Charlie was still stuck on his accusation. “Why would Vince’s shadow—Red—have killed those people?”
“One of them got a piece of the book, which it wouldn’t like,” Salt said, with a twist of his mouth and a glare. “The other knew too much about the contents of the Liber Noctem. But Red needs to kill. The more blood and shadow energy it consumes, the more powerful it becomes—and the more ready for the ritual.”
By the time Charlie looked down at her plate, the only thing that remained were smears of red from the rare meat. She wiped the edges of her mouth with her napkin. She didn’t recall eating any of it.
“This book has been missing for a year or more. What makes you think I can get it by Saturday?” Charlie asked.
“You know Edmund. You can do what no one else can—determine where he could have put a book he didn’t want anyone to find. I am having a little soiree for the gloamist community in celebration of my elevation to the Cabal. Having the book would be a worthy proof of how successful I will be in my new position.”
Charlie stared at him in horror. Sure, the Cabal was a bootleg governing body, but it served to identify threats to the community—like loose Blights, or laws meant to regulate gloaming—and employ a Hierophant. It also kept the local gloamists in check. Someone as monstrous as Salt on there, to be one of the five people making decisions, was going to be bad for everyone.
No, one of four people, Charlie realized. Because Knight Singh was dead.
“I appreciate the offer of work, but the job’s not for me,” Charlie said. “I have no idea where Vince is or what he did with your book. For all I know, he got rid of it. And besides, I don’t like you. You kidnapped me at gunpoint. And you’re kind of a dick.”
Telling him that wasn’t revenge, but it wasn’t nothing.
Adeline sucked in her breath.
Salt looked at Charlie across the table, and there was something in his face as though in anticipation of some great pleasure. That’s all the warning she got before his shadow flowed toward her and sank into her skin. Before she understood what was happening, her hand lifted the steak knife just as the waiter returned to the room.
She could sense the shadow inside her, a separate consciousness. She could hear its thoughts and sense the enormity of its hatred.
Her mouth opened and she could feel her tongue begin to form words, her voice rough with resistance. “I wi-ll mur-der—”
Then she was free, and shaking with horror. Uncertain if she cast the shadow off with her will, or if Salt let her go.
He laughed at the waiter’s startled face. “She becomes heated when we discuss politics, but there’s no harm in her. Isn’t that true, my dear?”
Charlie bit her tongue and didn’t answer, too afraid that it wouldn’t be her own words coming out of her mouth.
Salt leaned in close, dropping his voice to a whisper. “You have a week to steal the Liber Noctem for me. Given your reputation, I am certain of your success. But if you fail, we’ll see what else I can make you do, and to whom. You have a sister, isn’t that right? Now, would you like coffee before you go? A cordial?”
Anger and fear and fury rose in Charlie like a wave, sweeping every other thought away. She hadn’t thought it was possible to despise him more than she did, but now her hands were shaking with a desire for violence. She wanted to break a glass and use it to slice open his face. She wanted to watch him squirming on the carpet as poison stole his consciousness.
Salt’s smile grew as he studied her expression. She had the sinking suspicion that he enjoyed her hating him. It was another kind of power.
He wiped the edges of his mouth with a cloth napkin. “I need to hear you say that you understand. That you will be at my estate on Saturday, book in hand.”
Charlie pushed back her chair and got up, biting the inside of her cheek. “You have my word.”
He nodded. “Good day to you, Charlatan.”
As she turned to go, though, Adeline grabbed her hand. “I know you saw the news stories. Before you judge my father, remember what Red is capable of doing.”
Was Vince’s shadow really out there, murdering people in anticipation of some transformation? Was that what had happened to Rose Allaband? How responsible had Vince been for all of this?
And yet, Rand’s body had also been found in a car, along with a dead girl that Charlie was fairly certain he’d never even met while alive. All staged by Salt.
Maybe Vince hadn’t faked his own death. What if he’d just taken the book and run? If Salt had set up the burned husk of the car, with charred bodies inside, Vince would have been pronounced dead, making it impossible for him to get far, or to go to the authorities. If anyone thought he was alive, he’d be wanted for murder.