The stacks opened into a work space. Araña immediately sought the safe with her eyes, barely taking in the figure of the old man hunched over a table. She found a row of them set in brick and mortar, and even without taking the first step toward the wall housing them, she knew each safe would have a vampire sigil on it.
Her attention swung back to the bookseller. He looked up, and shocked recognition replaced all else. “Thierry?” she asked.
Faded lichen-colored eyes studied her face for a long moment before dropping to the gloved hand. “You’re Matthew and Erik’s girl, Spider, if I remember correctly.”
“Araña.”
He gave a small nod to acknowledge the translation. “Are they in Oakland, too?”
Her throat closed for an instant. “They were killed here.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” His glance traveled from Tir to the bank of safes, then back to her. “Considering the company you’re in, I can guess your reason for being here.
“I don’t doubt you can do what you intend. Erik could have, and the last time I saw him, he bragged you were better at it than him. But I know Matthew would have made sure you know how foolish it is to cross a vampire. The Cortez family isn’t a powerful one, but the others will stand with them.”
Tir stiffened at her side and Araña took his hand in hers. She stood taller with pride that Eric had bragged about her accomplishments to this man both he and Matthew had once used when it came to dealing with vampires. “I’m prepared to negotiate for access to the book. Will you mediate?”
The bookseller studied Araña and Tir’s clasped hands for a long moment. She suspected he was remembering Matthew’s warning not to touch her because of the demon mark.
As if her thoughts summoned it, the spider moved to the back of her hand, its sudden appearance startling Thierry. He glanced up. “I’ll assist you. Have you ever dealt with a vampire before?”
She saw no point in lying. “No.”
“Then let me make a suggestion. Because Virgilio is the lesser vampire and the book of relative unimportance to him, it would be acceptable to summon Draven’s human High Servant, Thane. He is available during the daylight hours and can enter into certain contracts on behalf of Draven. He’s certainly qualified to negotiate with both you and the Cortez representative on this matter.”
“How do I contact him?”
“I’ll send a message, now if you wish.”
Tir stirred restlessly. “This will be settled tonight.”
The shopkeeper gave a slight shrug before moving away from the table. Araña thought he’d disappear into the stacks and send his message via magic or human runner. Instead he opened a drawer and pulled out a cellular phone.
It surprised her—but only for an instant. The technology had existed well before The Last War. Even children were said to have routinely carried them in the past.
In her lifetime she’d never seen one of the phones except in history books or magazines that catered to the ultra-rich. But it made sense that vampires—many of whom had been alive for centuries before the world was changed forever—would have saved and guarded some of the towers for their own use, and that a man who dealt in old, valuable books, and was protected by a great number of vampire families, would be able to contact them using technology rarely available to humans.
As Thierry spoke into the small device, Araña released Tir’s hand and moved to stand in front of the safes. She’d been right in her guess. Most bore the mark of a vampire family.
From behind her Thierry said, “You’re in luck. Thane is on this side of the bay. He’ll be here shortly.”
She turned. “Do you have a suggestion about what Draven might consider a fair trade for his intercession?”
The bookseller shook his head. “I’m sorry, no.”
Twenty-one
THANE entered a short time later, accompanied by bodyguards. He was everything Araña would have expected of a High Servant. Deadly beauty and lethal charisma combined.
Tir came to her side, equally beautiful and equally deadly, though Araña hoped the situation wouldn’t escalate into violence. Thane’s eyebrow lifted at Tir’s action, his storm gray eyes glittering with amused speculation—until something cold and alien passed through and they were left the color of smooth steel.
The hair on the back of Araña’s neck stood. She shivered, remembering Matthew’s speculation that a vampire could take possession of a High Servant’s body in daylight.
“Any deal will be with the human,” Thane said, his voice indicating there was no room for negotiation, his gaze settling completely on Araña. “I’ve already spoken to Cortez’s man and he’s agreed in principal to allow you access to the book, as long as it doesn’t leave the premises and is returned to the safe in its existing condition. What do you have to barter with?”
“I’m a thief.”
“Draven rarely requires the services of a thief. But your skills might be put to a different use. What are they?”
“I’m good with safes. And alarm systems.”
Thane’s smile was more savage flash of teeth than anything else. “Then perhaps we can deal. The question is, how good are you? Good enough to succeed when the penalty for failure will be death?”
A low growl came from Tir. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her back to his chest in a possessive, protective gesture that made Thane’s amusement reappear.
Thierry said, “She’s good enough.”
An elegant eyebrow lifted again, this time in obvious surprise. “High praise indeed, coming from you.”
“What’s does Draven want done?” Araña asked, sweat trickling down her back.
Thane snapped his fingers, and a smallish man she hadn’t noticed stepped from behind one of the bodyguards. He held a museum catalog. It was old, the date on its cover indicating it was for a show taking place in San Francisco during the days when The Last War raged, before the world knew it truly marked the end of civilization as it had been.
At a nod from Thane, the man opened the catalog to a faded, glossy page with a ceramic urn that had once been part of a traveling collection. Despite its obvious worth, the sight of it filled Araña with deep uneasiness.
It was wide at the bottom, narrow-necked, and sealed with both stopper and wax. Writing covered it, like the tattoos trailing down Tir’s arms, though none of the sigils on the urn resembled the ones he wore.
“Draven wants this destroyed. It will shatter easily, as long as it is done with willing intent and by human hands.”
The sweat coating Araña’s skin grew chilled. “What’s in the urn?”
“As you will discover if you accept the task and succeed in getting to where it is currently being kept, the stopper has been removed. If it’s with the urn at all, it is of no consequence and doesn’t fall within the scope of the bargain. Only the urn does. Draven wants to assure himself it can’t be used again for the purposes it was created.”
Araña glanced at the description beneath the picture. It held no additional information, but served to remind her that the urn had been part of a museum display in San Francisco before the supernaturals emerged from hiding.
Vampires were said to have a noncorporeal form. They were said to be very nearly immortal. Perhaps one of them had once been trapped in the urn.
She licked suddenly dry lips. “Where is it?”
Thane’s smile was a shark’s, his gray eyes equally merciless. “In the possession of Anton Barlowe, the maze owner, who lives in a house wired with an advanced alarm system and is, as you might know, guarded by a demon. That’s why I ask if you’re good enough, and say if you aren’t, you will die. The demon will kill you. Or his master, Anton, will.
“Or Draven will see it done if you enter into a contract with him and then fail to deliver what you promised. Success provides the only possibility of remaining alive. As I said a moment ago, Draven rarely has use for a thief. I am aware of details regarding how entering Anton’s house might be accomplished. If you are willing to attempt it and guarantee the urn is destroyed in the prescribed manner, then Draven will intercede on your behalf with Virgilio Cortez.”