“I intend to do nothing more than climb into my bed and sleep for ten hours, but I take it you have a hot date?”
“Indeed. Several new prospects have arisen, and I’m seeing one of them tonight.”
I laughed softly. “I do love the oh-so-romantic way you refer to a woman who might one day become your wife.”
“Marriage is a business rather than romantic transaction for us, as you well know.”
“I know, I just—” I stopped and shrugged. “As much as I wish you a beneficial betrothal contract, Mathi, I also want you to be happy. I’d hate for you to discover you can’t stand the woman when it’s all too damn late.”
“That won’t happen, because I have a devious plan.”
I glanced at him, my eyebrows raised. “And am I allowed to know this devious plan?”
“Indeed, you are a vital part of it.” His smile flashed, warm and bright in the afternoon’s gathering gloom. “But more on that when we have the time.”
I harrumphed. He laughed and guided me around the corner. Eastgate Street was filled with all manner of law enforcement, with the regular police doing the more menial tasks such as crowd control while the IIT—whose purview was to deal with all police events involving nonhumans—handled the actual investigations. I couldn’t see any familiar faces amongst the officers here, but that made sense given day division would have the operational lead on this, not the night. The copper manning the tape gave Mathi an acknowledging nod—meaning he’d been advised of our arrival—and lifted the tape for us.
The bank was built in a Neoclassical style, which meant not only was it grand in scale, but possessed rather dramatic-looking Corinthian columns, gloriously arched windows at street level, and smaller sashed windows in the upper two floors. The main entrance was situated in St Werburgh Street and was, unfortunately, of a modern design, totally out of keeping with the rest of the building, but likely far more secure than the original wooden doors.
The officer guarding the entrance requested our IDs and then opened the door and motioned us around to the right. The main banking area was again modern in design, with very little of the original architecture visible. Hopefully, those features had simply been boarded over rather than destroyed, especiallygiven the upper two floors apparently retained the features missing here, including a hall that had lovely old oak paneling and Ionic columns.
Ruadhán stood with three other officers toward the end of the long, featureless room, but turned as we approached. He was basically an older version of Mathi—though his eyes were much colder than his son’s and lacked the mirth that often flitted through Mathi’s—with age lines creasing his forehead and frown furrows near his mouth. Mom always said such furrows were a sign of deep-set unhappiness, though if she’d known what lay at its cause here, she’d never let on.
I stopped a respectful few feet away. He didn’t like me, I didn’t like him, and we tended not to get within each other’s personal space unless it was absolutely necessary.
“Let’s be clear, Bethany,” he said. “I believe this to be a fool’s errand, but given your recent success hunting for the council, I am willing to give in to their request and allow you access.”
The council hadn’t made that request, which meant Mathi had stretched the truth a tad when he’d called his father. “Then let’s hope such generosity results in me finding something worthwhile.”
His blue gaze darkened a fraction, but all he said was, “Please, follow me, and remember, you are not to touch anything without first clearing it with me.”
“Understood, but please tell your people not to react when I draw my knives, as I’ll need them to find whatever magic remains.” Had it been Mathi or even Cynwrig I was speaking to, I would have added, “I promise not to stab you,” but Ruadhán would not have appreciated the humor.
“They have already been warned. This way.”
He turned and led us to the left and then down a set of stairs that, though now concrete, still retained the lovely old oak handrail. I ran my fingers down it, listening to the wood’s mutedsong, hearing the sadness in it thanks to the disconnect with the rest of the building. All pixie lines had some sort of rapport with nature, be it controlling water, plants, insects, or bending trees to their will. Aodhán pixies could hear the song of, and manipulate, any sort of wood, whether it was alive or dead, in the forest or in furniture.
Of course, the females of our line also had one other skill the others didn’t—while all pixie women had received the blessing of the goddesses, giving them the so-called six virtues of womanhood, we Aodhán had a rather handy variation on one of them—we could control people’s actions with voice and touch. Unfortunately, it worked on everyone except elves, which was a pain in the ass because I’d really love to know why Ruadhán disliked me so much. Had it been any other Ljósálfar of royal blood, I would have said it stemmed from me being a part of what they consider a lower- or working-class family, and therefore a far from suitable partner for his son, but he’d always been aware our relationship had been based on friendship and sex rather than anything truly emotional. In some ways, his dislike felt almost instinctive. It was as if he couldn’t help it, thanks to what he was and what I was.
Which had never made any fucking sense, especially since he had seemed to like—or at least, respect—my mother.
We continued on until we hit the basement, then walked down a long concrete corridor interspersed with several sets of heavily barred metal doors. The vault room lay at the far end. The vault’s door was not only massive but also surprisingly opulent. Its surrounds were Neoclassical in style, with stone—marble?—a textured golden color that gleamed in the muted lighting. In the half arch above the doorway was a mosaic tile flower decoration that almost looked Roman in style and was, again, simply gorgeous. The only modern part of the whole vault lay on the wall to the right of its frame, where therewere a couple of small, linked metal boxes and a slightly larger but separate one. I had no idea what any of them were for, but presumably they had something to do with the multiple number of locks and thick metal pins that radiated around the inside of the door. Just beyond the vault’s frame, on the inside of the vault itself, was another barred door that was no doubt meant as a final line of defense if the two timed locks and the backup generator went down, and a would-be thief had the lock combination.
We stepped through the thick metal door frame into the main vault area. The room was narrow but long, with safety deposit boxes stacked ceiling high on either side—the higher ones being accessible via antique-looking rolling ladders—and three privacy booths down the end. There was also a rather untidy pile of about twenty boxes sitting in a middle of the tiled floor midway down the room. Money, jewelry, and a number of rolled-up parchments lay scattered around them, which lent credence to our suspicions the thief had been after something specific.
“Anything?” Ruadhán asked.
“I only just got in the door. Give me time.”
He didn’t say anything, but I sure as hell felt the roll of his annoyance. I dragged one of the knives out of my purse, then handed the bag and my tea to Mathi and walked on, being careful to avoid anything that looked like evidence. A woman squatted a foot or so away from the pile of metal boxes, and it took me a second to realize it was Marjorlaine Blackguard, the head of the spellcasters’ guild here in Deva.
She glanced around as I neared, and her eyebrows rose. She was a well-dressed woman in her mid-forties with spiky silver hair, silvery eyes, and dark brown skin. A thick veil of energy surrounded her that, while it didn’t fizz with lightning, still felt electric.
“You do pop up in the strangest places, Bethany Aodhán.”
Her voice was dry and amused, but then, I had the feeling she saw me as nothing—as an untrained joke. Could be doing her an injustice, of course, but I doubted it.
“When it comes to godly relics, I’m apparently the latest go-to girl.”
