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“But I’m your ticket in.” She’s read my mind.
“Yes.”
She grabs me by the shoulders and pulls herself up on tiptoes until her mouth is inches from mine.
“It’s going to be a really big tab, Daddy.” She pecks me on the nose and settles back on her heels. That word works its own kind of magic on me, and I have to fight to keep from kissing her.
“I’m sure it is, baby girl.” I chuckle, though the moment of lightness only does so much to drown out the Pull that continues working at a low hum.
With a confident smirk, Julianna turns on her heels and heads for the guard.
Another week would help her too. She needs the money. Stiel’s investigation into her finances had made that clear. After everything she shared on the roof, I’d had him look into her mother and ex-manager this morning. When we arrived at the wrap party, Rook had let me know that Stiel had accessed their emails and was tracking their communications with their lawyer. Julianna said she is handling her lawsuit, and I believe her, but she is so resistant to help when I could do so much for her.
I scan the room for Freddy, but he seems to have disappeared with the brunette into one of the back rooms. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Harris in his ill-fitting suit.
Anger rises in my chest as I look at him, and I force myself my gaze back to the stairs. Julianna’s distraction is in full swing. I don’t know how she got the guard to move from his post, but they’re a few feet away, and his back is to the stairs. Her hand is on his arm, seeming to control his position and maintain his interest, as they both laugh about something I miss. She always seems to find her light in any room, shaking out her honey-brown hair so it glints like bronze, matching her dress. The guard is mesmerized; I am mesmerized.
Move.The Pull roars for attention, yanking my gaze from my little thief and refocusing me on my task.
I move through the crowd efficiently, the Pull slowly tearing down my view of the world until I can only see my path to the Keystone, the staircase. My bones hurt, my muscles ache, and as I cross behind Julianna and the guard, their conversation is almost completely drowned out by a high-pitched whine. I’m vaguely aware that she glances my way, but I continue up the stairs without pausing.
The whine reaches its crescendo as I hit the second floor. The sound overwhelms me, but it’s the beating of the Pull in my chest that almost brings me to my knees, and I’m hit with the overwhelming sensation of the presence of another Strange.
I was sure I was just sensing my brothers when I first entered the wrap party, but the unidentified Strange is outside the loft and too far away for me to be certain. I check my phone and see only the confirmation that Rook is in contact with Drusila. There are no further updates on who I might be sensing.
The second floor is as open-concept as the first and looks to be configured as an office and library. There is a grand desk at the center of the back wall with a large leather chair behind it. A small seating area with deep-seated chairs around a coffee table is set up in front of the desk. The walls are lined with small display cases of artifacts, each with their own spotlight.
I look for any sign of another Strange out the large windows, but there is no one here.
My mind is clouded when I attempt to focus on anything but the Keystone. Still, I check my phone again and find nothing but our regularly scheduled check-ins. I quickly text Knox to do a fly over of the several blocks surrounding the building.
I try to shake off the feeling of another presence, but it persists even as my body demands I find the vault and the Keystone. I move quickly, playing a game of hot and cold, trying to figure out where the Pull is strongest.
I attempt to gauge the location of the hor d’oeuvres table on the floor below. There is a large floor-to-ceiling bookshelf in what I estimate is its location. The Pull grates against my bones, seeming to want to rip open my rib cage in order to escape, and I know I’m right.
A large rectangular column bisects the loft space. It is walled by bookcases. And when I reach out to touch it, the once roaring Pull comes to a complete silence.
You’re here.
Somewhere inside these bookcases is my salvation, my purpose. I run my hand down one of the shelves, feeling for a seam or button. Now more than ever, my human skin feels like a prison I want to escape. If only I could have my claws, I could tear this structure apart, Strange customs be damned.
I move my hands over the books and small statuaries that dot the shelves. I pull and poke and prod, trying to gain entrance any way I can. The column is large enough to hold a substantially sized vault, likely a custom-made one that could reach the ceiling and hold relics on multiple tiers.
Julianna’s laughter cuts through the silence in a way no other noise has. Just one uncomfortable, high-pitched laugh rises above the din, but I immediately know something is wrong. I don’t know how her voice is making it through the barrier of the Pull, but I hear her laugh again, and it reaches past the Keystone’s cold demand. Her voice is a warm, tentative touch, so soft and gentle, like the way she’d caressed my horns our first morning together. It guides my focus to her.
Her laughter is abruptly cut off by a familiar man’s voice.
Irritation flares in my chest, competing with the need that commands my every movement. But the Pull is clever and has lived inside me far longer than I’ve known Julianna, and it yanks me from the embrace of this new sensation and forces me back on task.
The corners of the bookcase column are flush, and each item on them seems to be placed with care. I can feel the Keystone behind it all. It pulses like a heartbeat, just out of reach. It spurs me on faster.
Julianna is talking, her voice strained and her words clipped. The man speaks again, and this time I know who it is. Harris is talking to Julianna.
The Pull urges me on past my burst of anger at the man downstairs.
Finding no secret lever in a book or statue, I move on to the shelves themselves. I check where the horizontal wooden shelves meet the backboard and curse my lack of claws. I search the wood trim at the ceiling and again at the baseboard, looking for any disturbance in their clean lines.
Nothing. The Pull’s demand grows.
