Maggie’s backup strategy as a concession. Okay, it might have also been the number of times she’d called my idea stupid.

  “No one called the police.” Foster released his grip on my shirt though the gun remained pressed to m
y side. The chair they’d bound Nick to scraped loudly on the cracked cement floor as one of his guys dragged it behind me. It hit the back of my legs hard enough to topple me into it. “We have all the time in the world to get answers out of you.”

  Maggie crouched next to me. “Don’t be so basic. It’s the only option left.”

  “You’ll take things too far.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “We’ll take things as far they need to go,” Foster said, waving off his man who was about to tie me up. “First, let’s discuss this lock opening ability you have.”

  Backed into a corner. She was right. We didn’t have other options.

  “Okay,” I sighed. “Let’s do it.” And pray I wouldn’t regret this.

  Chapter 34

  Maggie grinned and rubbed her hands together. A moment later she disappeared.

  I took a deep breath and plunged into plan B. “What we need to discuss is the danger you’re all in.”

  Foster wagged an admonishing finger at me. “We both know there’s no cavalry coming. Frankly, it’s irritating to see you hold on to such an obvious lie.”

  “I’m not talking about the police. There are worse consequences than arrest for what you’re doing and have done. For you and your client.”

  “My client,” he chuckled. “There is no client, Sam. That is, there’s no client anymore.”

  Tattoo-Guy and the redhead chuckled with him.

  “Is there an inside joke I’m missing?”

  “The man who hired us was one of the archeologists who’d been working with your friend’s brother. That’s who had stolen the box. It’s also how we knew where the key had been sent. It didn’t take long to realize the item he wanted was far more valuable than any fee that idiot could possibly offer. He had no crew, no protection, and he vastly overestimated his own intelligence.” He snorted. “If anyone’s noticed he’s gone missing, we haven’t heard of it.”

  How many lives had this thing cost, all for an ancient scam? The lie had left a tremendous wake behind it.

  “All this risk you’ve taken has been for nothing,” I said. “Don’t you see that? Stop this before it’s too late for you too.”

  “Hey!” The redhead jumped to the side and glared at Tattoo-Guy. “Did you—Did you just pinch me?” He rubbed his backside.

  Tattoo-Guy stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “What?”

  Foster ignored them both. “You’re suggesting I let you go and leave empty-handed?”

  “You’ll leave empty-handed no matter what, but if you spare Nick and I, you might save yourself from judgement.”

  “Do you think a man like me is afraid of prison?”

  I summoned my soberest ghost story expression. “I’m not talking about being locked in a building with fences and bars and yard time. That’s not the prison you need to worry about. I’m talking about a place without windows or doors. An eternity without sky.”

  He gazed back at me. His eyes widened as he caught my meaning.

  “Are you warning me about damnation?” He gave a bark of laughter. “You do surprise me, I’ll give you that. I hadn’t pegged you for the proselytizing type.”

  “I’m not trying to convert you. I’m trying to warn you.”

  He chortled, the sound all insult. “Fellas, I think Sam here is worried for our immortal souls—”

  “Boss, you hear that?” Tattoo-Guy said.

  “Hear what?”

  A weighted silence followed. A car engine revved outside.

  Foster looked toward the door with a frown. “That sounds like one of ours.” He motioned to the redhead. “Go see what our lookout is up to.”

  The man in black boots I’d seen earlier rushed inside before anyone moved, his face sickly pale in the light of the lanterns.

  “Something’s out there,” he said breathlessly, scurrying behind the rest of us to the far wall. He shook all over, chafing his arms. He never took his eyes from the door.

  Tattoo-Guy swore at him. “If something’s out there, what are you doing in here?”

  “It was in my pocket,” his voice trembled. “I felt it. It took the keys. Grabbed my throat.”

  “What did?”

  “I don’t know!”

  Outside, the engine revved again. The lookout clapped his hands over his ears and huddled against the wall. I’d never seen someone frightened enough to wet themselves, but he seemed pretty close. Maggie’s plan to spook them appeared to be working.

  Foster eyed his man, then turned to the redhead. “Go check it out.”

  “You’re dabbling in things you don’t understand,” I told them, hoping to take advantage of their unease. “Leave before it’s too late.”

  Foster’s lip curled. “A few tricks aren’t going to—"

  “Boss,” the redhead stood very still in the doorway, gazing out.

  “What now?”

  “Someone’s started one of the cars. The lights keep blinking on and off, but there’s…there’s no one in it.”

  A hint of nervous doubt touched Foster’s gaze. At last. Maybe this would be over soon.

  Behind us, the lookout screeched. “Something touched me!” He skittered away from the wall.

  “That box is cursed,” I told Foster ominously. “It should never have been taken from its tomb.”

  Maggie reappeared. She danced around the lookout, poking at his sides as he frantically whipped around in a circle.

  “It’s in here! It’s in here!” he cried. Then he pulled out a gun tucked in his waistband.

  Crap.

  Foster yanked us into a crouch immediately.

  “Dustin,” he ordered. “Put that away. Now.”

  His tone brooked no argument but Dustin appeared to be out of his head, carelessly sweeping the aim of his gun from one point to the next. The other two guys approached him with caution, hands held out reassuringly as they tried to talk him down.

  “Just give me the gun,” Tattoo-Guy said, the closet of the pair. “Nothing’s going to hurt you, okay? We’re all here with you.”

  Maggie giggled from behind the terrified man. “Look at his face. I bet I could make him shoot himself in the foot.”

  “Don’t,” I said firmly, feeling Foster’s gaze turn to me. “This isn’t what we talked about.”

  “Yeah it is,” she gestured to Dustin. “We said we’d scare them into leaving and that’s what I’m doing.”

  “You have to stop. It’s going too far.”

  She propped a hand on her hip. “Do you see them leaving? Because I don’t. We’re not done yet.”

  “No more, Maggie.”

  Tattoo-Guy had almost reached Dustin. “Hand me the gun. There’s nothing in here.”

  “There is.” Dustin hadn’t lowered the weapon, his eyes pleading. “I know there is.”

  “Everything’s all right, man. Give it over now.”

  Tattoo-Guy leaned in slowly, put a hand on Dustin’s gun. A moment passed between them. They nodded to each other. Maggie put her hand on top of Dustin’s.

  I shouted, “No!” but it was too late. At her touch, Dustin jumped. The gun went off and Tattoo guy staggered back. He clutched his chest and went down. Another shot erupted from doorway. Dustin’s head snapped back. He crumpled without a sound.

  The redhead dropped his gun like it was on fire. “That wasn’t me,” he gaped at it like it might move on its own. “I swear, it wasn’t me. It just went off.”

  My eyes moved over the bodies in horror. “What have you done?” I whispered, but Maggie had vanished.

  “We’re leaving,” Foster said. The gun left my side and he pulled us up. His legs seemed sturdier than mine, though I could see the whites of his eyes. “Here,” he shoved the box into my hands. “We’ll leave town. Just call this off.”

  I didn’t know if I could, but I wasn’t about to waste this chance. “Then go. Before it’s too late, go.”

  Outside, an engine roared. Tires screeched. The redhead peered through t
he doorway. He bellowed a warning, rushing away as a flash of headlights filled the room. Foster and I scrambled back. The front bumper of an SUV smashed through the side of the building, taking out the doorway and part of the wall. The redhead disappeared beneath its wheels, his scream cut short.

  Wedged halfway through the hole it had made, the car jarred to a halt, rubble tumbling around it while the engine idled unsteadily. The driver’s seat was empty.

  Foster’s weapon pointed my way again. His breath was ragged. “Make this stop.”

  Numb shock held me in place. I could only shake my head. The building groaned. A sheet of dust fluttered down from the rafters. I glanced around at the already dilapidated structure, at the car, at the load bearing wall it had just destroyed. Terrible realization broke over me.

  “We have to get out of here,” I said, but the only entrance was blocked by a homicidal SUV.

  “There’s another door.” Foster turned to jog toward the far end of the building. “This way.”

  “Hang on.” I hurried to Nick’s side. “Time to go, buddy. Come on, wake up.” I shook as hard as I dared but he didn’t stir. His pulse fluttered under my fingers when I pressed them to his neck, his breathing strained. I looked toward Foster. “Help me carry him out.”

  A thunderous crack echoed overhead and a huge chunk of debris crashed to the ground. Foster, who’d paused at my call, turned and sprinted away.

  “Wait,” I hollered after him. He didn’t.

  Chapter 35

  As loud as gun shots, a cascade of snaps filled the shadowed space above. Rusted beams clanged against the cement alongside hunks of plaster and wood, large enough to split a skull on impact. I straddled Nick’s prone form, took hold of his arms and heaved him to a loose sitting position. Panic jetted under my skin. I wasn’t out of shape but I’d never be quick enough to make it all the way to the door on the far side of the building before the place collapsed or something clubbed us from above. I pondered yelling for Foster again, futile as that would prove, but I’d lost sight of him in the gloom.

  “Sam.” Maggie’s sudden appearance at my side made me jump. “What’re you doing? You can’t hang around in here.”

  I bit back the furious tirade that leapt to my mouth as the refrain of creaks and groans grew louder. My gaze turned to the SUV and the slim possibility of escaping.