by Krista Walsh
She paid the driver and followed Gabe into the building.
All the other offices were dark as they climbed the stairs to the third floor. The emergency lights flickered, their light covers full of bugs and dust, dimming the glow. No sounds of other movement drifted over the stairs, and the silence reassured Vera that they were alone.
“At this time on a Saturday morning, all my office mates are likely out on the town, engaged in some sort of criminal activity,” Gabe said with a strained smile. He let them into his office and went directly to the windows to shut the blinds. “No point letting the neighborhood know someone’s home.”
Once all the blinds were closed with the curtains pulled tight over top, Vera switched on the ceiling light. The fan circulated with a dull squeak, and dust whirled in the air around the blades. She set the book down on the blotter and ran her fingers over the cover.
“Now that we’re here, how are you feeling?” Gabe asked. “Well enough to let me know what you’re planning?”
He had been incredibly patient. Not once since they’d left the coffee shop had he pried into Vera’s thoughts, although she sensed his growing curiosity as tingles over her body.
She considered only telling him about the replica, something to demonstrate her trust in him and prove that he had earned her confidence. But then he would want to know what she intended to do after the replica was stolen. She would have to tell him the truth — there was no question about that; she couldn’t lie to him. Then she would be faced with the situation of having him either wish her the best or offer to come with her, and she honestly didn’t know which response she wanted.
In the middle of her internal argument, the power in her mind launched another attack. It pried its fingers into the crack that had formed in her shield thanks to her distraction, and pain shot through her skull, taking her legs out from under her.
At the same time, a pressure from another source tried to drag her consciousness away with a summons, but she cut herself off from the spell. To slip away now would be to lose whatever hold she had on her mind.
Crushed under the dual barrage, she crumpled to the floor, her hands pressed against her head, and Gabe rushed to her side. He wrapped his arms around her and held her until the pain passed.
“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I’m here. You can get your shield back up. You’re strong enough to do this.”
With his words of encouragement in her ear, she wrestled the block back into place and sagged into him, hiding the tears on her cheeks against his shirt.
How can I do this without him?
But look at the damage the distraction of him has already caused.
Both sides continued to war within her as she wiped her face with her sleeve.
“Is it getting closer?” Gabe asked.
“I don’t know. I got distracted by a summons.”
“Another one?”
“They’re happening so often now, it’s hard to keep up.” She rolled her shoulders. “But that attack felt really determined, so I don’t think the ancient power knows where we are. If it did, it wouldn’t bother to try to break through the shield, it’d just have those creepy skeleton guys show up. As long as I can maintain the block, we should be all right. It’s backed off again now.”
As the pressure subsided, it felt as though a weight had been lifted off her brain. Her stomach roiled, but she sucked in a deep breath and waited for it to settle.
Gabe brushed her hair behind her ears and ran his thumbs over her cheekbones, clearing away the tears she’d missed. “The shield is clearly killing you. There has to be another way to keep that power out.”
A wave of relief passed through her that he’d focused on something other than her plan.
“There is,” she said, “I just don’t know what. I’ve always focused on my physical strength. My psychic abilities have been an afterthought. Cheap mind tricks. I never thought to learn proper psychic defenses, and now I’m regretting my lack of foresight.”
“Is there someone we can call who could give you a crash course?” he asked.
Vera thought of Ezel. “I know someone who can help, but it would take too much time right now. As soon as we’re done here, I’ll call her. I promise.” She used his arms to steady herself, then rose to her knees. “Can I use your phone?”
“Of course,” he said. He helped her to her feet and into the padded chair, then dragged the phone across the surface of the desk.
Vera drew in a shaky breath and lifted the receiver, but her fingers were trembling too badly to hit the numbers.
“Let me help,” Gabe said.
Vera’s first reaction was to tell him that she could handle it, but there was no point. Her tremors were too severe and she knew he wouldn’t sit back and watch her struggle. “Thank you. Could you please call the shop?” She gave him the number.
Gabe quirked an eyebrow. “Will Ara be there at this time of night?”
Vera glanced at the clock and cursed herself for not thinking of that particular detail sooner. She had been too focused on the big picture.
Tapping her fingers on the edge of the desk, she considered her options. The stores would still be closed, so she wouldn’t be able to buy what she needed on her own, and she couldn’t afford to wait. Even between attacks, the pressure of keeping her thoughts shielded was wearing through what was left of her strength, and she didn’t dare even think about falling asleep.
“Let’s try her anyway. It’s possible Ara wouldn’t want to keep the shop unattended, no matter what she promised.”
Gabe punched in the numbers, and the ringing tone picked up in Vera’s ear. While she waited, he went around the desk and opened the bottom drawer. A moment later, he set down the bottle of whiskey and two glasses, then poured a finger into each of them.
Vera grimaced, remembering the pounding in her head the morning after her last whiskey sample, but on considering her situation, she decided a bit of alcohol might be exactly what she needed. Just enough to numb her nerves so she could focus on her mission.
The phone at the shop kept ringing, and Vera’s hopes sank into her stomach. After the fifth ring, just before the voicemail kicked in, the line clicked.
“Vera?” Ara asked.
At the sound of her winded and shaken voice, Vera sat up in her chair. “Ara, is everything all right?”
“They were here tonight,” the dryad said, her words tight. She sounded close to tears. “They swept through the shop and left it a mess. There’s so much damage. The restricted room has been torn apart. I think they took your reference book.”
Vera cursed, regret and grief wrapping around her heart. That book hadn’t been in her family nearly as long as The Fettered Wolf, but it meant a lot to her. She’d been so focused on protecting the book that mattered to the world that she’d forgotten to protect what mattered to her. A mistake she wouldn’t make again.
“But are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine. I was out back. I noticed them loitering in the front when I closed up shop, so I sneaked around back and slipped into the tree to keep watch. I heard them come in and saw the lights through the window. I wanted to charge in and scare them away, but I promised you I wouldn’t, so I stayed put. They only left about twenty minutes ago, and I stayed hidden a while longer, in case they came back. Then I heard the phone ring and knew it had to be you. Who else would be calling at this time of night?” As she told her story, Ara’s shakiness steadied, and when she spoke again, it was with a note of curiosity. “Why are you calling so soon, anyway? I didn’t expect to hear from you for another couple of days. Did you learn what you needed?”
“We never got the chance. That ancient power sent people after us at the farmhouse. Then they chased us back to the city before we realized how they were tracking us.”
Ara gasped, and Vera imagined her covering her mouth in shock. “Are you two all right? Where are you now?”
“We’re in Gabe’s office,” Vera said. She
raised her head to look at him. She couldn’t help but note the straining muscles in his jaw and the tense stillness of his hands. So different from his relaxed posture on the couch earlier that evening. More than anything in that moment, she wanted to be back at the farmhouse, the threats before them long forgotten in the heat of his hands on her body. She wanted to see him smile.
But there was so much more on the line than what she wanted.
“I think we’re safe here for now,” she said to Ara. “I’m working on a plan to get these guys off our backs. I need you to come here with a few things.”
She gave Ara the directions to Gabe’s building along with the list of supplies. When she ended it with a request for a pair of boots, Ara sputtered.
“Why don’t you have boots?”
“Long story. I’ll fill you in when you get here.”
Gabe raised an eyebrow, no doubt wondering about the supplies she needed for her mystery plan, but Vera pretended not to notice. She hated feeling that she needed to shut him out. After the freedom she’d felt the last two days in talking about her family and listening to him talk about his, closing back in on herself came as a physical pain.
But she had to look after herself first, and at the moment, that meant keeping her own counsel until she made up her mind on how to move forward.
Down the line, Ara sighed. “I hope you have more planned than fixing books. I don’t think whatever they stole tonight is going to stop them from waiting for you again tomorrow.”
Vera’s insides churned at the thought, but she swallowed the bile threatening to bubble up her throat. There was nothing for it now. She raised her gaze to Gabe, who continued to watch her. He hadn’t moved since she began her phone call, his whiskey forgotten in his hand. His jaw had tightened again.
Addressing him as much as Ara, she said, “They don’t need to wait much longer. I’m coming home soon, and when I do, I’m going to give them exactly what they’re looking for.”
11
Vera tapped her socked foot against the thin gray carpet and kept an eye on the clock above the door. Her whiskey remained untouched in her hand, but she longed for a cup of tea. Anything to soothe her nerves, which remained as tight as guitar strings and were only getting tauter until she was sure they would snap.
The pressure in her mind had ebbed, but she remained braced for it to return.
“Where could she be?” she wondered aloud.
“I’m sure she’s fine. You did give her a lot to bring, and it’s probably hell finding a cab downtown at this time of morning. She’ll be here soon.”
Although Gabe had offered similar words of reassurance several times over the last hour, no hint of impatience touched his voice. The anger he’d shown earlier at Ara’s situation had faded back into concern, and as the time passed, he’d kept a close eye on Vera, no doubt watching for another attack from the power in her head.
He sat slouched in his chair with his bare feet propped up over the edge of his desk. After he’d finished his first finger of whiskey, he’d filled another one, sipping it steadily though slowly. She suspected he didn’t crave the drink as much as he needed something to do.
“While we’re waiting,” he went on, “I don’t suppose you’re ready to tell me what sort of arts and crafts project you intend to tackle?”
Vera drew in a breath. She wouldn’t have to tell him everything yet, but Ara was already on her way over.
“I want to replicate the book,” she said. She’d laid The Fettered Wolf on the desk between them, and now ran her fingers over the silver inlay on the cover.
Gabe leaned forward to get a better view of it. “Is that possible?”
Vera cast him a look.
“I don’t mean to suggest you don’t have the skills,” he said, pulling up his sleeves to reveal the toned muscles of his forearms, “but this is an ancient text that shows all the markings of its age. You might have the ability to recreate it, but won’t it look…new?”
“If Ara brings what I need, that won’t be an issue.”
Vera flipped the book open and pressed down on the front page to test how securely the text was attached to the binding. In all the years she’d possessed the octavo, she’d never looked at it too closely. Preservation of the book was as important as keeping it secret, and manhandling it would have hardly worked toward that. She’d expected the binding to be loose, worn from years of travel and contact, but as she inspected it, she noticed instead the unevenness of the stitching and the awkward angle at which the pages fit against the spine. As though someone had thrown the book together in haste long after its original creation. As though someone else had already done what she planned to do now.
New questions fluttered through her mind, and she leaned in to get a closer look. According to her mother, the book had been handed down through the family, always hidden, never altered. She’d never mentioned that any work had been done on it during that time, but based on what Vera knew about bookbinding, the method used to finish this book would have been popular in the fifteenth century. One hundred years after her family was supposed to have inherited it.
Had her mother been wrong about the book’s origins? Based on the rebinding, the book could be so much older than Vera believed it to be. She thought of the ancient one coming for this text and the ageless impression it had left in her mind. That sense of eternity. Did it know something about this book her family didn’t?
Or did Mom know the truth but not tell me?
The clink of glass from Gabe pouring his third drink pulled her from her thoughts, and as she looked toward him, a shadow appeared beyond the clouded glass and white letters of Gabe’s office door. Vera’s breath stuttered as the shape stretched into a tall, gaunt frame, but then the door opened and Ara spilled in, her arms laden with supplies, her hair mussed, and her skirt torn.
Vera jumped to her feet. “What happened to you?” She took as many bags as she could grab out of Ara’s hands. Gabe came around his desk to take the rest.
Ara was breathing heavily, her cheeks flushed. She pressed her empty hands to her chest and sucked in a few deep breaths to calm herself down.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Just give me a moment.”
“Did you run here?” Gabe asked.
Ara nodded and accepted the glass of whiskey he offered, taking a small sip. “I had to. I didn’t want to take the chance of stopping to wait for a cab.” She let Vera guide her to the nearest chair, and Vera perched beside her on the edge of Gabe’s desk.
“Start at the beginning,” said Gabe as he returned to his own chair. His tone had altered, turned more confident and authoritative. The private investigator looking out for his client.
Ara took one last sip of the drink, then set the glass on the desk and pushed her wispy hair out of her face.
“I was quick enough getting everything you asked me to bring,” she said, “and all the time, I kept checking outside to make sure those men weren’t out there. I didn’t see them, though, and you know what our street is like — there aren’t many places for people to hide, really. But when I left, there they were, standing guard at both corners. I tried to keep out of sight as I passed by, but two of them moved to grab me. I was faster and I ran. The warlock was with them, and I had to keep dodging to avoid being hit by his magic. I made it to Folly’s Park, thank goodness, then I dropped the bags in a garbage can and stepped into a tree before they saw me.”
Her cheeks flushed deeper with the heat of the alcohol and the rush of her tale, and Vera noted the way she raised her chin, her green eyes sparkling with pride at her escape.
“I had to stay there for a while,” Ara continued. “One of them kept walking through the trees, slashing through the bushes with a stick. Eventually, that man you described showed up — the large one with the black eyes.”
“Rega,” Vera said, and a shiver tickled the base of her skull.
Ara nodded. “He had three men with him, and they all looked terrified to be close to him
when he was so angry. None of them said anything, they just carried out his orders when he pointed in certain directions. He stared right at me, and for a second I swore I was done for.”
She reached for the whiskey again and took a larger sip. When she set it down, Gabe offered to refill it, but she shook her head. Her fingers trembled as she brushed her hair out of her face.
“Finally, he called them off, but I stayed in the tree another twenty minutes to make sure they were gone. Then I grabbed the bags and ran all the way from there.”
Vera took Ara’s hand and gave it a tight squeeze, unable to say anything that would fully express everything she was feeling in that moment. Relief, love, remorse. She could only imagine how terrified Ara had been. Being able to hide inside a tree was excellent cover, but it also left a dryad vulnerable. She had nowhere to hide if she was spotted, no way to defend herself.
And Vera had put her in that position.
She regretted the necessity of the risk for the sake of a plan she had no guarantee would work. But as long as the book remained in Vera’s hands and in New Haven, the threat around Ara would continue. That had to stop.
And Gabe was involved as well, now. How long before Rega’s men made the connection and came after him?
Even more of a reason to leave him behind. Keep him safe.
Her chaotic thoughts bombarded her, pressing against the sides of her skull until she thought she might be sick. She had to leave as soon as possible. She would lead her enemies away from her old life, giving them no reason to pursue the people who mattered to her.
Squeezing Ara’s hand again, she said, “I’m glad you’re all right.”
Ara smiled at her, as sweetly and warmly as if she hadn’t almost died for Vera’s sake. “So now will you explain why I’m here, and why I brought the book-mending kit? And your boots?”
She reached into the bag and pulled out Vera’s second-favorite pair of flat, black boots, which Vera slid on over her torn and filthy socks.
“Yes, please,” Gabe said, the teasing tone not hiding all of the roughness beneath it. “I understand the basic idea, but have no idea how you expect to make it work. Please do satisfy all our curiosities.”