Stonecast

Twenty-three

Alexandra

Sleep was good. In fact, I might have called it my best friend. A night of ignoring calls from Caleb and not having to think about the events of the previous night was blissful. Sleep even gave me the false hope that maybe I had been dreaming the events of the past few days. But when the door buzzed over and over for a good ten minutes, I finally gave in to waking and checked it out, only to find Desmond Locke at the door, his face full of curiosity.

“Is your father in?” he asked. “I would like to speak with him.”

“No,” I said. “If he wasn’t in the offices here, then I don’t know where he is.”

“Pity,” he said, extending his open palm into the building. “May I?”

Not having seen him since before Caleb and I had liberated my great-great-grandfather’s book, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be talking to a man whose church I had broken into, but compared to the events of last night, it almost felt like a welcome distraction.

I headed upstairs to the kitchen to make myself some coffee but made no effort to offer him any. I sat down at the breakfast bar, leaving him standing.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Locke?” I asked, taking my first sip, coming a bit more alive with it.

“I wonder if you’ve been watching the news,” he said.

My stomach sank. “No,” I said. “I’ve been holed up in bed all morning. Bit under the weather and all.”

“Interesting reporting this morning,” he said. “They say overnight there were many sightings and reporting of angels and demons throughout the city sky. There were hundreds of incidents reported. Even footage on the Internet.”

“Really, now,” I said, a bit of curiosity winning out over my growing fear. “And what do you make of all this?”

“What with all the reports of angel and demon sightings,” he said, “one would think we are seeing the End of Days.”

“Isn’t the Rapture something someone in your line of work is supposed to look forward to?”

“In theory, yes,” he said, “but I am not as dogmatic as most. We both know there are strange things in the world, Miss Belarus. And I think the regular world is catching on to that now because of the meddling of certain people who do not know any better.”

Given the air of superiority coming from him, I resisted the urge to throw my coffee in his face. “And what would be better?” I asked.

“The world would be a better place if these things were kept in check,” he said. “Or at least used on the side of God.”

“Ah, there we have it,” I said. “No one wants to just take this power and put it on the shelf. Maybe that’s what your Libra Concordia thinks to do in theory, but the truth is that theory doesn’t work. There are always men and women who seek power, no matter how altruistic they claim to be.”

“There are those better suited to judge those needs than others,” he spat out.

I walked up to him, tugging on the thick ropes of medallions and talismans he wore around his neck. “No offense, but I find it hard to trust your judgment when I see you wearing and using the very objects you swear to keep out of the hands of others.”

“Sometimes it is better to be forearmed,” he said. “What is going on, Miss Belarus?”

It was true that this man had shared some of his knowledge about my great-great-grandfather with me, but it had all started only after he had a gun in his hand. I was sick of people trying to push me this way and that. I was tired of feeling used. “I don’t think I have anything I want to share with you, Mr. Locke,” I said.

“Oh no?” he said. “I think you have taken advantage for far too long of my goodwill, allowing you to do research at the Libra Concordia.”

“If what you say about the news is true, why not just head out into the streets?” I asked. “I’m sure you could have your pick of whatever’s out there.”

Desmond Locke shook his head, his voice becoming sharper now. “The thing about these creatures is that I do not care about them at the moment,” he said. “What I am interested in—what I have always been interested in—would be the angel that watches over your family.”

“Why is that one so important?” I asked.

“Because before all this other nonsense erupted, it was the singular mystery that brought me to this city, and I have spent much of my life seeking it out.” A bit of madness had entered his voice. “Other mysteries within the Concordia have come after it, but it is the singular thing that has eluded me, and I will not be denied. I will rein this angel in, or I will bend it to my will.”

“There is no angel,” I said, not even hesitating. It was the truth, after all.

Desmond Locke’s voice calmed, but his eyes danced with fire. “Miss Belarus, please. I have offered you my hospitality as a guest at the Libra Concordia in the hope that you would get the answers you seek.”

“And I thank you for that,” I said.

“But that does come with a price,” he said. “A little give-and-take, and I do mean to take. I have more than earned it.”

“You have earned nothing where my family is concerned,” I said. “You watch over us under false pretenses yet dare call my father ‘friend.’ I find it repulsive.”

“I am simply a curious man,” he said, changing tactics yet again. “I like knowing things, and for the sake of my organization, this is the sort of knowledge and creation that we would like to keep in balance.”

“You expect me to trust you? I think you should leave.”

“You talk about trust,” he said. “Perhaps I should not have trusted you.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, my anger growing.

“It seems we have had a break-in at the Libra Concordia,” he said with his eyes searching my face for a reaction.

I gave him none even though my heart leapt up into my throat. “And what does that have to do with me?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “But there are signs of both breaking in and breaking out, though we cannot determine if anything was taken. But I’m sure you know nothing about that, do you?”

I shook my head. “Sorry,” I said.

“No matter,” he said. “We will get to the bottom of it, I am sure. Your lack of cooperation here will be something I consider when we question Mr. Kennedy once more.”

“So you’ve spoken to him already about it?” I asked.

Desmond nodded.

After dismissing Caleb on trust issues the night before, I could only imagine how fast he’d sell me out for his safety. “What did Caleb say?”

“He says he knows nothing about what happened the night of the break-in,” Desmond said. “But I am not sure I believe him.”

“Why not?”

“Just a hunch,” he said. “He is a freelancer, after all. Not to be trusted. They are profound liars for the right price.”

Was Desmond Locke admitting to some knowledge of Caleb’s working both sides of the good-and-evil fence? Or was he simply trying to draw me out, getting me to make an emotion-driven mistake?

I couldn’t be sure, and in doubt, I held my tongue. When I didn’t answer after a full minute of silence, Desmond Locke gave a pressed-lip smile.

“If I find he had anything to do with the break-in, it will go poorly for him,” he said, heading for the stairs leading back down to the door. “And given your lack of cooperation here with other matters, it will be doubly so.”

I wanted to rage as I watched him go, and I followed him down the stairs until I could shut and lock the door behind him. All the while I kept silent because any other reaction might betray something to him—be it Stanis, the secrets of the Spellmasons, or even something that might get Caleb killed. Yes, I had driven him off and ignored all his calls, but did I want him killed at the hands of a secret society?

I needed to do something with this energy and confusion, so I ran down the basement stairs, heading for the guild hall. I wanted nothing more than to get into my great-great-grandfather’s inner sanctum and, at the very least, get out a good scream.

The secret door was once again propped on its hidden hinges, sitting ajar, despite the warding password I had put upon it. I threw it open, focusing my will to take down whoever had dared enter my family’s sacred space.

Storming in, I quickly surveyed the room. The scattered books I had been reading on the center table of the great hall were now piled in a single tower almost three feet tall. At the top of it sat a small wooden box with ornate, arcane carving on it.

What the hell was it?

A weird prank left by Desmond?

It didn’t seem likely as he had been with me the entire time. I knew of only one person who had the guts to break in here.

I ran to the box, taking it from the top of the stack and laying it down on the table. It was no larger than a cigar box, but there was both weight to it and the sensation of fluid movement from within. Furious at yet another violation of my space, I flipped the lid open, not caring if it was a trick or not.

A large glass orb sat in the middle of a cushioned insert, its contents a swirling mass of liquid. Even as I stood there looking down at it, the liquid maintained its motion, almost hypnotic. Tucked into the lids were several sheets of notebook paper in Caleb’s clean script. One sheet spelled out in detail the use of the concoction, the same mixture he supposedly used to control Stanis while on the payroll for Kejetan Ruthenia.

The other bore a far more simple but ominous message.

Watch your back.—C

PS. Sorry.