CJ sits forward, the director’s chair squeaking under them. “With the right tools, we should be able to disassemble it and reassemble it with minimal damage. You could snip the binding with a small pocketknife and divide the book by signature and sneak those out through the lining in our clothes. Then we’d just need some vellum and linen thread to reassemble it once we’re out.”
We all turn to stare at them.
“I did a bookbinding seminar,” they say defensively. “I’m allowed to have hobbies.”
“Who are you?” Poppy asks.
This time, I’m positive CJ is blushing.
“Alright, that could work,” I say. “As for getting the fake and the supplies in, we could do a mail drop?”
“You’re going to mail it to the museum?” Rook sputters a laugh but stops immediately when Crowlene clicks her beak at him.
“Not really,” Poppy says. “We just add it to the pile of packages the museum receives in a shipment of supplies. We label it something that doesn’t get used very often, and if we time it right, the unopened box will be waiting for us in a supply closet.”
Rook shakes his head. “Seems risky.”
“They’recalculatedrisks,” I say. “Trust us. We know what we’re doing.”
Rook appears like he wants to argue but only presses his lips together.
“We need an entrance plan,” Tolliver says.
Poppy squints at the schematics on my laptop. “What are the obstacles?”
I sigh, trying to remember what I read online. “Uh, standard fencing. Wilderness to the northeast. The building itself is more secure though. Exterior windows are small and reinforced. Doors deadlocked. Standard security systems. Alarms. CCTV.”
“I’m sure the Coven will be adding their own security too,” Poppy says.
I nod. “Probably illusions. Plus, this is an invite-only event. Tickets just went out last week. Magically reinforced.” I notice Crowlene ruffling her feathers uncomfortably. “Rook, will you stuff Crowlene’s intestines back in? It annoys her when they fall out.”
Rook goes pale.
“Alright, y’all know the drill,” Poppy says. “What are our assets?”
Rule #12: Know every asset at your disposal.
We start calling out assets, Poppy making a list on her phone,which apparently includes CJ’s secret knowledge of bookbinding and Poppy’s arts and crafts skills. We eventually get around to magical abilities. This is always awkward because no one wants to point out that I have none.
Poppy has the most. Since she gets her magic directly from the Afterlife, she can do any kind of magic she wants as long as she works hard enough. Her talent lies in runic magic, imbuing objects with spells that can be activated later. Tolliver gets just enough magic to make his potions, and he’s not really interested in anything else. CJ, because they inherited their magic, can only do the magic they were born with: telempathy. Which they refuse to use.
“That’s all,” I say once we’ve listed everything. “Unless anyone has some talents they’re hiding.”
I look pointedly at Rook, who is still trying to poke a line of intestines back into Crowlene’s body cavity as she takes half-hearted swipes at his finger, cackling when he flinches.
I have never seen any magic like what Rook did to put out that fire. It wasn’t any of the magic of the syndicates: telepathy, augury, transmutation, persuasion, or illusion. So it’s probably not something he inherited. People who get their magic directly from the Afterlife can do all sorts of magic, but it usually requires an incantation. He’d just snapped his fingers.
Rook finally has Crowlene sorted, but his discomfort hasn’t faded.
“I have”—he clears his throat—“some inherited magic. It’s not easily categorized by syndicate designations.”
Interesting. Not unheard of. There were lots of Titans who are gone now but still passed their magic on to their children. It’s said that if you’re given to launching into devastatingly articulate tirades, you might be a descendant of Alecto. Or if you struggle to get out of bed in the morning, you’re a great-great-grandchild of Hypnos. Progeny of retired Titans tend to have faded abilities, though. Nothing as showy as what Rook did.
I chew on my lip, deciding how far I can push him without running him off and ruining the con.
“Let me put it this way,” I say. “If we let you in on the grimoire heist, what assets do you bring to the team?”
“Ah.” This seems to steady him. “Besides my money and good looks? I’m a black belt in jiu-jitsu, have extensive knowledge of history, can speak five languages, and look damn good in a tux.” He gives me a cocky wink.
