A moment passed. Michael stood aside and indicated the elevator with his hand. Linus and I boarded, he followed, and we rode the elevator up to the fifth floor.
Déjà vu.
A couple of moments later we entered the round library. The Keeper met us by the couches.
“Prime Duncan, Prime Baylor. We are glad to see the Office of the Warden back to full strength.”
“I come here today as a private citizen,” Linus said.
The Keeper’s black eyes narrowed. “How can we help you?”
“I need to know how an antistasi can kill Ignat Orlov.”
“Please give us some privacy, Michael,” the Keeper said.
Michael nodded and left the room.
“What do you want?” Linus asked, his tone blunt.
“You know my price.” The Keeper’s tone matched Linus’。
“Done. I withdraw my objection. I will not hinder but I will not facilitate either. It is up to them. This is my best offer.”
“Perfectly satisfactory.” The Keeper smiled and for a moment his teeth looked too sharp. “Wait here.”
He disappeared into a dark alcove between the shelves.
“What just happened?” I asked Linus quietly.
“Nothing yet. This was not what I wanted, but this is the one time I cannot get my way.”
“Can you just explain it to me?”
“No. You wanted to save Alessandro. This is the price. Trust me. I would never put any of you in harm’s way.”
The Keeper emerged with a stack of paper and a pen and handed them to me. “How is your command of arcane artistry, Ms. Baylor?”
“Expert.” Now wasn’t the time for false modesty.
“As I thought. Pay close attention, for I will explain this only once.”
Darkness spiraled out of the alcove behind the Keeper, drowning the room.
“Don’t move,” I muttered.
“It tickles,” Alessandro said.
“You are supposed to be a badass with iron discipline. Endure.”
He sighed.
“Don’t sigh either. Small shallow breaths.”
I anchored my wrist on his muscular back and drew another tiny glyph in a complex pattern that spiraled around his neck, over his chest, over both arms, and onto his back. He stood in the living room in the house we shared wearing nothing except a pair of black briefs.
It was afternoon and the sun flooded through the windows. We returned from the Keeper of Records to some nasty news. The PAC, the mercenary company headed by Berry, Connor’s nemesis, was on the move. House Rogan’s contacts advised my brother-in-law that someone had hired Berry to attack his and Nevada’s estate. They were mobilizing for a decisive strike, which was to take place first thing tomorrow.
Everyone agreed that Arkan was using Berry to tie up Connor and Nevada. Everyone also agreed that there was nothing to be done about it. Berry had numbers and skilled personnel and he was highly motivated. Apparently, the client had paid PAC a single dollar to ensure their participation. House Rogan couldn’t ignore this. We were on our own for this fight.
My fingertips were going numb, and I still had half of his back and both thighs to go. It was him, me, my notes, and an art marker with Shadow as the audience.
“Ready?” Bern asked from the phone on the coffee table. I had him on speaker.
“Go,” Alessandro said.
“Sample 1.”
Arabella’s voice came from the phone, haunting and persistent. “You’re going to die. This is your last warning. Leave, and we will not pursue you. Save yourself.”
“Sample 2.”
A slightly different intonation. “You’re going to die. This is your last warning. Leave, and we will not pursue you. Save yourself.”
“Sample 3 . . .”
Apparently, my sister could sound remarkably menacing when the occasion called for it.
“The third one is the scariest,” I said.
“The first one,” Alessandro said. “She sounds like a younger sister guilt-tripping you.”
“Our vote is for the first one as well,” Bern said.
“It’s your concert,” I told him. “First it is.”
He hung up.
I kept drawing. The glyph pattern wasn’t difficult to understand. It was just hellishly complicated to draw.
“Konstantin was in your office for a while today,” Alessandro said.
“Mhm.”
“What did he say to you?” he asked.
“He thinks you will die tomorrow.”
“I won’t.”
Damn right, you won’t. That’s why we were doing this.