Spider-Touched (38 page)

Araña shivered as the threat sent heat sliding into her belly, thawing some of the chill as they stepped into the shop. “Did the bookseller tell you who owns the book?”

“Virgilio Cortez.”

Optimism built on the heat from Tir’s sensual threat. She didn’t recognize the name. Maybe Cortez was human. “Is he a vampire?”

Tir countered by asking, “Does the name Draven mean anything to you?”

Her steps faltered, not just at the mention of Draven’s name, but at the smell of books and the sight of so many of them crammed onto overstuffed shelves. “He’s head of the Tassone family. They rule in San Francisco.”

“Then Cortez is most likely vampire. Before I left here, the bookseller suggested there might be some service I could perform for Draven in exchange for his intercession with Virgilio.”

Tir stepped into a narrow aisleway between shelves. Araña followed, her optimism growing and allowing her to smile for the first time since seeing the vampire family names carved into the door-jamb. “It’s possible the bookseller knows of something Draven wants.”

As they maneuvered through a rabbit warren of shelves, fleeting images of Erik and his books passed through her mind. He would have loved this place. And Matthew would have grumbled more loudly the longer they were in it.

The stacks opened into a work space. Araña immediately sought the safe with her eyes, barely taking in the figure of the old man hunched over a table. She found a row of them set in brick and mortar, and even without taking the first step toward the wall housing them, she knew each safe would have a vampire sigil on it.

Her attention swung back to the bookseller. He looked up, and shocked recognition replaced all else. “Thierry?” she asked.

Faded lichen-colored eyes studied her face for a long moment before dropping to the gloved hand. “You’re Matthew and Erik’s girl, Spider, if I remember correctly.”

“Araña.”

He gave a small nod to acknowledge the translation. “Are they in Oakland, too?”

Her throat closed for an instant. “They were killed here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” His glance traveled from Tir to the bank of safes, then back to her. “Considering the company you’re in, I can guess your reason for being here.

“I don’t doubt you can do what you intend. Erik could have, and the last time I saw him, he bragged you were better at it than him. But I know Matthew would have made sure you know how foolish it is to cross a vampire. The Cortez family isn’t a powerful one, but the others will stand with them.”

Tir stiffened at her side and Araña took his hand in hers. She stood taller with pride that Eric had bragged about her accomplishments to this man both he and Matthew had once used when it came to dealing with vampires. “I’m prepared to negotiate for access to the book. Will you mediate?”

The bookseller studied Araña and Tir’s clasped hands for a long moment. She suspected he was remembering Matthew’s warning not to touch her because of the demon mark.

As if her thoughts summoned it, the spider moved to the back of her hand, its sudden appearance startling Thierry. He glanced up. “I’ll assist you. Have you ever dealt with a vampire before?”

She saw no point in lying. “No.”

“Then let me make a suggestion. Because Virgilio is the lesser vampire and the book of relative unimportance to him, it would be acceptable to summon Draven’s human High Servant, Thane. He is available during the daylight hours and can enter into certain contracts on behalf of Draven. He’s certainly qualified to negotiate with both you and the Cortez representative on this matter.”

“How do I contact him?”

“I’ll send a message, now if you wish.”

Tir stirred restlessly. “This will be settled tonight.”

The shopkeeper gave a slight shrug before moving away from the table. Araña thought he’d disappear into the stacks and send his message via magic or human runner. Instead he opened a drawer and pulled out a cellular phone.

It surprised her—but only for an instant. The technology had existed well before The Last War. Even children were said to have routinely carried them in the past.

In her lifetime she’d never seen one of the phones except in history books or magazines that catered to the ultra-rich. But it made sense that vampires—many of whom had been alive for centuries before the world was changed forever—would have saved and guarded some of the towers for their own use, and that a man who dealt in old, valuable books, and was protected by a great number of vampire families, would be able to contact them using technology rarely available to humans.

As Thierry spoke into the small device, Araña released Tir’s hand and moved to stand in front of the safes. She’d been right in her guess. Most bore the mark of a vampire family.

From behind her Thierry said, “You’re in luck. Thane is on this side of the bay. He’ll be here shortly.”

She turned. “Do you have a suggestion about what Draven might consider a fair trade for his intercession?”

The bookseller shook his head. “I’m sorry, no.”

Twenty-one

THANE entered a short time later, accompanied by bodyguards. He was everything Araña would have expected of a High Servant. Deadly beauty and lethal charisma combined.

Tir came to her side, equally beautiful and equally deadly, though Araña hoped the situation wouldn’t escalate into violence. Thane’s eyebrow lifted at Tir’s action, his storm gray eyes glittering with amused speculation—until something cold and alien passed through and they were left the color of smooth steel.

The hair on the back of Araña’s neck stood. She shivered, remembering Matthew’s speculation that a vampire could take possession of a High Servant’s body in daylight.

“Any deal will be with the human,” Thane said, his voice indicating there was no room for negotiation, his gaze settling completely on Araña. “I’ve already spoken to Cortez’s man and he’s agreed in principal to allow you access to the book, as long as it doesn’t leave the premises and is returned to the safe in its existing condition. What do you have to barter with?”

“I’m a thief.”

“Draven rarely requires the services of a thief. But your skills might be put to a different use. What are they?”

“I’m good with safes. And alarm systems.”

Thane’s smile was more savage flash of teeth than anything else. “Then perhaps we can deal. The question is, how good are you? Good enough to succeed when the penalty for failure will be death?”

A low growl came from Tir. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her back to his chest in a possessive, protective gesture that made Thane’s amusement reappear.

Thierry said, “She’s good enough.”

An elegant eyebrow lifted again, this time in obvious surprise. “High praise indeed, coming from you.”

“What’s does Draven want done?” Araña asked, sweat trickling down her back.

Thane snapped his fingers, and a smallish man she hadn’t noticed stepped from behind one of the bodyguards. He held a museum catalog. It was old, the date on its cover indicating it was for a show taking place in San Francisco during the days when The Last War raged, before the world knew it truly marked the end of civilization as it had been.

At a nod from Thane, the man opened the catalog to a faded, glossy page with a ceramic urn that had once been part of a traveling collection. Despite its obvious worth, the sight of it filled Araña with deep uneasiness.

It was wide at the bottom, narrow-necked, and sealed with both stopper and wax. Writing covered it, like the tattoos trailing down Tir’s arms, though none of the sigils on the urn resembled the ones he wore.

“Draven wants this destroyed. It will shatter easily, as long as it is done with willing intent and by human hands.”

The sweat coating Araña’s skin grew chilled. “What’s in the urn?”

“As you will discover if you accept the task and succeed in getting to where it is currently being kept, the stopper has been removed. If it’s with the urn at all, it is of no consequence and doesn’t fall within the scope of the bargain. Only the urn does. Draven wants to assure himself it can’t be used again for the purposes it was created.”

Araña glanced at the description beneath the picture. It held no additional information, but served to remind her that the urn had been part of a museum display in San Francisco
before
the supernaturals emerged from hiding.

Vampires were said to have a noncorporeal form. They were said to be very nearly immortal. Perhaps one of them had once been trapped in the urn.

She licked suddenly dry lips. “Where is it?”

Thane’s smile was a shark’s, his gray eyes equally merciless. “In the possession of Anton Barlowe, the maze owner, who lives in a house wired with an advanced alarm system and is, as you might know, guarded by a demon. That’s why I ask if you’re good enough, and say if you aren’t, you will die. The demon will kill you. Or his master, Anton, will.

“Or Draven will see it done if you enter into a contract with him and then fail to deliver what you promised. Success provides the only possibility of remaining alive. As I said a moment ago, Draven rarely has use for a thief. I am aware of details regarding
how
entering Anton’s house might be accomplished. If you are willing to attempt it and guarantee the urn is destroyed in the prescribed manner, then Draven will intercede on your behalf with Virgilio Cortez.”

Araña suppressed a shudder as the image of the demon rose in her mind, sending the spider scurrying to the sole of her foot. The prospect of facing Abijah again made her legs threaten to give out. An icy fist squeezed her chest as she remembered fingers ending in curling, wicked claws, leathery black wings against an evening sky, and the coppery smell of human blood on his skin.

Tir’s arms tightened around her waist. From what seemed like a long distance away, she heard her own voice say, “We’d have to have access to the book belonging to Cortez
before
going after the urn.”

At some subtle signal, the small man closed the museum catalog and retreated from sight. Thane’s arctic-cold eyes bored into hers. “I have no problem allowing for a couple hours’ grace with respect to the book, and wording the agreement accordingly, as long as you agree to complete the task within three days’ time, the beginning of which is marked at tonight’s sunset.”

The merciless smile reappeared. “Be very clear. Your task isn’t finished until the urn is
willingly
destroyed by
human
hands. They can be your hands, or another’s, it doesn’t matter. But if I were in your position, I wouldn’t risk failure by delaying to see it done. If you need a few moments to discuss your decision with your companion, by all means, take them.”

Araña didn’t need a moment. She saw no real choice. If Thane left without an agreement and she broke into the safe, the vampire families would unite to mete out their punishment, and she didn’t doubt their reach extended into the ghostlands where Erik and Matthew were. They wouldn’t stop hunting her until they’d administered their justice—a justice that would probably see Tir in chains again.

If she agreed, and because of the translations, Tir’s power and memory were restored, then—

“I will protect you,” Tir said, stroking her cheek, directing the next at Thane. “Your enemies are mine.”

Thierry chose that moment to mediate on her behalf as he’d agreed to. “Thane has indicated he’s in possession of certain details, which I assume relate to the maze, and more particularly Anton Barlowe’s security. Since it’s in Draven’s best interest you succeed, Araña, it would be appropriate for Thane to share what he knows so you can more properly assess the proposed job before giving him your answer.”

Thane’s laugh held genuine amusement. “So she was clever enough to get you working on her side—it bodes well for her chances of surviving if she agrees to a contract with Draven.”

He snapped his fingers again. The small man reappeared and placed paper, pen, and a wooden box on the table in front of Thane.

Thane took up the pen and drew what Araña had already seen for herself once—a security gate opening into a fenced driveway and leading to the building where Jurgen and Cabot had sold her to Farold for the maze.

“This building serves as office and prison,” Thane said. “It also contains living quarters for those who assist Anton as well as those who are required by law to be on the premises at certain times.”

With quick strokes he sectioned off a portion of the building to the right of the counter where she’d been forced to stand as money was counted out and her picture taken. “This is Farold’s apartment. The front office area extends into it.”

He drew a larger square, then two curved lines creating a path between the two buildings, though Araña remembered seeing only a wall when she was taken through the front door at gunpoint.

“A fully enclosed walkway leads from the office in Farold’s living quarters to Anton’s house. There’s a door on either end, both alarmed, both unlocked using a keypad.”

Thane retracted the ink tip with a click and traced the route from the main office space, through the portion of it in Farold’s apartment, through the tunnel and into Anton’s house as he said, “This is the best chance anyone has of getting into the house and upstairs to the study, where the urn is kept.