Nine Lives: The Caelum Academy Trilogy: Part THREE

by Akeroyd, Serena

  Whatever this Jannah crap was about, learning of her heritage had made her embrace her true self. So, whether it was bullshit or not, it had made her believe, and through that, the leaves and branches on her body had stopped glowing so much—something we could only see as being a sign of things to come.

  By the time we pulled up to the house Samuel had rented for us in Geneva—a small chalet that was an hour away from the city—we were all whacked. Samuel had gone radio silent, so I hoped that meant he was getting some rest, and I knew that the second I could, I was getting between the sheets too.

  As I stared up at the house, I had to admit it was both cute and disconcerting. Disconcerting because it looked like the gingerbread houses I’d seen in movies as a kid—the Hallmark Christmas ones that were shipped around the world—and cute because, fuck, it looked like a real-life gingerbread house.

  It was three stories tall and thin with it. Two windows and the door were stacked in vertical alignment beneath a flat roof that pitched down on either side. The windows had little Juliet balconies that were decorated with wooden moldings, and in the light of day, it was painted a cheery yellow color. A bit like custard. In fact, now that I thought about it, it was definitely like custard—the flans my abuela had made when I was a kid for special occasions. Back before she’d turned into an outright bitch.

  As the car doors closed, the front door to the chalet slammed open. Eve stood there, her chest bellowing like she’d run a race as she stared at us. With a squeal that would have had any neighbors protesting if we weren’t in the middle of goddamn nowhere, she hurled herself at Stefan, then after he’d squeezed her, kissed her until she turned pink, she rammed into Eren. Another hug, another kiss. Then onto Frazer. Same treatment.

  I wasn’t sure why I watched, because it was an effort in torture, but I kind of wanted to know what she’d do with me. After she squeezed Frazer until he looked like he was being choked by an overlarge octopus—not that he seemed to mind—she turned toward me and bit her bottom lip.

  There was a longing in her eyes that made me ache inside, but just because she wasn’t useless anymore didn’t mean—

  Fuck.

  It didn’t mean shit.

  My dislike and distaste didn’t mean shit either.

  She was mine.

  Fuck a duck.

  I ran a hand through my sweaty hair again, tipped my chin up and mumbled, “Hey.” Before she could say anything, or before the others could glower at me too hard, I spun on my heel and headed through the open door. I needed to process this before I made a move, process what this meant to me, and how I’d cope with the ramifications.

  Spotting Reed at the dining table, I cocked a brow at the splintered wood around him. A small lamp and, by the looks of it, three chairs hadn’t survived his wrath.

  He shrugged at my questioning look. “Temper got the better of me.”

  I snorted. “Good thing we can afford the security deposit.” Dude had a habit of breaking shit wherever he went. It was like living in a china shop and inviting the bull inside for afternoon tea.

  “Eve was freaking out about all of you being gone, and my Hell Hound doesn’t like it when she’s uneasy.”

  I eyed the destruction around him. “Ya think?”

  He pulled a face then asked, “Everything go well?”

  Having hauled the bag in with me, I nodded, stepped over to the dining table, and dumped it on there. I really wanted to crash on the sofa I’d just passed, but I didn’t. I behaved.

  “Sammy still awake?”

  “He napped once we knew you were on the road home, but he set an alarm for ten minutes before you were due to arrive.” At my frown, he shrugged again. “Brother does what he wants. Anyway, he’s in the shower. Should be getting out soon.”

  Sighing, I nodded then opened the zipper and grabbed the shit inside the bag. There’d been some stuff loose in the drawer, but most of it had been in velvet pockets for safe keeping.

  As we opened up the loot, Reed whistled as Frazer, Eve, Stefan, and Eren walked in behind me to study our ill-gotten gains as well.

  Upstairs, a door banged, and we looked at the ceiling like it could give us some answers.

  “It’s Sammy. But don’t worry, Nestor’s watching over him,” Reed reassured the others. “In case he passes out.”

  A pained sound escaped Eve. “I’ll sleep with him tonight,” she said with a low voice, her features flickering with tension as though Samuel’s habit of overworking, physically hurt her too—why that messed with my insides, I didn’t know. “I want to make sure he gets some rest,” she ended, jaw clenching.

  Frazer squeezed her shoulder. “Thanks, love.”

  Her smile was gentle as she reached up and grabbed his hand. “He’s my Chosen.”

  The simplicity of her words struck me as though she’d used a dagger against me and it had slid into the softest part of my belly. It hurt. In fact, no, it fucking caned. Enough so that I had to grit my teeth as I stared down at the jewels in front of me.

  “There’s a couple of million here,” Stefan commented after a few minutes. He’d know, considering he’d been Oliver Twist back in the day. “Easy. Look at the size of that sapphire.” He whistled as he palmed the ring with its cabochon setting. “That’s half a million on its own.”

  “Not to be sneezed at,” I said wryly. “I wish we could return them to the original owners instead of just giving it to a Holocaust charity.”

  Samuel’s voice was husky when he said, “I’ll try to source what I can because that’s a nice idea, Dre.”

  Did it piss me off that he sounded amazed I was capable of being nice? Sure it did, but I understood. Most people mistook my personality as attitude. I wasn’t about to correct those fuckers either. If they thought my attitude stank worse than four-day-old horse shit, screw them.

  In my Pack, it wasn’t as cut and dry, and with Eve around, I was having to face facts.

  I couldn’t stay as I was if I was ever to become an integral part of the unit. If I remained like I was now, I’d forever be on the outside and, truth was, I didn’t have to fear these guys tossing me out. They’d never abandon me. It wasn’t how we rolled. Not even Frazer, Reed, or Samuel would dream of dumping me, leaving me behind, even though we’d spent most of our schooling loathing one another.

  The most I had to fear was never being accepted, and that? Well, that was more than I thought I could stand for a lifetime.

  “We’ll need to hand some over to Ibramovicz,” Reed cautioned. “He needs to see the rest of our haul to trust us.”

  I shrugged. “Shouldn’t be difficult. The joy of this scenario is that no one knows what Wassermann was storing in that bank vault, just that he was storing a lot of jewelry with dubious Jewish heritage.” Cocking a brow at him, I murmured, “If Sam’s links get us a ring that could match up to what Bartlett and Avalina described, then we should be okay.”

  When making forgeries, it was definitely handy to have people around who’d seen the original.

  With Sam’s father working in the jewelry industry, and with Sam’s obsessive-compulsive habit of watching his family like some kind of Peeping Tom without the heavy breathing and jerky right hand, he had access to all his father’s contacts. Getting a ring made of brass and iron was piss easy considering the metals were easily sourced and there were no precious gems to worry about.

  If things worked out well, we’d be getting the ring and would be seeing the fence tomorrow.

  Tomorrow could very well be Ibramovicz’s last day on this earth if he didn’t fall in line with our plans. I hoped, for his sake, he believed our forgery was authentic, otherwise his hump day would be even worse than usual.

  5

  Eve

  As I knocked on a plain brown door with a frosted glass window labeled with Ibramovicz’s surname, I sucked in a sharp breath to calm myself down. To ready myself for the door opening and coming face to face with a man who, according to some of Sam’s contacts on the Silk Road
website—a site that was believed by law enforcement agencies the world over to be shut down—was the best fence in this part of the world.

  After news of the break-in at Silbermann & Hertz’s bank last night, he’d been most interested to see us, and the loot my Chosen had claimed for us rested heavily in the purse I had slung over my shoulder.

  It was the first time I was in proper clothes, and to be honest, I was surprised at how good I looked.

  Well accustomed to tight yoga pants but overly baggy men’s shirts, this neat skirt suit with low-heeled shoes, which I kept wobbling on when Frazer or Stefan would let go of their hold on my elbow or hand, made me look pretty feminine. It was a sight I wasn’t accustomed to, and it was something I quite appreciated.

  The skirt curved about my hips and thighs which, because of all the exercise, had grown tighter, and its high waistline showcased my rounded hips and slim stomach. I wore a ruffled shirt that did devious things to my breasts, and had me fearing they’d pop out of the bra one of the guys had picked for me—which meant it was seriously impractical—and that was topped with a slimline jacket that tucked into my waist. The red heels were a blast of color amid the black suit and creamy gold shirt.

  With my men at my side, dressed in suits that had my eyes flaring wide every time I cast a look their way, I realized that someone was getting lucky tonight.

  Me.

  Them too, but it was me who counted the most, I thought with an inward smirk. This tag teaming thing really saved on time and doubled up on the pleasure. Why most women didn’t do it, I wasn’t sure, but though I was late to the party, there was no way I was leaving for home first.

  As the door creaked open, a Hasidic Jew was revealed to me. He had graying ringlets tousled on either side of his cheeks, and he wore a plain black suit. I only knew what a Hasidic Jew was because Samuel had warned me not to be surprised by his appearance.

  My current trouble was coming across people and scenarios I’d never seen before. A little like a newborn staring out at the world in wonder, but people mistook my wonder for scorn, and that simply wasn’t the case.

  I was walking the world, free to roam—well, to a point—and there was no way I wasn’t going to see everything there was to see. But, sometimes, things just surprised me. Like the croissant. Only they didn’t get offended if I gaped at them in delighted wonder.

  Small surprise that everyone at the New Order cult was miserable as sin. They were missing out on so much! Automated washing machines, croissants, and yoga pants were just three things I’d come to love.

  The ringlets held my attention for a second before I managed to turn my attention away from them and to the man himself. Ibramovicz was a dealer. A middleman. He would put us in touch with people who were interested in what we were selling—be it illegal or otherwise—for a cut.

  Considering the deal we had on the table was very illegal, it surprised me to realize that the man was very religious. How did that even work? Didn’t his job go against his religion?

  Humans were, I was coming to see, hypocrites. It wasn’t news to me. Not after the New Order. But still, the belief was being rammed home now.

  “Ms. David?” the fence asked, his head tilted to the side as he cast a weathered eye over my appearance.

  I didn’t actually have a surname, but Samuel had found it amusing to give me the name of Solomon’s father.

  “Yes.” I smiled.

  He swept out a hand and stepped to the side to let me in. When Frazer and Stefan moved with me, he tensed, and I raised a brow.

  “They can wait outside if you wish it, but you can understand my hesitance in traveling without security with the items I’m carrying.”

  Ibramovicz, apparently seeing the sense in that, nodded to a desk where there were two spindly guest chairs waiting for me to take a seat.

  The office was innocuous enough, containing a wooden desk that was peeling at the corners and a desk chair that appeared to be covered in some kind of rose felt. The walls held a few bland pictures I thought could have been purchased in any home store a few decades ago, and the floor was covered in a worn, brown carpet that hid way too many stains from unsuspecting eyes.

  All in all, it looked recyclable.

  Like it was pushed together and pulled apart at a moment’s notice to give Ibramovicz somewhere to discuss business.

  When I took a seat, Frazer stepped behind me while Stefan sat beside me. Ibramovicz’s own chair squeaked as he rocked back and, steepling his fingers, he asked, “You wished to see me?”

  “Yes, and you know why.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “It is to my understanding that you have items that might be of interest to certain people in my ken.”

  “Is this room wired?” I asked, posing the question Samuel had insisted I utter.

  Ibramovicz snorted. “I’d be a fool to wire the room.” My question seemed to ease him somehow, and he rocked forward. “Where did you get these items?”

  “From someone who shouldn’t own them. Someone whose father used to run the Dachau prison camp.”

  Ibramovicz’s mouth tightened. “Nazi scum.” When he spat, twisting his head to the left, I jerked in surprise. “Wassermann always liked to say that his father’s arm was twisted into joining the Nazi party, but there have always been whispers about his illicit gains.” He beckoned with his fingers. “Show me.”

  I reached for my purse and unbuttoned it, then unfastened the chunky bronze zipper on the leather satchel. As I reached in for the velvet pouches we’d used to contain the jewels, I bit the inside of my lip. I knew he wouldn’t see the move, but the slight pain helped ease my nerves.

  I felt jittery inside, and that was the last thing Ibramovicz needed to sense. A man of his years, in this profession, would be good at reading people. Another fact Samuel and Eren had warned me about.

  When I placed the pouch on the desk, the scored and scratched wooden surface looked even cheaper against the rich velvet. When I tipped open the flap, Ibramovicz inquired, “How did you even get into the vault?”

  My lips curved. “It’s about who you know in this world, and what they know.”

  The old man’s eyes flared with amusement, and he grinned at me. “This is very true and very wise for one so young.” He cast a glance at my men. “You’re all very young for a life of crime.”

  “Hard choices can force your hand,” I stated, my tone sage. I carefully began pulling out the pieces we knew would be of most interest to him. The others were back at home and Samuel, as we agreed, was trying to see if he could figure out the original owners.

  Sadly, it wasn’t looking too hopeful. Some bore jeweler’s marks, but most didn’t. They were just exquisite pieces that were worth a small fortune.

  Ibramovicz hummed as I revealed the large sapphire cabochon and an emerald choker that glinted like green fire in the harsh overhead lighting. I’d not tried on any of the pieces, even though the little girl in me would have liked to dress up. Would have appreciated such sparkle against my skin, but these jewels were forged in blood, and that would never interest me.

  When I pulled out a necklace that Samuel told us could also act as a tiara, which was basically a chain of diamonds with long fronds that, when pinned to a lady’s hair, could stand upright, Ibramovicz hummed again. “Sehr schön,” he whispered, and I marveled yet again at how the words, no matter the language, were ones I easily understood.

  His fingers traced over the pieces, and I could see the Euro signs in his eyes as he calculated their worth and tried to ascertain exactly who he might sell these pieces to. His interest was so focused on those items, as we’d intended, that he didn’t even notice the bland signet ring. It was worn at the edges, the symbols faint, smoothed over by time itself. Of course, it was manmade, but we’d spent a fortune on getting this produced and within an eight-day period of time.

  Sam’s connections had done us proud. Beneath the worn markings, there were symbols that, according to Bartlett and Avalina, a
man like Drekavac would recognize and understand.

  As I tapped the ring against the wooden desk, the sound caught the fence’s attention. He stared at it, then frowned at me. “What’s that?”

  My lips curved. “Hopefully enough to set me up for life.”

  That had his frown deepening. “What is it?” The man didn’t like being toyed with.

  “From the etchings? I’d say a very important signet ring.”

  “How would you know what these etchings mean?” he scoffed.

  “A man on my team recognized them. He is Jewish. Devout.”

  “Devout and a thief? I think not,” he sneered with a snort.

  “Aren’t you a thief, Herr Ibramovicz?” I countered sweetly, not appreciating his remark when he was a pious scumbag. “Selling stolen goods to other thieves?” My smile appeared. “We are what we are, and we do what we do. Among our own kind, we shouldn’t judge, should we?”

  Though he didn’t reply, I could tell I’d hit a nerve, because a muscle pulsed in his smoothly shaven jaw.

  “What are these symbols then?” the man eventually asked, as he took the ring from my fingers and peered at it through a loupe.

  When Samuel had set up this meeting, he’d only mentioned the jewels. Not the signet ring, so I knew the fence’s surprise wasn’t feigned. “My friend is a very intelligent man. He read Theology at Oxford,” I lied. “It is, he says, the Seal of Solomon.”

  Ibramovicz frowned at me once more, then he began to laugh. “That thing does not exist.”

  I didn’t lose my cool because I wasn’t tense for once, and I’d seen the sparkle of interest, of covetousness, in his eyes. “You’re holding it,” I reassured him. “Why do you think we targeted Wassermann’s bank vault in the first place. Little whispers, Herr Ibramovicz, that we listened to.”

  “You mean you heard gossip of this? In all my years, I never heard a whisper,” he retorted scornfully.

  Liar, I thought.

  Ibramovicz worked for Drekavac and had done since he was a young man. The Original Ghoul had been on the hunt for this for only God knew how long.