This was going to be fun.
Atlas Galleries had changed little in the months since Sebastian had last darkened its door. There was a fresh selection of art hanging on its pristine white walls, all of it disgustingly posh and expensive looking. Sebastian ignored it, senses alert as he slipped in past the gallery’s wide glass front, the collar of his leather jacket turned up against the cold. Anton Silvester, art dealer and unofficial fixer for Atlanta’s magical underworld stood at the back, typing on his little computer console cleverly recessed into the fine wood paneling of the gallery’s rear wall. His rail-thin frame was encased in a finely tailored suit that he wore like a second skin, and his thin mustache and goatee were perfectly trimmed, as usual.
Sebastian was no slouch when it came to sneaking around, but Anton must have had some kind of sixth sense, because his piercing black eyes found Sebastian before the front door had even closed. The art dealer’s hawk-like face went from its normal, politely bored expression to looking like he had just gotten a whiff of dead fish rotting in the sun.
At the sight, Sebastian let out an internal sigh of relief. Anton did not normally engage in something as vulgar as showing emotion. He only bothered with people he actually felt were worth the trouble. It was when his face became a blank slate of featureless glass that you had better already be running for the hills. Sebastian felt reasonably sure that Anton’s open show of disgust meant the man wasn’t planning on shooting him.
Yet.
“What wrathful deity did I insult today that I should be punished by the sight of your odious face?”
“Careful there, Anton. The ladies are quite fond of this face, I’ll have you know.”
“Heaven preserve them.”
Anton’s voice, crisp and dry as dead leaves, slid over Sebastian’s carefree charm without leaving a mark. The cavalier facade was harder than usual to maintain with guilt eating at his insides. But long necessity had made Sebastian a master at hiding behind masks.
“You know, Anton, you invoking heaven sounds as convincing as a lawyer calling upon truth and justice. You should stick to more familiar territory, like Hades or the River Styx.”
“And you, Sebastian, should stick to a simpler means of communication. I suggest grunting, or perhaps charades. The sound of your voice is exceedingly wearisome.”
Sebastian grinned. Having reached the back of the store, he found a conveniently empty section of wall and leaned against it, arms crossed. He knew better than to offer a hand to shake. Anton would have looked at it like one looks at a pile of dog droppings. “As much as I know you love insulting me, I’m sure you’re eager to close up and return to whatever dark, dank coffin you crawled out of. So why don’t we cut the banter and get to the point?”
“If you are truly concerned with my desires, then let us fast forward to the point where you remove yourself from my gallery. It will save me the trouble of ignoring you.”
“Ha, ha, Anton. I’m serious.”
“As am I.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes and forged onward. “You know why I’m here. There’s no way you haven’t heard the rumors.”
Anton remained staring at him in silence, and Sebastian resisted the urge to grit his teeth. “The FBI came to me, Anton. The FBI! If things are bad enough that the feds are starting to notice, the situation is already way out of hand.” He carefully did not name any names. That was what had almost gotten him shot the last time. He did, however, shove his hands into his pockets and curl his fingers around the truth coin he always kept there, just in case. “I’m disappointed. I didn’t think this was the way you did business.”
Since the art dealer normally held himself as motionless as a bronze statue, Sebastian couldn’t tell if the man had stiffened at the insult. But his words did become more polite—which was a bad sign.
“And what makes you think I am involved?”
“You’re always involved.” Sebastian insisted, tension leaking through his charm. “Nothing magically significant happens in this city without you knowing it.”
“As flattering as your misguided opinion may be, you have failed to note the vast divide between knowing and facilitating. I have facilitated nothing.”
The coin in Sebastian’s pocket remained cool, and he let out a breath through his nose, surprised to find how relieved he was to hear the news. Anton was no saint, being more along the lines of The Godfather, if truth be told. But the man had rules, and Sebastian had always known him to stick to those rules with a will of iron. While the magical fixer didn’t shy away from working with witches, he frowned on collateral damage in his city, especially to innocents and bystanders. Plus, Sebastian just couldn’t see Anton working with someone as evil as Roger.
“All right. So, what do you know?”
“Knowledge is power, Mr. Blackwell. And only a fool gives away power without extracting a price.”
“And what is your price?” Sebastian asked as casually as he could manage, his mouth suddenly dry.
The piercing stare Anton gave him rooted Sebastian to the spot. It was different than anything he had seen from the man before. Neither sardonic, nor dismissive, nor blankly polite. It was almost…honest. And in that display of honesty, a tinge of unease showed, as if Anton knew even the slightest bit of genuine emotion leaking through his wall of uncaring professionalism made him vulnerable. Made him weak. A few years ago, Sebastian would have wondered how he could use such vulnerability to gain leverage over Anton. Now, though, he recognized the expression all too well. It was the same one he saw in the mirror every day.
“My price, Mr. Blackwell, is that you stay away from Miss Lillian Singer.”
Shock ripped through Sebastian, stealing the breath in his lungs. He floundered, trying to regain the suave, cool demeanor that had always saved him in the past. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Anton’s expression turned cold. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, boy. The affairs of wizards, especially a family as powerful as the LeFays, do not go unnoticed in the magical community. And you are the last person in the world who should be…associating with Miss Singer. Do you think I am ignorant of your past exploits? I make it a point to know everything there is to know about those I contract with. You are no exception, nor am I the only one aware of the grudge certain individuals hold against you. Did you imagine you could defy the most powerful witch in Atlanta and then simply disappear? Actions have consequences, Sebastian, and every victory has its price.”
“Yeah? Well, I’ve already paid a heavier price than you could ever wrap your mind around,” Sebastian said, jaw so tense he had trouble getting the words out. He remained leaning against the wood-paneled wall, but every muscle in his body was strung taut, ready for action.
“Life does not care how heavy a toll it takes,” Anton snapped. “It will continue to drain us until we are dry as corpses. Simply put, it would be extremely regrettable if Miss Singer were in the line of fire when your corpse hits the ground.”
“Is that a threat?” Sebastian asked, eyes narrowing.
“No. It is a fact, you idiot. You know the fire you are playing with. You might have escaped once, but you won’t do it a second time. He is no fool.”
“You’re the fool if you think I would let anything happen to Lily. I’ve got this under control, and I’m keeping her out of it. Not that it’s any of your business.”
Anton shook his head, his familiar look of disgust returning, and with it a surprising vehemence. “You are not only foolish, but blind as well. Unlike you, I do not underestimate the loyalty, nor power, Miss Singer possesses—two traits in which you seem sadly lacking. She does not belong in our world, Mr. Blackwell. No decent human being does. You should never have taken up with her in the first place.” The man snapped his mouth shut, nostrils flaring, as if he had said more than he’d intended.
There was a long silence as both men glared at each other.
Sebastian had no idea what to say, especially since
deep down, in that darkest part of his heart where he still blamed himself for his parents’ death—for her death—he agreed with Anton. But why did a crooked art-dealer-turned-magical-fixer care about Lily?
“My personal life is none of your business,” Sebastian finally said, voice deadly cold. “If you want to make things…safer, you’ll help me deal with Roger. I faced him once, and I’ll do it again. You don’t know half of what I’ve done, or what I can do. So, are you going to help me, or not?”
A muscle twitched above Anton’s lip, as if he were holding back a sneer of deepest disgust. His response, when it finally came, was only barely civil. “I know nothing you do not already know yourself.”
“You really expect me to believe that?” Sebastian scoffed. His coin hadn’t warmed, but then using it was a tricky business. One could deceive using the truth—a skill the fae had in spades. So he dug deeper. “The witches wouldn’t be banding together without some sort of incentive, and all deals like that in Atlanta go through you.”
“There was no deal.”
Sebastian froze, fingers clutching the cold disk of metal in his pocket. “What do you mean there was no deal? There has to be a deal. Someone has to be pulling the strings.”
“If someone is pulling Roger Darthe’s strings, I am not aware of it,” Anton said through gritted teeth. “Now go. Get out of my gallery. You are no longer welcome here until you pay my price. I can only hope you come to your senses before it is too late. For both of you.” The man’s movements were fluid as he turned and slid closed the panel that hid his little computer station in the wall. When he faced Sebastian again, a shining silver pistol was held loosely in his hand, the long cylinder of a silencer extending from its muzzle.
Forcing himself to stay calm, Sebastian slowly withdrew his hands from his pockets and held them down at his sides so Anton could see they were empty. For now. “I don’t give a crap what you think of me, or my choices. But if you really care so much about Lily, you’ll stay away from her. She can make her own decisions.”
“Perhaps. Yet seldom doth love make one wise. We all need saving from ourselves, from time to time.”
Anton’s words were like a punch to the gut, and Sebastian fought to maintain his cool. He knew he was an idiot, and Lily a fool for caring about him. But he refused to let this meddlesome busybody say as much and get away with it. “Sounds like the words of a coward who never loved a day in his life. If Lily needs saving, she can save herself perfectly fine without your help.”
With that, he whirled and strode for the door, half expecting to feel the bite of a bullet in his back. Instead he heard words, softly spoken, chasing after him as he pushed through the glass door and escaped into the freezing night.
“Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”
Sebastian fumed the whole drive home. He was angry at himself, angry at Anton, and even found himself angry at Lily. If she had an ounce of sense, she would see him for what he was—a foolhardy, unstable, selfish bastard—and tell him to get lost. But Lily didn’t have any sense, at least none of the survival kind. She was unlike any other woman he’d ever known, and he didn’t have a clue what went on in that head of hers. She spent twice as much time telling him off as agreeing with him, yet no matter how much she disapproved, she never pushed him away. She accepted him for who he was, even when she didn’t like it.
She was a fool.
Or an angel.
He couldn’t decide which.
One thing he knew for sure, though, was that she didn’t deserve to be dragged down by an idiot like him. Which was why, no matter how much he might want to open up and explain why he had to do this alone—why he had lied to her—he couldn’t risk it. She was simply too loyal for her own good. She would insist on helping, on taking risks on his behalf for something that was his mess to fix. And he couldn’t allow that.
Memories of the past haunted him, mocking him with images of her. They were still vivid, despite the decade he’d spent trying to forget them. Her wide-open eyes. Her lifeless body—beautiful, but so white against the blood pooled around her severed wrist. That had been so long ago, yet everything he touched still seemed to wither, and he could not risk that happening to Lily.
He couldn’t let his mistakes hurt the one thing in life that he loved.
If only he had the backbone to follow Anton’s advice, it would be better for everyone. But he didn’t possess that kind of moral fortitude. Her acceptance—her love, even if neither of them called it that—was so addicting he was helpless to resist. It filled the yawning hole inside him that had opened up the night his parents had died and had haunted him every day since. It was all he could do to keep her out of the dirtiest, most dangerous parts of his life. So here he was stuck in the middle, wooing her one moment and sneaking around behind her back the next like a complete bastard.
The thought put a black scowl on his face as he finally reached his dilapidated apartment building and parked in an empty spot along the curb. He got out, slamming shut the dented, rusted door of his car, and headed toward his building with both hands stuck deep in his pockets. If Mr. Doofusface the FBI agent hadn’t completely screwed the pooch and turned out to be an untrustworthy prick, his life would have been so much easier. Then, Lily would have had someone worthy of her, someone who had it all together, and Sebastian would have never given into the temptation to let her know how much he cared. But the careerist moron had put his job before common human decency, and now Sebastian was both happier and more tortured by doubt than he’d ever been in his life.
If he could just fix this situation with the witches, maybe he could keep pretending he deserved to spend time around Lily. But he had to get rid of Roger for good. That foul excuse for a human deserved it more than anyone Sebastian had ever met. Not even John Faust came close. It was finally time to make Roger pay for what he’d done, to him and to her, all those years ago.
Of course, the last time Sebastian had tried to make Roger pay, he’d failed miserably. But he’d been young and naive then. Now he had the fae on his side, and he knew they would be all too eager to get rid of that demon-loving sicko and whatever creatures he was keeping on his leash. Taking Roger out might even mollify Thiriel and show her he really did care about helping to eradicate demonkind. He just needed a little more information. And a plan.
But Sebastian forgot all about plans the moment he approached his front door and felt a long-forgotten twinge on the back of his right hand. A shadow entered his mind, and he sensed a lingering presence he hadn’t felt in almost seven years. It sent cold chills down his spine as a familiar ache gripped his heart.
He found the ransom note slipped under his door only because he was looking for it—one bit of trash on a floor covered in detritus. The writing scrawled across it glinted in the sickly glow of his living room light, as if the ink were still wet. His vision blurred as he read the three simple lines, body trembling with adrenaline-fueled fear and rage. “I’ll kill you, Roger,” he whispered, lips numb. Then he crumpled up the note and tossed it aside. Fists clenching and unclenching, he could only stand, mind stalled as he tried to control the emotions roiling through him. With a sudden, explosive curse he rammed his hand into the wall by the door, punch going straight through the flimsy drywall of the cheap apartment.
They had his brother. His stupid, jackass of a brother that he hadn’t seen in a decade. The two of them had fought constantly growing up, but Freddie was still his brother, and the last of his immediate family—the only link he had left to his parents. In that moment it didn’t matter how much he had ever loathed his over-achieving, goody-two-shoes sibling. He would have mowed through a dozen witches and twice as many demons to save him.
Except, it wasn’t going to be that simple. This wasn’t a group of bumbling wannabes he was dealing with. It was Roger Darthe, the witch who could take control of your mind with
a single glance, allied with a demon so powerful that Sebastian’s escape the first time had been nothing short of a miracle. He couldn’t just rush to the rescue, not unless he had a dozen of Thiriel’s best warriors at his back. But he had no illusions about Thiriel’s willingness to expose her people just to save one insignificant human. No, he would have to do it on his own, and he would have to be smart about it. There was no way he could give Roger what the note demanded—handing over a dangerous demonic artifact to a sadistic criminal like Roger would be dumber than pouring gasoline on a fire. Plus, he had given the book to Thiriel for safekeeping, and the fae queen would sooner dance a jig in the middle of Times Square than let it fall back into the hands of a man like Roger.
At least he didn’t have to waste any of his precious twelve hours searching—Roger had made that part easy. He only needed to gather a few supplies, make one stop, then embark on the most dangerous break-in he’d ever attempted in the hopes that he could get close enough to figure out how to rescue Freddie and escape with both their lives—not to mention their minds and souls—intact.
This was definitely the worst Monday he’d had in a long, long time.
Everyone knew the old Patterson Paper Factory south of Interstate 20 was haunted. It was the site of several well-known suicides, and local legend held that on certain nights a red glow could be seen emanating from deep within the building. Even though its brick exterior had been tagged in places by various gangs—usually on a bet—residents of the area knew better than to venture inside. There was the occasional urban explorer who, with a furtive look and a camera hanging around their neck, slipped through the rusted chain-link fence that surrounded the expansive building. But even they never seemed to get further than snapping a few shots of the overgrown grounds before packing up and moving on. The looming brick complex had an ominous feel to it, its boarded-up windows, chained doors, and decaying walls only adding to the forbidding atmosphere.
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Betrayal Page 12