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Lucien simply grinned, and that curling of his lips sent waves of warm tingles rushing through me. He left without another word, leaving me alone with what was left of my sandwich and a billion thoughts racing through my already frazzled brain.
Chapter
Seventeen
Lucien didn’t come back for a few hours. I spent my time milling about around the surveillance equipment and scanning the other building for signs of activity like he had shown me. I couldn’t have imagined a more boring pastime.
Nothing seemed to happen in or around the building across the street. I never saw anyone go in or out. The weird, identical scene behind each of the windows never changed, and the rooftop was dead as hell. From up here, it looked like a building that never got used.
After a while, I stopped caring about the building I was meant to be looking at and turned to people-watching instead. All of the people rushing around the busy Beacon Hill streets looked like they had somewhere to be. Jobs to get to, meetings with friends, families to come home to.
I had been fine until that last thought cropped up. After that, it was impossible not to think about mom, or dad, or Max. He was still out there, somewhere. Scared. Alone. I had complained about being stuck in a prison, being moved from cell to cell, but Max probably wasn’t living in the kind of luxury I was.
I had gone from my mansion, to the Diaboli mansion, to this five-star accommodation. Did Max have any money on him? Where was he staying? Had he found family friends to hole up with, or was he staying off the grid, scrounging whatever money he could to keep himself alive?
Every so often, I thought I could feel him, trying to reach out to me through the Ether. I would try to reach back, but as soon as I did, I would lose the thought. Whatever magical defenses the Diaboli had placed here and at their mansion must have unintentionally blocked his communication attempts, and that was probably for the best; if they thought I could contact Max remotely they wouldn’t stop hurting me until I found him and brought him to them.
So, I kept him at arm’s length, unaware of my fate, and waited.
When Lucien returned, it was with several large, paper bags in his hands. I opened the door for him and let him in. He placed the bags on the bed, sat down at the desk, and unwrapped the sandwich he hadn’t eaten yet.
“Worked up an appetite?” I asked.
“I did,” he said.
“Looks like you went on a shopping spree across half of Boston.”
“In a way, I did.”
I scanned one of the bags. It was black, and pink, with cursive lettering on the front. My eyes narrowed. “Is this one for me?”
He nodded. “Open it.”
There were a few boxes inside. One contained a pair of shoes—I knew that without opening it. The others looked smaller, and more delicate, though still large enough to hold clothes. The last box I pulled out was rectangular, and firm. My eyes widened. I shot Lucien a stare. “What’s this?” I asked, knowing full well there could only have been jewelry in that box.
“Open it last.”
“Okay…” I said, trailing off. “When should I… I mean, when are we…?”
“Leaving? Sun goes down in an hour.”
I glanced over at the bathroom door. “I should go get ready, then,” I said, stuffing the boxes back into the bag they had come in. When I grabbed the jewelry box, Lucien stopped me.
“Not that,” he said.
“Why not that?”
“Just leave it here.”
I wasn’t sure where in the world the butterflies were coming from, or why my heart was trying to crack my own ribcage from the inside. I tried to ignore it as I took the bag into the bathroom and shut the door, leaving Lucien on his own in the front room.
He had bags of his own, clothes he had clearly bought with the intention of wearing tonight. Before leaving, he had told me he was going to buy clothes so that we would blend in. I didn’t know why, but, in my mind, that meant black jumpsuits and ski masks—you know, the kind of reconnaissance gear the spies put on in the movies before they go on a scouting mission.
I had completely forgotten that, sometimes in those spy movies, the spies go to fancy events, balls, galas, dinners, and they have to dress to the nines.
As soon as I opened the largest of the packages, I realized, Lucien definitely had this kind of spying in mind. The black dress he had picked out for me was gorgeous. A deep, plunging halter neck with an open back, and a slit all the way up to my thigh… I had never worn anything like it. I had never needed to. Somehow, not only had he picked out exactly the kind of dress I would’ve wanted to wear for a night of clandestine operations, it also fit perfectly.
As did the lingerie.
