by Kim Harrison
Glenn seemed pissed, his arms swinging as he joined us. He looked a little tired, too. No surprise after a morning with Ivy. Blinking at Wayde’s less-than-professional dress, he turned to me. “Thanks for the call. Apparently the one that Nina made got stuck in my voice mail.”
It was a thinly veiled rebuke, and Nina smiled. “My apologies?”
Nina didn’t look sorry, and Glenn’s expression became even tighter when the I.S. agent Nina had sent in came out with a bookish-looking man, wire glasses on his nose and wearing a polyester suit, the hem of the jacket whipping in the wind off the river. His shoes were shiny, and it looked like he didn’t get out much as he awkwardly followed the I.S. cop down the stairs to meet us somewhere in the middle.
“What was he doing in there?” Glenn asked, and Nina pleasantly inclined her head.
“I simply sent a man in to inform the curator of why we were parked on his drive. Relax, Detective Glenn. No one is trying to hide anything from you.” Her eyes turning black, she turned to the short man looking at us from a step up. “We can go in now?”
The officer stiffened. “Mr. Ohem—”
Nina raised a hand to stop him. “It’s Nina,” she said calmly, but it was obvious he wasn’t pleased about the slip—which made me all the more curious as to what his name was.
“Sir,” the officer tried again, flushing. “This is Mr. Calaway, the curator on duty.”
Mr. Calaway, oblivious to the blunder, stuck his thin hand out, and he and Nina shook. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said enthusiastically, his narrow face beaming at the woman. It was obvious he didn’t have a clue that he was shaking hands with a vampire, much less one channeling a dead one, and I exchanged a quick look with Glenn. His eyes were as bright as I figured mine must be. Mr. Calaway was human. That put him as a suspect, perhaps? How could he not know there was demon magic being practiced in his building? The screams would give it away. It was always the quiet ones who were the ax murderers.
“Detective Glenn,” Glenn said as he gave me a twist of his lips to acknowledge my suspicions. He took a breath to introduce me, hesitating when he saw the tattoo of the dandelion tuft on my collarbone. “Ah, this is Ms. Morgan, who is helping us with the magic, and Mr. Benson,” he said, a faint smile quirking his lips, “her security.”
Mr. Calaway nodded at me, then did a double take at Wayde, his hairy legs showing between his army boots and his boxers. “I hope we can take care of this quickly,” he said, his eyes squinting in worry at the official cars and the young family with a stroller giving them a wide berth. “We haven’t had any trouble for a long time. It’s a museum. Nothing much changes here except the interns.”
I forced a smile as I leaned forward and shook his hand. “We will be as unobtrusive as possible,” I promised, but it was as if I didn’t exist for him, and it kind of rankled. I wasn’t dressed as nicely as the people around me—except for Wayde, and he had dropped back to run a hand over his face as he looked out over the river, his untucked thin shirt flapping in the wind.
Nina gestured toward the door, and we all began moving. “You okay?” I asked Glenn, and he gave me a sharp look.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” he asked, and I warmed, resolving to keep my mouth shut.
“Come on in,” the curator was saying. “I can’t imagine anyone’s been here, but we don’t go down into the lower levels much. It’s damp down there. Low water table.”
Mr. Calaway opened the door, and all the men hesitated, looking at me. I knew I had promised Jenks and Ivy that I’d go to only secure sites, but this was a museum lobby, not the bad guys’ lair. Besides, it was cold, so I hunched my shoulders and went in, appreciating the lack of wind as I took in the tall-ceilinged entryway with its placards explaining what the museum was about. There was an official-looking desk for buying tickets and arranging for self-guided audio tours, and the eyes of the woman manning it widened as the rest filed in behind me, Mr. Calaway’s mouth never stopping.
“There’s a tour going through right now. Is there any way you can avoid them?” he asked in worry. He still didn’t get it, but the I.S. officer probably hadn’t told him we were tracking down a militant human fringe group that was deforming witches with black magic.
Glenn brought his attention back from the artifact case. “We will be as circumspect as possible. We don’t need to do a room by room since we have a detection charm.”
“Oh.” The human looked at me doubtfully, and I smiled sarcastically.
“It’s a super-duper murderer finder,” I said, holding up the glowing amulet as I remembered him dissing me on the front steps. “I made it in my kitchen last night. Don’t you worry, Mr. Calaway. We’ll find those serial killers and get them out for you.”
“S-serial killers?” the curator stammered, his dark complexion lightening considerably.
“Rachel . . .” Glenn growled, but Wayde had turned his back on us, laughing, I guess.
“Didn’t they tell you?” I said, making my eyes wide and enjoying jerking the stiff man’s chain. “What did the I.S. officer say we were here for? Inspecting for fire-code violations?”
Nina frowned, and Glenn pinched my elbow. “You like causing trouble, don’t you?” Glenn insisted, and I stopped. Maybe being ignored on the front steps bothered me more than I’d realized, but that had felt good, and now I was pretty sure that Mr. Calaway wasn’t a suspect. I didn’t want to walk around a museum with a serial killer. I had promised to be careful, right?
Glenn stepped nearly in front of me, taking the upset man by the shoulder and all but leading him to the turnstiles. “We only need a few people until we know for sure if what we’re looking for is here, Mr. Calaway,” he said, giving me a glare to keep my mouth shut. “There’s no need to be alarmed, and we’re grateful that you’re letting us look around without a warrant. Ms. Morgan is exaggerating the situation.”
I sighed, but got what Glenn was saying and resolved to shut up. If Mr. Calaway refused to let us in, we could lose a day in the courts getting a warrant. The thing was, though, I wasn’t exaggerating, and Glenn knew it.
“Um, I’ll get the keys,” the curator said, his focus distant as he reached over the counter and brought out a ring of them. “I’ve got a key for everything.”
Right at the front desk, I thought, thinking security was pretty lax. But who was going to run off with any of this stuff?
Mr. Calaway started for the museum’s entrance, his pace fast and jerky. Glenn grabbed my elbow and propelled me forward, his grip a shade too tight and his shoulders tense. He wasn’t happy with me, but I didn’t care. Wayde was behind me, and Nina ahead, her eyes scanning, evaluating, searching, her motions both graceful and tense. I don’t think the vampire she was channeling had ever been in here before. It was like watching a cat, furtive and sleekly sexy at the same time.
“This is our main room,” the man was saying as we took our turns going through the turnstile and entered the large four-story room. Tours fanned out from here, but it was the log cabin my eyes lingered on. As the curator started in on his memorized spiel as if we were tourists, I stared at the building, wondering why it drew my attention—other than its being a building inside another.
“That is creepy,” I said to Wayde when I read the placard and found the log cabin had once been hidden inside someone’s barn and was a holding pen for slaves being moved and sold. “Something doesn’t look right,” I added as I continued reading, finding that it had been painstakingly reassembled here for instructional reasons. Kids ran in and out of it as if it was a playhouse, while serious adults tried to take in the atrocity it represented, and yet . . . something felt off.
Nina rocked toward me. “It’s a fake,” she said softly, her eyes on the roofline.
I looked at her, as did Wayde, leaving Glenn patiently listening to the curator and trying to wedge a word in and get this train moving.
Nina
shrugged, her hands loose at her sides. “There’s no moulage on it,” the vampire said, still not having looked away from the thick, dark timbers. “It’s a fake, a replica.”
“But moulages fade with time and sun,” I said. “This thing is ancient.”
“Ancient? No.” Nina reached out to touch the timbers, apparently blackened artificially, and not with the blood the sign said they were. “But something like this—something built to hold people against their will, to imprison lives, souls, and fears—tends to soak up emotion and hold it like a sponge.” Scrunching up her face, Nina looked at the chimney. “It will hold its emotion for a long time, and this has none.”
A banshee might have soaked it up, I thought, but dismissed it. “A fake?” I asked, thinking it was unfair that they would try to pass it off as an original.
Nina’s eyes flicked behind my shoulder, and I jumped when Glenn touched me, asking, “Rachel? Which way?”
I took a deep breath and exhaled. Oh yeah. Fumbling for the amulet, I held it even with my chest and walked in a circle. There was only one direction where the glow strengthened, and I stopped, staring at a service-oriented area with no displays. An oversize door with no window and painted the same color as the walls was obvious, and I pointed. “There.”
Mr. Calaway bustled past me looking positively relieved. “That leads to the research area,” he said as he fumbled with the keys, finally bringing one up to his face and peering at it. “This one, I think.” He slid it into the lock and opened the door, flicking the lights on as he held it for us. It looked like your average hallway, with white tile and boring painted walls. A little wider than most, perhaps, but bland. “Sue!” he shouted, his voice echoing. “We’re going downstairs. I’ll be back in a moment! Lock the doors and let the place empty naturally.”
The woman from the front desk peeked around a wall. “Yes, sir.”
“What about Ivy and Jenks?” I asked, not wanting to leave them out, but wanting to see what the amulet had pinged on. What was taking them so long anyway?
Glenn turned to Mr. Calaway, looking as anxious as I was to get moving. “Two more people are coming. A Ms. Tamwood and a pixy named Jenks. Could someone bring them down when they arrive?”
Sue smiled. “Yes, sir. I’ll let them in and send them down.”
Wayde shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. “I’ll stay here,” he said, and I gave him a questioning look. “Technically, I’m not allowed to be at a crime scene without prior arrangements.” He turned to me, his gaze intent as he touched my elbow. “I think you should stay with me. This isn’t a secure site. Someone else can work the charm.”
My breath came in slowly, and I forced my jaw not to clench. He was just doing his job. “I have my splat gun,” I said patiently. “I’ll be careful. Besides, there’s no one here.”
“You don’t know that,” he said, and in my peripheral vision, I saw Glenn chafing at the delay. Yeah. Me, too.
“Cautious?” Nina mocked in her expensive pantsuit, crisp and pressed, her voice like silk. “That’s not like you, Ms. Morgan.”
“Maybe I’m getting smarter,” I said dryly. “I’m working the amulet until there’s reason to believe they’re still here,” I added, wedging Wayde’s fingers off me. “I’ll be smart about it.”
“Smart is staying here until you know for sure,” Wayde said.
“My job puts me at risk. I said I’ll be careful, and I will,” I said loudly, then locked my knees as the heady scent of excited vampire cascaded over me like water. It was Nina, and I sidestepped her so she wouldn’t link her arm in mine.
“I’ll see to Rachel’s safety personally,” the woman said gracefully, not at all upset that I’d avoided her. “I can smell them, you see,” Nina said, and she touched her nose as she smiled coyly. “Nasty little humans with mischief on their brains. I’m sure Ms. Morgan will be most careful, but I will restrain her from entering any room that’s unsafe. Physically . . . if necessary.”
“There, you see?” I said brusquely, my heart pounding as I made a mental promise that Nina wasn’t ever going to lay a hand on me. “You should stay here, though. You’re right about the legal thing. You might get hurt and sue the city.”
“I would not,” Wayde said with a scowl, but Glenn was pointing at one of his men to stay behind with him. “Fine. I’ll stay,” he said with bad grace, arms over his chest and his feet spread wide. “I’m starting to see why you don’t have many friends.”
I probably deserved that, but with only the faintest tug of guilt, I followed the curator into the wide hallway, the rest of the men behind me, and Nina behind them. The wide door shut behind us with a solid thump, and I stifled my shiver. Almost immediately we found a set of stairs, and Mr. Calaway started down, turning on big industrial lights as he went. It was cold, and the air smelled stale. My feet in my soggy garden shoes didn’t make a sound. Neither did Nina’s, and it was giving me the creeps. I could feel her behind me, lurking. Maybe leaving Wayde behind hadn’t been such a good idea, but I was surrounded by men with guns looking for an empty room. What did he think was going to happen?
I checked my cell phone when we reached the bottom of the stairs, not liking that there was no signal. The amulet still worked, meaning we weren’t too deep to reach a ley line. Small comfort, since I wasn’t going to.
“Which way?” Glenn asked when we came to an intersection. He was tense, and I could see Nina enjoying the mild temptation Glenn was making himself into. It probably didn’t help that he smelled like Ivy.
“Give me a moment,” I said. Head down over the amulet, I left them, half on the stairs, half in the lower hallway, and went a few paces to the left, watching the amulet’s color.
“That leads to storage,” Mr. Calaway offered. He was starting to fidget, and Nina smiled, basking in it.
“What do you store here?” Nina almost purred, clearly happy belowground. “Brochures?”
I turned at Mr. Calaway’s scoff, but then he hesitated and backed up several steps when he saw her almost lascivious expression. “Mostly artifacts that we haven’t gotten prepped for display or those that we don’t want to make available to the general public.”
Glenn spun on a heel, his face creased in irritation. “Why wouldn’t you want them on display?” he asked belligerently.
The curator adopted a stiff posture, one step up from Nina. “Slavery was an ugly business, Officer Glenn. It became more so when given a high monetary value and people took inhuman steps to protect their investments.”
Clearly this was a sore subject for the man, but Glenn had turned to face him squarely, just as upset. “It’s Detective Glenn. And what right do you have to determine who gets to see it?”
Mr. Calaway squinted at the larger man, not backing down an inch. “I’ll arrange a private tour for you if you like, and if you still feel the same way, I’ll be very much surprised.”
Eyes down, I walked past them in the other direction. My pulse jumped when the amulet glowed a brighter green. Nina must have sensed it because she came down the last few steps, her eyes alight. “I think it’s this way,” I said, and Mr. Calaway waved his hands in protest.
“There’s nothing down there,” he claimed, but my amulet said differently, and we all strode forward to find it ended in . . . nothing. No stairway, no door. Nothing.
“I don’t understand,” I said, staring at the empty wall as I remembered doing almost the same thing in Trent’s labs a few months ago. There’d been a door that I had needed to use a ley line to walk through to the room beyond. I couldn’t do that now, and I looked from my band of charmed silver to Glenn, feeling ill.
“What’s behind this wall?” Glenn asked, his hand skating over the smooth paint.
Mr. Calaway thought for a moment. “That’s the storage area for the holding pen.”
Glenn stiffened. “The one upstairs is a fake?”
“What are you afraid of?” Glenn pressed.
I looked down the hallway to Nina, leaning casually against the wall and wedging something from under her fingernails. It was a very masculine gesture that looked odd with her carefully manicured nails. This was not going well, and Mr. Calaway flushed.
“I’m not afraid of anything,” he said, flustered. “The holding pen is behind this wall, yes, but we have access to it through the elevator. If you had told me that’s where you wanted to go, I would have taken you there in the first place. Follow me.”
Glenn clenched his jaw, and Nina closed her eyes, soaking in his anger. I turned and trudged after Mr. Calaway as he backtracked to a set of huge silver doors. He keyed it to life with a flourish, glaring at us as the machinery rumbled and whined. I shivered as the doors opened to show a huge elevator that looked big enough to hold an elephant.
“It’s not right that you’re hiding a piece of history down here where no one can see it,” Glenn grumbled as he filed in after me.
Mr. Calaway entered last, and he used a second key to light up the panel. “We don’t have the original holding pen up for display for several reasons, Detective Glenn,” he said stiffly as we waited for the lights to quit flashing and the panel to warm up. “Preserving the priceless art created by the people confined within it for one, maintaining people’s sanity for another.”
Sanity?
“The truth should never be hidden,” Glenn insisted.
Nina covered a smile as the smaller man fumed. “It’s not hidden,” Mr. Calaway barked. “It’s simply not on public display! The original inscriptions on the interior of the structure are as priceless as they are heartbreaking, but there are magics associated with the structure itself, and that’s what we are keeping from the public. Black magics.”
My gut tightened, and I exchanged a look with Nina, who was suddenly a lot more alert. Black magic under the museum? Maybe there was a method to the madness after all.