Max had warned her to steer clear of the Protector’s all-seeing eye long before he’d shocked her by accepting the position as San Francisco’s High Priest. But when she pressed, he refused to elaborate on the danger. She still wasn’t entirely certain what he’d tried to warn her about, only that Antonin Vanderpoel was a very dangerous man.
She would know, since she was certain he’d had Max killed.
Whether the staff knew that or not, they were, to a one, terrified of his upcoming visit. In the three years she’d been in charge of them, she’d never seen the marble floor of the cathedral shine so brightly, nor the brass fittings on the doors and archways gleam like gold.
One by one, the paintings of Glory were freed of dust and the greasy leavings of reverent fingertips. Curtains were pulled down and beaten outside. Young acolytes redoubled their studies of ancient epics, tales of the gods and their trials and triumphs, in the library. She swore even the staff’s children, who normally frolicked in the nursery attached to the cathedral’s living areas, were more subdued than normal.
And against this tense backdrop, Petra swore she was being followed.
Not in the way she might have expected, and not by the usual crawling eyes she knew so well, but byshadows.
At first she thought it was Shade, hiding in the corner of her office again, or haunting her as she walked up windingstaircases. It made sense. He’d already demonstrated how little he cared about breaking and entering.
But whenever she caught sight of a shifting shadow, an unnatural movement in the dark, there was nothing there. It would have been unnerving on the best of days, but with Antonin’s visit rapidly approaching and the way Shade seemed to have disappeared after her breakdown…
Petra sat at the head table in the dining hall and pushed food around her plate. A hum of anticipation filled the air in lieu of conversation. Normally she could eat no matter how she felt and she always,alwayscleaned her plate, but even her knotted stomach had its limits.
It seemed absurd to miss the damn demon, butnotseeing him actually caused her more worry than when he was right in front of her.
They needed to talk. She’d gotten her hands on the floor plan for what would be Antonin’s suite and it was essential she tell Shade exactly what she needed him to find, then what to do with it.
Not to mention that there will likely be five to ten terrifyingly loyal witches standing guard at all times.
Petra’s lips thinned as she speared a roasted potato the size of a marble.No, I’ll handle that.
Based on their last meeting, the bulk of Antonin’s entourage went where he did. Theoretically, when she joined him for the private meal he’d requested, he’d bring them with him. She doubted he’d leave his things unguarded, but dealing with one or two lackeys on guard duty was infinitely better than the half a dozen bodyguards he boasted.
Theywould be her problem.
Petra popped the buttered potato into her mouth and tried to savor the rosemary and salt it had been seasoned with, but eventhe absurd spread of food the chef arrayed on her table couldn’t distract her from a thousand ways her plan could go wrong.
If Shade didn’t show back up, she’d be screwed. If Antonin caught onto her, she’d be screwed. If Shade’s tampering with the surveillance in her room was discovered, she’d be screwed. If Antonin caught him breaking into his suite…
Screwed, screwed, screwed.
A faint buzzing in the pocket of her slacks nearly startled the fork right out of her hand.
Petra froze. For just a moment, a wild, mad hope bloomed in her chest.
That particular phone never left her side. Not even when she slept. It was paid for by a buried account held under a false name, one not even connected to the money Max had hidden away for her.
The phone was one of a pair. It only had one number saved in its contacts, and its twin had been destroyed at some point between the last conversation she’d shared with Max, when he quietly but urgently begged her to leave the Temple, and his murder.
She knew it had been destroyed because she found the pieces hidden beneath a loose tile in her bathroom. Petra remembered the terror that had pierced her when she realized what he’d done, how scared he must have been when he did it.
Max hadn’t just crushed it, plucked out the SIM card, or factory reset it.
No, he’d first removed the SIM card, then melted it. Next, he’d drilled a hole in the battery, effectively incinerating the phone from the inside, before he crushed it to pieces and buried what remained beneath the tile.
That was why, when she discreetly pulled it from her pocket beneath the table, her heart lurched at the sight of the screen lit with a text notification.
For a single second, the span of a blink, Max was alive again.
And then he wasn’t, because the number on the screen was marked asprivate.
Petra’s stomach sank so fast, she worried she might actually be sick. Her hand shook as she unlocked the screen and, after checking to make sure no one was watching her, glanced at the message.
It was an address.
