“So!” I blurt out,reallynot in the mood to hear their bedroom talk. Turning to Drae, I say, “How’d the meeting with the inspectors go?”
“Fine,” he replies. “We’ve got all the renovations covered, thanks to Jude.”
Jude grins. “I was quite persuasive.”
“You always are,” I say, wondering if he had to spill any blood. It doesn’t usually come to that with building inspectors—they don’t have enough of a personal stake to care one way or the other how the city or state funding gets divvied up. Negotiations like that? Most of the time, all it takes is a flash of Jude’s knife, a glimpse at that crooked grin and those crazy eyes, and they’re willing to give us whatever we need, no real violence required.
“Now that you’re all here,” Drae says, his tone even more somber than it was a minute ago, “you should know about theothermeeting I had this evening.”
“Forsythe?” I say, and he nods.
“Rook’s police intel was correct—they’ve reported Westlyn as a missing person.”
West shovels in another bite of waffle and rolls her eyes. “Of course they did. They have to make it look like a kidnapping, otherwise they’ll be forced to admit a tiny, magicless witch stabbed their precious demon-boy and fled.”
“Agent Reedsy was there as well,” Drae says.
“Forsythe set you up?” I ask.
“He did, and he knows I’m not pleased about it, so I’m hoping he’ll back off a bit for now. As for the agent, I gave him the usual runaround. They’ve got nothing connecting us to Westlyn and no real reason to think we had anything to do with her so-called disappearance. Reedsy’s just looking for an excuse to nail us to the wall.”
“I’ll send him some pictures of his kids,” I say. “Remind him who he’s dealing with.”
Drae nods. “There wasonebit of good news to come of it, though. I’m ninety-five percent certain the Codex is being held at the brownstone, somewhere on the second or third floor. He glanced up when I mentioned it—seemed a bit uneasy about it.”
“Third floor,” West says firmly. “He’s got a library and ritual room up there—it’s where he keeps all his books and magical stuff. If it’s in the brownstone, that’s where it’ll be.”
Drae’s mood brightens considerably. “You’re certain?”
“I was there for a family dinner not too long ago. He gave us the whole tour—couldn’t resist the urge to brag about all his artifacts, most of them pilfered from developing countries, which is just another reminder of what an upstanding mage he is.”
“Is it locked?” Drae asks. “How many square feet, would you say?”
“It takes up the entire third floor, and it’s all open plan. There’s a staircase that goes up—I don’t remember there being a door, but it could’ve just been open at the time. I was a little distracted—I’d just learned about the betrothal.”
“Do you think you could sketch it for us?” Rook asks. “Maybe make a few notes about what you remember? Windows, walls, bookshelves, what kinds of things he’s got up there—anything you remember.”
“Definitely.”
“That’s good news, Drae,” I say. “It means we can pretty much rule out his other properties and start making a real plan to steal the damn thing.”
Drae nods. “Assuming we can get access. I don’t get the sense he and Celine have left the brownstone much since the wedding debacle.”
“Hunter’s been sequestered as well,” Rook says. “We’ve got cameras outside his apartment in the East Village and a tracking device on his vehicle. He’s had a few visitors from the shadow magic society, but he’s been sticking close to home. As far as we can tell, he hasn’t even seen his parents since the wedding night.”
“Great,” I say, cleaning up the last of the breakfast mess. “So all we have to do is get the lay of the land from West, figure out how to lure the Forsythes out for a few hours, and make our move.“
A wide, bright grin stretches across West’s face, and I can tell by the mischievous gleam in her eyes I’m not going to like whatever she’s about to say.
“You know what makes for anexcellentlure?” she sing-songs, her smile undimmed. “Bait! And boys? I knowjustthe right girl for the job.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
WESTLYN
“Jude and I are with you every step of the way.” Auggie’s voice is clear and reassuring through the tiny sapphire mic-and-earpiece combo Rook designed to look like a tragus piercing. “We’ve got our eyes and ears on you the entire time.”
“I know.” I hold my hand up to my face as if I’m admiring my new ring—a nondescript cocktail piece fitted with a fake ruby that’s actually a camera—and smile. “Try not to miss this face too much.”
