“When do we make our move?” Rook swipes through the tablet so fast his fingers nearly blur. “Is it being stored at his primary residence or one of his other properties? Whichever location, I’ll need access to the original blueprints for the building, which shouldn’t be too hard to get. As for security, I’m sure he’s got techandmagic locking it down, which means I’ll have to—”
“We’re attempting a diplomatic approach for once,” I say. “As far as the shadow mages are concerned, our interest is solely rooted in our passion for historical preservation. We’ll raise fewer questions that way.”
Augustine laughs. “Plus, the minute someone realizes they’ve got something your life literally depends on… Let the exploitation commence.”
“That too,” I agree.
Jude sighs and shoves a hand through his coal-black hair. “So why the monkey suits? Just wait until he gets the green light on the authentication, then let me go in and do him proper.”
“Murdering the Archmage of Manhattan is neither propernordiplomatic.” Ignoring the ravenous hunger in Jude’s eyes at the mention of murder, I collect their empty glasses and rinse them in the sacrarium, doubtlessly angering more than a few dead priests. “Assassination is out of the question. And unless we can figure out a way to steal it without igniting a war with the entire east coast magical community, we’ve got little choice but to play the dutiful guests. The sooner we can prove our loyalty, the sooner I can convince him to part with the precious text amicably. He’s quite proud of it—he won’t sell it to just anyone.”
“And if it turns out the bloke’s not willing to sell it at all?” Jude asks.
“Thenwe steal it, of course.” I clap a hand over his shoulder and smile, attempting to ease his restlessness. “It won’t come to that. Every man has a price, Jude. We’ll find his.”
“It’s one thing tofindthe price,” he presses. “Another to actually afford it.”
“One way or the other, the Archmage of Manhattanwillgive up the Codex. It’s practically our legacy.”
Jude laughs. “And he gives a fuck about legacies because he’s such a good man, that it?”
A surge of red-hot fury burns through my chest at the verythoughtof screwing up this deal—of letting my men down again. “Because mortal or mage or the fucking monster of your worst nightmares,noone can resist an opportunity to put the men of shadow and stone in their debt.”
For once, Jude doesn’t argue. No one does. No point in it.
Becausethat’sa lesson we’ve learned better than most:
In a world where all things have a cost, the debt of a powerful man is the most valuable currency there is.
“So what’s the game plan?” Augustine returns to the mirror, still fussing with his hair. “Schmooze and booze, dance with the ladies, compliment the old man on the lovely ceremony so he invites us over for the post-wedding brunch?”
“I need you to work your usual charms on Forsythe’s female relations,” I say. “Get them to like you and open up to you. Dance if you must.”
“I must,” he says with a smile, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “Anything specific we’re fishing for tonight?”
“The usual salacious details,” I reply. “If the diplomatic approach doesn’t pan out, we’ll need all the leverage we can get.” Then, turning to Rook, “Keep an eye on those security feeds. I want the names and magical lineages of every guest who walks through the door, along with a full report on their activities this evening—who’s talking to whom, who’s sneaking off for a clandestine romp in the coat closet, who’s stealing the votives, who’s gossiping about the bride-to-be. Later, we’ll scrutinize the footage for anything we can use.”
Rook gives me an enthusiastic nod, clearly in his element.
“What about me?” Jude’s crazy grin is back in place, his ire fading in the wake of a new assignment. Running a thumb along his lower lip, he says, “Shall I help Auggie charm the pants off the old birds?”
“No. But if any of the so-called old birds need eviscerating, you’ll be the first one I call.”
This actually gets a real laugh. “I appreciate that, Drae.”
“In the meantime,” I continue, “I need you to watch my back tonight, Jude. Just because we’re invited guests doesn’t mean we’re not walking into a trap. A few months of glad-handing and private tours doesn’t make him a trusted ally.”
“No?” Still laughing, Jude claps me on the back. “Shoulda gone with the blowjob, mate. Fosters a bit more loyalty in my experience.”
“Thank you, Jude, for your astute assessment. I’ll bear it in mind next time the opportunity presents itself.” I take a step back and look them over, a surge of pride welling inside. My men. My brothers in battle, if not by blood. The smile that stretches across my face is unplanned, but wholly genuine. “We really do clean up well these days, don’t we?”
“I’ve always cleaned up well,” Augustine says, puffing out his chest. “And it only took, what, a millennium and a half for the rest of you to get there? Nice work.” He reaches into his breast pocket and procures a tin of mints, taking two before passing it to me. “Can’t very well congratulate the blushing bride smelling like frat boys.”
“I don’t give a rat’s arse about the brideorher blush,” I grumble, but I take the offered mints anyway. I can’t imagine the Archmage would look too keenly on the fact that his esteemed “fae” guests have spent the hour before his son’s wedding boozing it up on hallowed ground.
Even if it isourhallowed ground.
As the pungent mints dissolve on my tongue, I glance around the sacristy one more time, my attention homing in on one of the massive oil paintings decorating the walls. It was commissioned by the parishioners two hundred years ago when the cathedral still held services—a moody rendition of the building’s breathtaking exterior. Bathed in moonlight, a dozen gargoyles perch upon the spires, each one captured in exquisite detail.
