Crest (Ondine Quartet Book 3) (5 page)

"Real subtle. But it's not enough."

She smiled. "It was enough for Edmundo last night. Either I go in or we wait for Julian."

An impasse I had no hope in breaking.

Helene lowered her camera and I breathed a small sigh of relief.

She stared at me. Seconds passed.

"What?" I finally asked.

"Are you Julian's girlfriend?"

"No," I snapped. "And that's none of your business."

"It kind of is." Renee leaned forward. "I've known Julian longer than you."

"So?"

"So I want to make sure you're not playing him."

"I'm not."

"How do I know?"

"Because there's nothing going on between us."

"What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing." I thought about it for a second. "If I'm not interested in someone, why does that mean something's wrong with him?"

She ignored the question. "Unless there's someone else."

That caught me off guard. "This is stupid —"

"So there is someone." A slow smile spread on her face. "Does Julian know about him?"

"Look, I've always been clear about —"

"Not clear enough given the way he feels about you."

For a moment, genuine concern reflected in her eyes. But amusement quickly replaced it. "Maybe you like the drama of a love triangle."

If Julian didn't show up within the next five minutes, there were going to be dead bodies on the ground.

"It's not a love triangle." Helene hopped off the swing, camera once again focused on me. "A love triangle means someone's caught between two choices. Seems like she already made a choice."

"Now that's interesting." Renee pursed her lips and crossed her arms. Index finger tapped against her cheek. "Who could the mystery man be?"

It was like being cornered by a tenacious tag-team.

I turned my back on Renee only to bump up against Helene and her camera. My reflection took up the entire lens.

"You should be with Julian."

Oh, for crying out loud.

I settled on the end of the slide and dropped my head into my hands. "Why do you think that?"

"Because he's funny. And hot."

I looked up. "Just because a hot guy likes you doesn't mean you owe him anything. You don't have to like him back and you don't have to feel bad that you don't like him back. Being friends is already pretty special because it means you trust him. If he's worth keeping in your life, he'll respect your choice either way."

Helene lowered the camera. "My sister said the same thing last week."

Renee smugly flipped through her sketch book. "Guess I beat you again,
sondaleur
."

Surely, the universe had laughed at me enough for a day.

A dark blue sedan turned down the street and parked on the corner. Two familiar figures got out and hurried over.

Oriel huffed. "Sorry we're late."

"I wanted to check property records and financial background on the store before we — " Julian noticed my expression. "Did you kill someone?"

"No."
Not yet
.

"You sure?" He gestured toward his face. "'Cause you've got that bloodthirsty look —"

"I'm fine," I growled.

"Come on, Helene." Oriel nodded toward her car. "Got two cops at the station waiting to be interviewed for your documentary."

Helene was already halfway there.

Renee grinned. "I owe you."

"I've heard that before," Oriel said dryly. "Call me if you need anything."

We exited the playground and I made a concerted effort to ignore Renee. Curious eyes kept flickering between Julian and me.

"Did you find anything?" I asked.

Julian nodded. "Finances didn't add up. The amount of money Peter spends doesn't equal the business he's doing."

We crossed Rivington Street and entered Framer's Alley. "So extra income is flowing in from someone."

Marked only by a small blinking neon sign, The Alder Branch was located beneath street level in the basement of a drab five-story building. Easy to miss, unless you knew it was there.

We descended a set of narrow, worn concrete steps and tried the entrance. Locked.

Instinct tingled up my spine. Renee pulled a thin pick out of her back pocket and jimmied the lock.

The door silently swung open.

Over a dozen rows of floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined the store. Dim lighting provided scant illumination. Gloom crept over shelves, swallowing delicately engraved book spines as if this corner of the city had been forgotten.

The musty scent of oil, leather, and old papers greeted us. Another layer hid behind it, alien and menacing, lacing the air, weaving through whispering pages.

Something rotten.

Skin prickled. Julian and I halted, reaching for our blades.

Renee pushed past us. "Peter?"

Damn it.

"Peter, it's Renee Bessette." She quickly moved down the center aisle toward the back of the store. We followed, bodies tensed, eyes darting at every shadow.

Essence eerily glowed around our weapons, pushing the dark back.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose. I didn't like this.

Renee turned at the end of the row, briefly disappearing from view.

Julian swore. We hurried around the corner and almost crashed into her back.

An older man sprawled on the ground, neck twisted at an unnatural angle and stomach clawed open. Eyes were wide with horror and thin wisps of grey hair stood straight around his head as if he'd been electrocuted.

Beneath him, a pool of blood had soaked into the ugly, coral carpet like a dark ink stain.

Julian let out a breath. "Peter Schlusser, I presume?"

Renee turned away, face pale. She swallowed. "Guess someone found him first."

He touched Peter's wrist. "Body temp indicates he's only been dead a few hours."

Aquidae likely came after him once they realized Edmundo was dead. Whatever Peter knew, he'd taken with him to the grave.

Julian stepped over the body and entered the cramped office tucked away in the corner. About the size of a tiny closet, the space barely fit a filing cabinet and a clunky metal desk. A few functional shelves were fixed to the wall.

He pulled several books off a shelf and touched the wall. "According to property records, Peter's shop is supposed to be twice this size. There has to be a hidden entrance to the rest of the space."

Renee and I searched drawers, behind books, and under the desk.

"Got it." He pushed aside the metal filing cabinet, revealing a low, narrow door, about four feet in height.

"Let's see what you've been hiding, Peter," Renee said softly and opened the door.

A large storage space, roughly the size of the entire store, stretched before us. Equipped with state-of-the-art temperature controls and air cleaners, the white storeroom was spotless. Not a speck of dust could be found anywhere.

Peter's big secret was art.

Hundreds of pieces, ranging from small sketches and watercolors to large vivid oils, rested against the walls.

Renee inhaled. "Is that a Miró?"

She rushed to examine a canvas full of brightly colored shapes. Julian slowly circled the room, eyes gorging on the rich visual tapestry. This collection must've been worth millions.

A patch of satiny red color behind a large Modernist painting caught my eye. It looked like a piece of material. Curious, I tilted the canvas forward.

They were clearly positioned for maximum impact.

He sat on the ground, legs crossed, back against the wall. Her head lay in his lap, unseeing eyes locked on his shattered
pedaillon
, red boots bright against the white tile.

The gardinel's hands gently cradled her head as if still protecting her in death. A beautiful indigo iris rested on her stomach, carefully tucked between her hands.

Despite the violently ripped open breastbones and removed hearts, they appeared almost peaceful.

"Kendra, what —" Julian stopped.

"Bianca! Cai!" Renee dropped beside me, face sharp with grief and horror.

I removed the flower from the pale hands that healed my knee last night. Her skin was still warm.

A single drop of black blood stained the smooth, inner curve of a petal.

Rage, regret, and sadness scraped against my insides.

You bastard.

I forced myself to speak. "His
kouperet
is missing."

Lack of blood also indicated the kill took place somewhere else.

Julian stared at the iris, brows furrowed. "Do you know what it means?"

"It's a message for me," I said flatly. "The Shadow wants to prove he can get to me anywhere. And there's something else."

I filled him in on my conversation with Fujio this morning.

His eyes turned grave. "So the elemental traitor is directly working with the Manhattan Lieutenant and the Shadow."

"God," Renee choked out. "Bianca's binding ceremony was this week."

I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could shut out the echo of Bianca's voice.

I'm picking up my dress tomorrow.

Renee sniffed. "We need to call Oriel —"

"No." Taking a deep breath, I controlled the turbulent swell of emotions so I could get the job done. "First, we have to check out this store. See if there's anything that points us in a new direction."

The Aquidae had eliminated the one link we'd managed to find. We had to hope Peter left behind something useful.

It was slow, painstaking work.

The cabinet was a mess, files haphazardly arranged without any discernible organizational system. Encrypted computer files prevented us from viewing business and financial info. I emailed them to Aubrey and asked for help.

While Julian and I rifled through stacks of sales receipts and random pieces of paper, Renee remained in the storage room with the art and bodies. By unspoken agreement, we left her alone to come to terms with her grief.

Two hours had passed when she called out. "You guys need to take a look at this."

I pushed a lock of hair off my sweaty forehead and followed Julian in.

"What is it?" he said.

Renee stood in front of a large painting. Her pinky traced the contour of a violet brush stroke.

"There."

Julian leaned in, focused on something I couldn't see. "Yeah. You're right."

I squinted. It was an abstract, done in deep, intense colors similar in style to Matisse.

"Someone want to explain?"

Renee pointed. "See where the purple edges the orange?"

The rough brush stroke left a thick ridge of paint on the right side. There was a tiny dip in the middle of it as if a piece had fallen off.

"Yeah."

"That kind of indentation only happens when someone touches the paint while it's still wet. Recognize the color?"

Now that she mentioned it, I did. It was the exact shade we found on Edmundo's shirt cuff.

"So our dead Aquidae recently brushed against this painting."

"Exactly." Triumph glittered in Julian's dark blue eyes. "Which should've been impossible since this painting was done in 1914."

A forgery. My eyes scanned the room."Are all of these fakes?"

"I don't think so. I recognize that one." She pointed at a framed Cubist sketch done in charcoal. "Picasso stolen from a private collection in Barcelona last year. It's the real deal."

Satisfaction settled on Julian's face. "I think we just found proof of the cell's income."

Immortality required enough money to last a very long time. Aquidae had their hands in numerous illegal activities: drugs, arms and human trafficking, prostitution.

The Manhattan cell was running an art smuggling and forgery ring.

I glanced at Renee. "How much money are we talking about?"

"For the real stuff? Just a few of these pieces would put it in the millions." She narrowed her eyes. "I think the forgeries are less important. If we go by this one, they're not well done. Anyone who has a critical enough eye would spot it."

Which meant they were sold to wealthy people who didn't know much about art. Profitable, but smaller, side business.

Julian stood. "So if we figure out how they're running it —"

"We can find the Lieutenant."

I remembered Bianca's gentle hands as she healed me. The joy in her voice.

Fury simmered through my veins.

First, Ryder and Miriam. Then the kidnapping of Haverleau's children and attack against Marcella. Now, the vicious murders of ondines and their gardinels.

All because the Shadow wanted to play some sort of sick game with me.

For a long time, Aquidae had remained one step ahead in the war, leaving elementals to frantically defend themselves against every new onslaught.

But the best defense was a strong offense.

I was no longer just the
sondaleur
. I was also the Irisavie heir and soon-to-be Governor.

I had access to much more than my magic and blade.

Supplies. Power.

My eyes met Julian's. People who'd stand by me.

The Shadow had issued an opening move and I was ready to play.

Challenge accepted.

***

I studied the text, remembering the way the speaker glided over the words.

"I don't get it."

Julian supplemented my lessons with Catrin with excursions meant to remedy the severe deficit in my cultural education.

We'd absorbed the visual richness of the Metropolitan Museum and Museum of Modern Art, immersed ourselves in concerts at Carnegie Hall, soaked up opera and ballet at Lincoln Center, and breathed Ibsen and Chekhov in the Theater District.

Tonight, he'd taken me to the Upper East Side for an evening of French poetry and it had provided a much needed temporary distraction from the day's events.

Listening to Baudelaire in French was fine. Translating and analyzing it gave me a headache.

Julian pointed to the fourth stanza.

"
Es-tu le fruit d'automne aux saveurs souveraines? Es-tu vase funèbre attendant quelques pleurs
." He translated. "Are you the autumn fruit with sovereign taste? A funereal urn awaiting a few tears?"

He relaxed on the window seat across me, back against the wall, arms resting on his stomach. His face lit up when he discussed poetry.