I nodded stoutly. “Let’s be off.”
Iwill stuff you in a sarcophagus if you cause any trouble,” Lewis quietly informed our prisoner, Geoffrey, as we moved through the service passageway of Ciceley House. He held the younger man by the arm, and Geoffrey tripped along like a reluctant toddler.
“I won’t, I swear,” the younger man insisted. “W-we ought to check the vaults, first. The detective said it would be stored there. The artifact, I mean.”
All of us save Pretoria stopped as one as we reached the café proper. She continued, one hand raised to shield herself in a skew of time, fingers light, head tilted to one side as she listened.
“Safe,” she determined. “No sign of Baffin yet, though we must exercise all caution.”
We joined her inside, spreading out under the dome of the painted ceiling. The café seemed demure now, ceiling in shadow, chairs empty, extravagant chandeliers and lording windows devoid of light.
“Perry and I will take the puppy up to Maddeson’s office,” Pretoria said. She was clearly favoring canine insults that evening.
Geoffrey looked startled. “Am I the puppy?”
Pretoria ignored him. “The vaults are below.” She gave me a meaningful look. “That is a better task for you.”
“Lewis and I will see to them,” I acknowledged. I was riddled with nervous anticipation, the thought of finally finding the artifact both intoxicating and taxing.
“You are sure?” Pretoria asked, casting a meaningful glance at Lewis.
I suppressed a flare of irritation. “I am sure.”
We divided. Pretoria, Perry, and Geoffrey headed for the nearest staircase, and Lewis and I made for the main foyer.
The museum was deathly quiet save for our footsteps and rustle of heavy clothes. Diffused streetlight trickled through the front doors, illuminating the pillars, courtyard, and high walls beyond the glass. We passed under the gaze of two enormous manticores at the base of the main staircase and paused, looking for our next destination. The others, meanwhile, headed up the stairs to the second floor with quiet feet.
The thin light of the streetlamps faded entirely as Lewis and I entered a central passage. My Eventide eyes took over, separating the gloom into sepia tones.
A meaty thud and masculine “Oof” echoed from up the main stairs.
“Just a guard!” Pretoria whisper-shouted down to us. “Carry on!”
Lewis met my gaze with arched brows. I cracked a smile.
We passed a cloakroom with its empty shelves, hooks, and coat hangers, and slowed at a heavy door markedPrivate.
“This looks promising,” I said, just loud enough for him to hear.
“Shall I take the lock?”
“Please.”
“Hold this.”
He placed a lighter in my hand and crouched—as an Entwined of the Sun, he could not see in the darkness as I could.
Glancing around to ensure we were alone, I clicked a flame into life and bent close to the keyhole.
Light illuminated Lewis’s face, revealing pupils dark and wide and fixed on me. Our proximity was a demanding thing, charged and unnecessarily preoccupying.
“You look different,” he said, as if to justify his momentary stare, and turned to the lock.
“How so?”
He fiddled obscurely with his tools. “You… ah, tired. I need to concentrate.”
“Well,” I huffed, and held the lighter close enough to singe his moustache. He flinched back, opened his mouth to say something more, then froze.
