He made his way through the disaster area to the shelves beyond, retrieving the bundle from the nook where they’d stashed it after Dorian and Cole had unearthed it.
“Here we are, then.” Colin cleared a space at the end of the table, then unwrapped the sculpture.
It was just as ugly as Dorian remembered.
“So she’s the woman who’s got our demons all hot and bothered, huh?” Charlotte asked. “May I?”
Colin stepped aside to give her access, and she immediately got down to business, studying the piece with an unbroken intensity that brought a smile to Dorian’s face.
He loved watching her work, her left brow arched gently, bottom lip caught between her teeth. She reminded him of an archeologist, her fingers exploring every curve and contour for clues about the Mother’s origins.
Holding the sculpture upright, she slid her phone from her pocket and snapped a few close-up shots, then glanced at her screen, zooming in for more clues.
“You’re like the Sherlock of the Smithsonian,” Cole said with a low chuckle.
“It certainly feels that way sometimes,” she said, still examining the photos on her screen.
“Well, what do you think, Sherlock?” Aiden asked. “What do the most powerful demon factions in the city want with that crude, nipple-less abomination?”
“Still with the nipple fixation?” Dorian gave Aiden’s cheek a playful smack. “Perhaps you ought to talk to someone about that, mate.”
“Perhaps the artist should’ve paid more attention in anatomy class.”
“Aiden’s right.” Charlotte glanced up from the phone, her brow furrowed. “The lack of nipples is the first clue something isn’t right.”
Cole laughed. “And ifthatdon’t belong on a T-shirt…”
“What do you mean, something isn’t right?” Dorian asked.
“Hate to be the guy who has to break this news to Rogozin and Chernikov,” she said, “but this piece is a forgery.”
It took Dorian a moment to realize she wasn’t joking. “You’re certain.”
“Look.” She put her phone away and grabbed a pen from the table, using it to direct their attention along the edges of the statue. “See these lines? They’re seams from a cast. The forgers likely made a crude mold from the original piece, then filled it with clay. And these tiny grooves here? They’re from a knife, probably used to scrape off the excess and try to smooth out the lines. They added the stones and hair, and carved in some of the other details, but then they got sloppy—hence the missing nipples.”
“Thankyou,” Aiden said. “Vindication never felt so good.”
“The weight balance feels off too,” she said. “There’s just something odd about the whole thing. Where did you say you bought this?”
“I didn’t.” Dorian picked it up for a closer look, squinting as if that might help him decipher the evidence as easily as Charlotte had. “It wasn’t a purchase. My father stole it from House Kendrick in the 1800s, right after he slaughtered them.”
He and Colin told her the story—as much as they knew of it, anyway.
“So, tracing back the known ownership line,” Charlotte said, tapping her lips, “Kendrick is the first one duped. Then your father, who promises to retrieve it for Chernikov but instead keeps it hidden in a coffin in your backyard. Two-hundred-some years later, your father passes away, and suddenly Chernikov—along with another demon kingpin—are both vying for it again, to the tune of twenty million dollars each.”
“That sounds about right,” Dorian said.
“But in all that time, no one thought to have it authenticated?” she asked. “No one even questioned it?”
“Apparently not,” Dorian said.
She shook her head, still puzzling through the mystery. “The odd balance, the sloppy workmanship, the strange history, the insane wire transfers… It’s almost as if… Oh, fuckme.”
Charlotte’s eyes suddenly blazed with a look of sheer wonder and excitement that rivaled Colin’s the day they’d found the demon book. Then, before Dorian could utter another word, she grabbed the sculpture from his hands, lifted it over her head, and dropped it onto the floor, smashing it to bits.
Chapter Fourteen
“Brilliant!” Aiden laughed. “I can’t tell you how badly I’ve wanted to do just that.”
