The Bone Scroll: An Elemental Legacy Novel

by Hunter, Elizabeth

  “And they were related to this vampire? So he moved with them?” Beatrice asked.

  Giovanni nodded. “It’s not unheard of. Many vampires bring their blood family into the immortal world because they don’t trust anyone else, and it wasn’t uncommon to hear about arrangements like that in the ancient world. The myths around Ash Mithra vary some but are surprisingly consistent for such an old character.”

  “So if the bone scroll can only be used by someone with the blood of Mithra, that could still mean a lot of people,” Chloe said. “I mean, in theory, his human descendants could have had lots of children. There could be thousands and thousands in the modern world, right?”

  Giovanni nodded. “That is correct.” He flipped to another slide. “For instance, this Sasanian noble was the governor of Sidon in Lebanon under the Romans and claimed to be part of Mithra’s line. He had twelve wives and concubines and sixty-three children.”

  “Holy shit,” Ben said. “Okay, so half the Middle East and Central Asia could be related to this guy in some way or another?”

  “That might be a slight exaggeration, but yes.”

  “None of this matters,” Tenzin said. “Because we’re going to find the scroll and safeguard it from anyone who might want to use it for bad reasons.”

  “If this scroll was so powerful,” Chloe asked. “Why would this Ash Mithra guy ever let it out of his possession? Did someone kill him?”

  “No one knows for sure,” Giovanni said. “Though obviously that’s an excellent question. But one of the myths is that Mithra sired an immortal son named Rutha, and unlike Mithra’s other children, he was more thirsty for power than wisdom. In that legend, Mithra disowns his son and hides the scroll so that Rutha could never use it.”

  Chloe nodded. “Okay, so there’s this superpowerful and dangerous object floating around the world now, but it can only be used by Mithra’s descendants.”

  “According to legends,” Tenzin said. “No one knows that for sure.”

  “But it’s not out of the realm of possibility,” Giovanni said. “After all, only Mithra’s descendants would have his amnis, which could be a component of how the scroll works.”

  “How would it have gotten to Ethiopia?” Beatrice addressed Tenzin directly for the first time that night. “Why are you so sure it’s there?”

  “According to sources I trust, the scroll was in the possession of a Manichaean missionary who was on his way to visit the court of the Aksumite emperor in the sixth century. And now rumors are saying that Arosh found the bone scroll in Aksum. I don’t think that’s a coincidence; I think the relic is in Ethiopia.”

  “In Aksum?”

  “Possibly. Or possibly in some other undiscovered Aksumite treasury.”

  “So you’re potentially looking at a lot of sites,” Beatrice said. “Have you figured out a way to narrow them down yet?”

  Tenzin narrowed her eyes. “Not yet.”

  “Hey.” Chloe piped up from the computer. “I was just thinking that everyone seems to be afraid of Saba, right? And she rules Ethiopia and like, North Africa and most of the continent, right? She’s the big, big boss?”

  “Yes,” Beatrice said. “She’s the oldest vampire anyone knows of, and Ethiopia is where she is originally from. So she kind of considers the entire continent of Africa her territory.”

  “And so we’re going in there,” Chloe said. “And hopefully finding and taking a superpowerful object from her territory.”

  “Yes,” Ben said. “That’s the basic idea.”

  “And no one thinks she might have a problem with that?”

  Ben and Tenzin exchanged a look. “Oh, she won’t like it,” Tenzin said. “But we have an idea.”

  “More like a distraction,” Ben said. “We have an idea how to distract her.”

  “Shiny objects,” Tenzin said. “We’re going to trade the bone scroll for something she wants more.”

  Beatrice looked skeptical. “There’s something she wants more?”

  Ben nodded. “Yes. And we think we know where it is.”

  6

  Ben sat on the balcony of a vacant house that was perched across the road from the private club where Trevor Blythe-Bickman was dining. He was lounging on an easy chair that hadn’t seen company since its owner had left the city for his villa in Thailand the month before.

  One after another, shiny new electric sports cars and hybrid SUVs arrived at the club and were swiftly whisked away by the ever-present valets. The club was not a typical bar or a restaurant but an extremely expensive social club that catered to the city’s young, hip, and ridiculously wealthy.

  Hidden behind immaculately trimmed hedges and high walls, the club was hard to surveil from the ground, but Ben had found a clever workaround for observation on the balcony. Finding his way into the private club should have been a bit more difficult, but he’d managed to find a side door.

  Though it wasn’t advertised, the club had twenty luxurious guest rooms available to book for a small fortune. If you knew the right person to talk to—and he would find out—booking a room at the club would give you access to the lounges and bars where Trevor Blythe-Bickman lorded over his social clique.

  The only problem Ben was running into was demographics. To be blunt, he was far too young and far too male to garner any kind of attention from Trevor Blythe-Bickman. He’d blend right in with approximately eighty percent of the people he saw entering the place. Normally Ben would be ecstatic to be so anonymous, but for this job he actually needed to gain Blythe-Bickman’s attention, which wouldn’t be easy if he didn’t stand out.

  From his profile, the Englishman seemed like a people collector. He sponsored artists’ talks and gallery openings for a number of ex-girlfriends. He hosted film screenings for up-and-coming directors he was dating and used his shiny, glass-decked lobby downtown as a venue for a noted Japanese performance artist… whom he’d also been sleeping with.

  So no, Ben had nothing Trevor Blythe-Bickman would find interesting.

  At two in the morning, the Englishman exited the building on the arm of a laughing woman wearing a designer coat and holding a pair of red-soled heels in her hand as she leaned into Blythe-Bickman’s side. She was beautiful, with a tousled black pixie-cut, fair skin, and typically Korean features.

  She was also the fourth Asian woman Ben had seen on Blythe-Bickman’s arm in the past week.

  Tenzin strolled up to Ben and sat on the bench across from him. “I told you.”

  “I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  Tenzin had been proposing a honey trap for days. As soon as she’d noted Blythe-Bickman’s “type,” she volunteered to be the target, which had annoyed Ben on two fronts.

  One, he didn’t want her honey-trapping Blythe-Bickman.

  Two, Tenzin would have to pose as someone other than herself, which was… not ideal.

  “Okay.” He turned to her. “What would be your cover?”

  She shrugged. “Chinese tech heiress.”

  Fuck, that was a good start.

  “Okay, and why are you in San Francisco?”

  Tenzin pursed her lips. “None of the women we’ve identified so far has been an actress, model, or any kind of high-ranking courtesan, so I am going to assume he’s not with these women only for status, looks, or sexual skills. He likes smart women. Therefore, I would be visiting San Francisco in order to accompany contract negotiators for… semiconductors?”

  Ben muttered, “Damn it. Make it microprocessors and that’s a fucking good cover story. You’re not heading up the negotiations—that’s ridiculous for someone so young—but you’re in the business and you’re learning.”

  “Yes.” She motioned toward him. “With my personal security, of course.”

  The corner of Ben’s mouth turned up. “Good thinking. Any substantial heiress would have a security team, especially if she was in the US for business reasons.”

  “Exactly. We’ll need to book two rooms at the club then.” She
shook her head. “I’m not sleeping with my bodyguard; my father would be appalled.”

  “Is this one of the role-playing scenarios you wrote down the other night?”

  “Possibly. Now that we have figured out how we’re going to get into Blythe-Bickman’s mansion, can you come back to the house? I think Mavis is having trouble with the water heater. There are strange sounds coming from the basement.”

  Ben narrowed his eyes. “We are not tricking this woman into leaving us her house.”

  “I’m just trying to be a good neighbor, Benjamin.”

  He watched her slip into a dress that should have been illegal. Tenzin had a subtle figure that she usually hid under practical clothes, but when she dressed up, her ass was lethal. And not only because she was sliding ceramic daggers into custom designed pockets in her dress.

  “Is that another Arthur original?” He motioned for her to turn, which she did. “Can’t see a thing.” Except a really fabulous backside. “You’re sexy as hell, Tiny.”

  She smiled and her fangs peeked out. “It is an Arthur original. He has stopped asking questions now, which is very good.”

  Arthur was one of Chloe’s oldest friends in New York, a professional costume designer, and he must have either believed Tenzin was a serious cosplayer or he had no issues with violent criminals, because this was at least the fourth garment he’d designed for her to conceal weapons at formal events.

  “Okay, Zhang Ming, why are you staying at the club?” Ben busied himself packing Tenzin’s handbag, which he would probably be carrying as her bodyguard.

  “My friend, Li Yan, recommended it after her stay last year.”

  “Excellent.” The young Chinese socialite was not only known for her fashion designs but her business acumen. She was also widely recognized as very private and used no personal social media. A friend of Li Yan’s might also prefer similar anonymity.

  “I’ll be there the whole time.” He checked that her lipstick was in the bag and hoped she would remember to actually use it. “I already made the reservation and told them you’d be arriving at midnight.”

  “I’ll try to remember not to smile.”

  “Closed mouth only unless you’re with me, Ming.” He sat on the edge of the quilt-covered mattress in Mavis’s attic and ran a finger down the back of Tenzin’s thigh. “How are you feeling?”

  “It will be fun to fool a bad person.” She turned to look at him and raised a single eyebrow. “Don’t be so forward, Mr. Rios. My father would not approve of our liaison.”

  Ben’s cover identity was as a bodyguard by the name of Amir Rios. His room would be adjoining Ming’s, and he’d accompany her everywhere. Including into Trevor Blythe-Bickman’s mansion if everything went according to plan.

  It still annoyed Ben that he couldn’t find a hole in the electronic security around the Englishman’s house. It was almost as if the man knew he had millions of dollars’ worth of art and antiquities sitting around. Which, of course, was the reason they needed to break in.

  Blythe-Bickman came from a long line of minor aristocracy who served in the British foreign service in one capacity or another. Consul of this and ambassador to that. And in every posting, the Blythes and the Bickmans had collected a few more trinkets and smuggled a few more treasures away, all under the auspices of the British Crown, of course.

  What Ben had noticed in the background pictures of the slavishly fawning profile in an architectural magazine wasn’t the antiquities hanging about the Blythe-Bickman mansion. No, it was the manuscripts.

  “You ready to go?” He stood and straightened the collar on his simple black shirt. Black shirt. Black suit. Black sunglasses, even at night.

  “Ready.” She threw on a black gabardine trench coat and slipped her feet into sleek flats, all sensible choices for someone just arriving on a private jet from Shanghai.

  They’d be picked up at the airport in a car and arrive at the club just shy of midnight. Tenzin looked around the attic. “I’m going to miss this place.”

  “Tenzin, we’re going to come back. We’ve left our real luggage here.”

  She slipped on her sunglasses and headed for the window. “Amir, I never look back, I only look forward.”

  Ben rolled his eyes and followed her.

  In her real life, Tenzin hated bowing people. She hated the formality and hierarchy of Penglai, where her father ruled and others served. She hated the idea of power equaling authority, as if strength and wisdom had anything to do with each other.

  But when it was in the service of stealing shiny things from an egotistical, aristocratic asshole, she could play the game as well as anyone.

  She stepped out of the car and ignored the valet holding her door. He was for Amir to deal with. She paused to take stock of her surroundings as her bodyguard dealt with the bags and tipped the driver.

  Foggy night. Crescent moon. She could hear people talking in the distance and the tinkling music of dishes moving around a table.

  “Ms. Zhang?” A hostess carrying a discreet portfolio joined her on the sidewalk.

  Tenzin took her time looking toward the woman. “Yes?”

  “Welcome. We’ve been waiting for you. I hope your flight was comfortable.”

  “It was fine.” She flavored her English with a southern Chinese accent and a little bit of British thrown in. Ming had likely learned English from a British tutor. “Is my room ready?”

  “I’m sure you’re very tired. It is all ready and the adjoining room—”

  “I’m not tired.” She pouted. “I’m hungry. I want a steak.” She turned her face. “Amir” —she continued in Mandarin— “I want a steak. Tell them to make me a steak.”

  Ben stepped forward, carrying a briefcase and a small handbag he handed to Tenzin. She took it as the hostess responded in fluent Mandarin.

  “Ms. Zhang, if you will give me fifteen minutes, I will arrange to have our best steak prepared to your liking. Would you care to eat in your room or in the Icarus Bar?”

  Tenzin glanced at Ben. Interesting that the woman was fluent in Mandarin, but not a challenge. They knew they’d have to stay in character unless they were alone.

  “The bar.” She affected a bored expression and switched back to English. “I am tired of only seeing his face.”

  “Of course.” The hostess offered a slight bow, and within minutes their luggage had been swept away.

  Tenzin entered the club she’d watched from the outside, immediately noting the sweeping glass windows beyond the front desk that opened out to the ocean. For the humans, the view was only darkness, but Tenzin could perceive the moon reflecting off the cold black water, the whipping wind that lifted the branches of Pacific cedar and eucalyptus.

  They were shown through a thickly carpeted foyer and down a hall where Tenzin heard snatches of conversation coming from various rooms and corners. There was a large billiard room and a library on the left that seemed to have more computers than books. She heard electronic music thumping in the distance and the low, measured voices of men discussing Very Important Business.

  Within five minutes, they were shown to their room and Tenzin was dropping her trench coat in a round leather chair with silk pillows. She removed her sunglasses and turned to Ben. “Dinner in the Icarus Bar? What are the chances Blythe-Bickman will be there?”

  “In that particular bar? I have no idea. I think there are three bars in the club, and he could be in any one of them, but I’m fairly confident he’s somewhere. It’s Thursday night, and he usually meets friends here from Wednesday through the weekend. If you can drag it out, make yourself conspicuous, I have a feeling he’ll find you.”

  “I can do that.” She wasn’t all that interested in steak, but she was told tourists liked eating them. “Did you bring toothpicks?”

  Ben tilted her chin up. “Toothpicks?”

  Tenzin bared her teeth. “I always get meat stuck in my fangs when I eat it. Especially beef.”

  His smile was precious. “Don’t p
ick your teeth in public. I will make sure we have some toothpicks back in the room. That’s exactly the kind of thing a spoiled heiress would be picky about, no pun intended.”

  “You act like I’m pretending, but this is likely how I would deal with humans regularly if you and Chloe didn’t guilt me into being polite to modern human standards.”

  “Then I’m glad this con will let you get it out of your system. Come on.” He reached down and slapped her butt. “Let’s go trap an Englishman.”

  7

  Ben watched from a table near Tenzin’s as she ate her steak and ignored everyone in the bar, seemingly engrossed in her mobile phone. He watched Tenzin and watched others noticing her. Two men approached at different times; Tenzin—or Ming—was polite but coolly disinterested. She did manage to tell one man who she was and give a few details about her presence in San Francisco, just enough to pique his interest and get him whispering to his friends when he returned to the bar.

  Ben watched as the information moved slowly but steadily through the club. Whispers and lingering looks at the new woman in their midst, not only beautiful but wildly wealthy and possibly very influential.

  He saw people searching their phones and looking confused and intrigued in equal measure. Ben had chosen Tenzin’s cover name wisely. Zhang was not only their sire’s name but a common one in China, and many wealthy families in the tech industry carried it. Ming could be related to any of them.

  Of course, Tenzin’s aloof attitude carried the con. Never had Ben been happier that his partner intimidated humans. She was dismissive but not rude. Casual but not disinterested.

  Ben heard Trevor Blythe-Bickman before he saw him. The young mogul entered the room exactly as Ben had expected, with a coterie of fawning acolytes surrounding him.

  Blythe-Bickman’s eyes immediately found Tenzin.

  Bingo.

  Interest was already piqued, but the man wasn’t an idiot. He set up his group in a corner booth and immediately dismissed the louder members of the troop. Ben stood and buttoned his suit jacket before he made his way over to Tenzin and leaned down.