Dark Star, page 7
“Excellent, I think we should, too.” Harlan stared at the papers in front of him, deciding to wait to tell Gabe what he had found out. “I need to head to the guild later this morning. What if I catch up with you this afternoon at Chadwick House? Say, three o’clock?”
“Perfect,” he said, ending the call.
Harlan couldn’t believe it. Blaze was dead. As awful as that was, it also made things far more complicated. They had fulfilled their obligations to Caldwell, but like Gabe, Harlan wanted to know more about Black Cronos and this strange woman. If they were prepared to kill Blaze, the likelihood was they would try to get the astrolabe again. They could hand over the Dark Star and be out of it, but he had the feeling all of their lives could be at risk—including the members of the order—and that didn’t sit easy on his conscience.
The one person who may know more about all of this was JD, and he was also the one person Harlan did not want to speak to. He gazed out of the window, not really seeing the faint approach of dawn as he debated what to do. He’d sleep on it, and then make a decision.
Barak stared at the computer screen, his eyes aching. This was the first time since Gabe had asked that he’d had a chance to examine the inventory, but Sundays were generally quieter at the warehouse in Harecombe, so he took advantage of it.
It was mid-morning, and he was the only Nephilim here today. He’d told his brothers to have the day off, feeling he’d get more done alone. The security team was covering the gate and perimeter, and there was only a skeleton crew in today, so he was determined to find the information he needed.
He’d filtered the shipments by port and date, and found one large shipment on the date in question, but it was composed of lots of companies, as well as individuals. He ran down the list, knowing many of the companies now and able to dismiss some easily. He was focussing more on individuals, but without a name to go on, he was looking for final addresses.
He groaned. He’d thought this would be easy, but it was turning out to be tedious and he blinked, his eyes dry. He absently sipped his coffee as he scrolled, almost spilling it in shock when he saw The Order of the Midnight Sun listed as an address. He clicked on the details of the package. All shipped goods should be itemised, and this one was no different. Several objects were listed, but not one of them was an astrolabe, and they all had proof of purchase. He frowned. That couldn’t be right. He shook his head, amused. They must have covered their tracks, hiding it within the other items—most likely the nineteenth century statue that was listed and was of no significant value. On arrival in port, all goods had to clear customs, and most of the time it was a formality. Drugs or guns were the most commonly smuggled items, but hidden antiquities were also big business. Barak knew that Caspian ran a legitimate business, but that he also had occult customers. Not surprising, considering he was a witch. But it was unlikely Caspian or any other member of his family would know the details of particular shipments.
Barak scrolled down the page, looking to see who had sent it, and grinned in triumph. Aubrey Cavendish. Let’s hope it isn’t an alias, he mused. Just to be sure, he checked the dates on either side, and once satisfied that no other shipments had been made to the order, he checked the arrival date, finding it had arrived two days later in the large port of Falmouth. It had been collected by hand from their office, and signed for by the same person, an ornate, fanciful signature.
He leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. Cavendish was taking no chances. Normally, items like this would be posted by courier once they had arrived. He phoned Gabe, passing on the information, and frowned when Gabe updated him on their overnight activities. “It’s over, then?”
“No, because this bothers me, and I can’t just drop it,” Gabe told him. “Will you do me another favour, please?”
“Sure.”
“See if you can find out what The Order of the Midnight Sun used to be called—pre-fifteenth century—and see if you can find out anything about a Madame Raphael Charbonneau. Harlan will do some research too, but he’s focussing on Black Cronos for now.”
“You think this astrolabe is more significant than we’ve been led to believe?”
“Maybe even more than the order suspects. But at least there aren’t any angels involved.”
Once the call ended, Barak stared at the screen, thinking about angels and their previous assignment, The Book of Raziel. Shadow had buried it under rock and water, and he wondered if that would be enough. The old God had once been so incensed at its loss that he plucked it from the ocean, so it being buried beneath an avalanche of rock was no guarantee it wouldn’t be found again. And Raziel also had an obsession with the book—enough to build an entire temple to it.
Over the last few weeks, they’d all wondered if the search for The Temple of the Seeker was really over. Did Raziel know his book had been found and his temple destroyed? And if he didn’t, why not? He’d spent a lot of time making it, laying clues, sending innocent men insane with the burden of his demands. Surely he wasn’t about to just let it go. Maybe the war between the angels had raged long after their deaths, and had long-lasting consequences. Niel’s encounter with Chassan, one of the angels of air, had been alarming, too. He knew the Nephilim were back. Didn’t it matter? Did no one care? It seemed they had all been watching over their shoulders, waiting for a summons or a visitation that they desperately hoped would not come, because the consequences could be disastrous.
Barak rather liked this life, although he was itching to leave the security job, as good as Caspian had been to them. He wanted to be with the others, searching for occult goods and exploring their new world. He shrugged it off, though. Gabe had given him a job to do, so he should get on with it.
He had just started a basic search for information on the order when he heard the door below bang open and then footsteps on the stairs leading to the offices. He went to the inner office window, surprised to see Estelle, and he headed to the door to speak to her.
“Hey, Estelle. What are you doing here on a Sunday?”
“Trying to find peace and quiet, and failing,” she said, glaring at him.
He ignored her jibe as she walked past him to the office that was normally occupied by Dean Ellis, the warehouse manager. She looked as good and as pissed off as usual, except that she was dressed casually today. She was wearing a fitted t-shirt and yoga pants that hugged every curve, and her hair was caught up in a loose knot, revealing the dip of her shoulder and the nape of her neck, and he swallowed. Herne’s horns, she looked good. Barak should have found her aggressive manner off-putting, but he didn’t. Beneath that tough-bitch exterior, he detected vulnerability. And then as she slammed the door behind her, he winced. Maybe he was delusional. Or maybe it was the thought of her soft skin and long hair falling over him that gave him such idiotic thoughts.
He leaned on the door frame, contemplating his actions. Ever since the beginning of the week she’d been meaner than usual, and somehow, more brittle, too. It had coincided with Caspian’s attack by spirits, and he wondered if that had shaken her, or if it was just a coincidence. Although Caspian had been recuperating with Reuben, she had spent more time here than at her main office—and Dean was complaining. Taking his life in his hands, Barak headed to the office, knocked, and opened the door.
“What’s going on, Estelle?”
She was busy arranging her phone and bag and switching on the computer, and she glanced up at him, narrowing her eyes. “Nothing. Just paperwork and a couple of shipments I want to check. I won’t be here next week.”
“Why not?”
She leaned her elbows on the table and met his eyes. “What business is it of yours?”
“Because something is wrong. You’re always a miserable cow, but this week you’re even worse. What’s happened?”
Her hands clenched and he felt her magic build as she spat, “I beg your pardon! Did you just call me a miserable cow?”
Barak knew he shouldn’t provoke a powerful witch, but actually, he realised, that’s exactly what he wanted to do. He had a reasonable working relationship with her normally, and she had a good sense of humour when she relaxed. But most of the time, she was uptight. Constrained. Sad.
“You are and you know you are, and that worries me, Estelle.” He opened his arms wide, knowing, if he was honest, that it displayed his huge, muscled chest to her often-admiring eyes. “You are rich and powerful in the business world, a skilled witch, an intelligent, beautiful woman with impeccable taste, and yet you are so fucking miserable that I just don’t get it!” She sat in stunned silence, looking at him as he advanced into the room. “It’s pretty clear to me that you hate your life, which begs the question—why don’t you change it? You could do anything!”
Estelle’s mouth trembled, her face went white, and her eyes filled with tears for the briefest moment before she blinked them away. “How dare you. Get out!”
He refused to stop or break eye contact with her. “Why are you lying to yourself? What does it achieve? If I’ve learnt anything in my life, it’s that you have to do what makes you happy, or life is long and hard. And what’s the point of that?” Her folded arms trembled across her chest, and he knew his time was limited. “I wondered if you were worried about Caspian, but you hate him, too. What a dysfunctional mess your family is—and that’s saying something, considering what my family dynamics were like.”
Without warning, she struck him with a bolt of energy, blasting him out of the door and over the railing that edged the walkway above the warehouse. Instinctively, he flexed his wings and they shot out from his shoulders, shredding his t-shirt, and he hovered in the air, cursing himself for not preparing for this, but mostly admiring her speed and power.
Estelle was already running to the door, her hands raised, looking as if she was about to hit him again, and then she stalled as the realisation of what she’d done spread across her face. He glanced below him, relieved to see no one was there. With luck, the staff were all outside.
Barak flew back to the walkway, landed softly in front of her, and then folded his wings behind him. “Feel better now? You’re lucky I’m Nephilim, or you could have killed me.”
She glared at him. “You shouldn’t have provoked me, then. You know what I am.”
“And you should have better control over yourself. Working with you is like working with a lit stick of dynamite.” Barak was suddenly furious with himself. His provocation had risked exposing both of them, and for what purpose? To get a rise out of Estelle? He’d done that, but what the hell had that achieved? He turned his back on her, marching into his office and grabbing a spare t-shirt from the cupboard in the corner where they kept some company stock. He pulled it on, and when he turned around, she was standing in the doorway, watching him.
“I’ve never seen your wings before,” she said, her dark eyes openly curious.
“Just ask, in future.” He glanced at the security screens showing activity around the warehouse, and saw the handful of staff clustered outside smoking or drinking coffee, and he sighed. They’d got away with their little tiff. He sat in front of the computer, pulling up the search screen again, and then stared at her. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have provoked you, but sometimes you’re exasperating. And I meant it. No one should be as sad and angry as you all the time. But I won’t bother you again.” He looked back at the screen, ignoring Estelle, and trying to clear his head.
Nevertheless, she was still in the doorway, her expression contrite. “I’m sorry, Barak. I lashed out, stupidly. It’s just the second time this week that I’ve been on the receiving end of verbal abuse, and I was over it. Did I hurt you?”
“Does it look like it?” he asked. “You’ve just ruined a perfectly good t-shirt, that’s all.” Then he frowned. “And it wasn’t abuse. Well, it wasn’t meant to be.”
“I can assure you that it was the first time.” Barak was itching to ask what had happened, but he wouldn’t push again. She continued, “What are you doing?”
“If I told you I was doing research for Gabe rather than working, would it earn me another blast in the chest?”
“No. What kind of research?”
“He’s working a case with Harlan, for The Order of the Midnight Sun, and he needs some more background on them.”
She walked into the office, perching on one of the chairs. “Why have they hired you?”
“Someone stole an astrolabe from them, a very important one, apparently. It was shipped through here originally, from France.” His lips twitched. “They stole it from some French woman.”
Estelle laughed, finally relaxing. “Karma, then.”
“Maybe. But Gabe and Shadow stole it back again last night.”
“That quick? Impressive. Go on,” she said, suitably intrigued. “Tell me more.”
He filled her in on the background and what they’d found so far. “Do you know much about the order?”
“Nope. But,” she picked up her chair and put it next to him, hustling him along, “I’ll help you look.”
She batted his hand off the mouse and he wrested back again, amused. “I thought you had work to do?”
“This sounds far more interesting. Or don’t you want my help?” Her eyes held his with a clear challenge.
“Far be it for me to question your wishes,” he said, starting the search again, and thinking what an interesting few hours this was proving to be.
Eight
Shadow sipped her coffee, half slumped over on a table in the hotel’s dining room, watching Gabe eat a late, large breakfast.
They had made it before the breakfast buffet closed, both trying to get as much sleep as they could before they travelled back to London. Even so, she was gritty-eyed. She and Gabe had ended up sleeping in the same room, but there were no romantic entanglements, despite the fact that she remembered every second of his lips on hers. It was purely for security.
Gabe had taken first watch while she grabbed a couple of hours of sleep, and then she took the second, wary of any movement along the corridor or on the street outside. But they were undisturbed, which was a relief. They had travelled back to the hotel quickly after their encounter with the thief, cautious of being followed, but no doubt the thief was as keen to keep off the streets as they were.
Before going to bed, she and Gabe had examined the astrolabe, curious as to what had caused so much excitement. But beautiful though it was, it gave away nothing of the secrets it might reveal. Now it sat on the table between them, wrapped in a bag.
“Have you phoned Caldwell yet?” she asked Gabe.
“No,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food. “I’ll do it when we get to London.”
“You don’t want to give it back, do you?”
“No, but I will.” He put his knife and fork down, his breakfast finished, and picked up his cup. “I just want a few more answers first.”
“We’re thieves. It’s no business of ours what he does with it, or what’s there. That’s the first rule of business. We fulfil our contract and move on.”
Gabe frowned. “But a few hours ago, you said you didn’t want to drop it and were enthusiastic to know more. What’s changed?”
“Sleep and the cold light of day. Don’t get me wrong—I’m curious. But if we overly involve ourselves in our jobs, we’ll get caught up in crap that has nothing to do with us.”
His expression softened. “I know that. But this is our business to shape as we choose. I will give the astrolabe back, but I just want to do a bit more digging.”
“It’s like you’re marshalling an army. You’ve got half the Nephilim on this.”
“We’re not quite an army. Besides, I used to be good at it.”
“I’m more worried about the woman. What was she?”
Gabe rubbed his chest. “I felt her here, like those weird eyes were trying to pull my very being out. Did you?”
“I felt something, but she wasn’t really staring at me like she was you. When she stood up after she killed Blaze, I glimpsed them then and they looked soulless.” She shuddered. “I’m not easily spooked, but I had the feeling that if she saw me watching her last night, all would be lost.” She laughed. “Sounds dramatic, right?”
“So you kissed me.”
This was the first time they had spoken about that, and she held his gaze. “Yes. You started it, and it was a ruse.”
“You threw yourself into it very convincingly.”
“So did you, Mr I-think-I’ll-smother-your-neck-with-kisses.”
His slow, sexy smile spread across his face, and once again she could feel those kisses on her neck. Maybe this is why they hadn’t mentioned it in the bedroom. The hotel restaurant was safe ground. “Do you want me to promise not to do it again?”
That was the last thing she wanted, but she said, “Yes, I think that’s an excellent idea.”
Gabe continued to smirk. “Sorry, I can’t. Who knows when we may need it as cover?”
“True,” she acknowledged, deciding to tease him. “And I may have to do the same thing with any of your brothers, too. Or even Harlan. Who knows what weird situations we might get into?”
Shadow watched his expression tighten, her own smirk hidden behind her drink. And then he smirked, too. “You’re right. I may have to do the same with Olivia. It’s a useful tactic.”
She couldn’t help but grin. “Excellent. That’s that sorted. So now what?” She lowered her cup and leaned forwards. “Do you think Black Cronos could be based in Oxford? Maybe we should stick around.”
“Even if they are, it will be a waste of time. We have no leads, and if that woman is still in town, I don’t want to give her a chance to steal the astrolabe again.” He shook his head. “No, we need to leave, and hope that the others find us a clue. Besides, Blaze’s death is all over the news now. I do not wish to be questioned by the police if we’ve been caught on one of the club’s cameras, do you?”
