Burnt Silver Page 10

  "Hey."

  I looked over at the bartender. The guy was shorter than me, with dark hair and a scruffy beard—and fully human. "Umm, I'm applying for a job?" I forced my voice to rise at the end of the sentence in a question. "Any idea where I go for that?"

  "Just sit at one of the tables," the bartender told me. "Someone will be with you shortly."

  I nodded and settled on the edge of the seat, tapping the papers on the table.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, half expecting a text from Eliaster, but instead, it was from Aileen.

  You were wearing a bracelet the day we met. In the café.

  Wow. Observant.

  Don't get snarky. You asked for help. I'm giving you help. Keep the bracelet on you at all times. And I don't just mean carry it in your pocket. Keep it on your wrist.

  Why?

  Another long pause. It will protect you.

  I ground my teeth. Why can't I ever get a straight up answer? How will it protect me?

  After a few seconds, my phone rang with Aileen's number. I popped my earbud out and put the phone up to my ear. The bartender shot me a curious glance, but didn't tell me to get off the call.

  "I can't believe I'm doing this," she said sharply. "This is dangerous, for both of us."

  "Just give me a straight answer, and I'll get off your back," I snapped back quietly. "I don't know why it's so freakin' hard to get answers from you if you're supposedly on my side."

  She sighed, a mix of annoyance and frustration leaking through her tone. "There's no straight answer, Josh. I don't know what that thing is. All I know is that when I grabbed your hand—"

  My palm tingled at the remembrance.

  "—I could feel the glamour on it."

  "It's a—" I started.

  Footsteps echoed on the metal stairs, and I looked up in time to see a red-haired fae come clattering down to the ground floor. Shaughnessy. Something flashed on his hand, something that for a split second blinded me even in the dim light and gave me a headache. I winced, squinted.

  From here, the ring on his index finger looked like a typical school ring, the kind kids got to celebrate graduation from high school or college. But there was something weird about it—I could see a ghost-image flickering around the ring, moving and shifting as Shaughnessy walked across the dance floor and stepped up to the bar. I squinted and caught sight of the ogham cut deep into the gem. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to recall the alphabet Roe had taught me.

  S. T. and I …

  Stiúir.

  Stu-wer. It almost sounded like "steward."

  I opened my eyes. Keelin had been right, Shaughnessy did wear relics.

  "Josh? Josh?" Aileen repeated.

  "I gotta go," I said, pulling the phone away from my ear.

  "The bracelet," she shouted, her voice sounding far away and tinny. "Don't forget—"

  I hung up. Shaughnessy had a relic. I'd confirmed it. It was time to go. I started to stand, glanced over my shoulder back at the bar.

  Shaughnessy and the bartender both looked over at me.

  Crap. I forced a vague smile, like he was just another stranger I'd accidentally happened to make eye contact with, turned away, and pulled my phone out, pretending to text as I walked toward the door. I put my other hand in my pocket, the one on the inside of my jacket, snagged the bracelet with my fingers, and I worked it over my wrist. As it had the first time I'd put it on, the metal shrank so that the sword shards fit snugly against my wrist bone.

  My neck prickled and I spun, so quickly my bag slid down to my elbow and smacked against the glass door.

  "Hey, whoa, man. Sorry to startle you." Shaughnessy pulled his hand back. The hand with the ring.

  The skin on my neck crawled. He'd almost touched me. Why had he been trying to touch me? I forced another smile, pulled my backpack onto my shoulder. "No worries." I looked to the side. The only other person in the club was the bartender, and he was moving bottles around the back of the bar, completely unconcerned.

  "Rick said you were applying for a job?" Shaughnessy asked.

  "I think I got the wrong place," I said. "My mistake."

  His eyes narrowed just a touch. "Do I know you?"

  "I just have one of those faces, y'know?" I said, pressing my hand on the glass. I stepped through the doorway. My heart pounded. Was he going to follow me? Would he press the issue?

  Shaughnessy watched me, his eyes narrowed, as I let myself out of the building. Then the mirrored glass hid him from view.

  I twitched my shoulders, trying to get rid of the creepy-crawly feeling I still had. He'd almost touched me, on the bare skin of my neck, with a relic.

  I glanced down at the bracelet I now wore, the metal once again fitting close to the bones of my wrist like a second skin. Had it protected me, like Aileen seemed to think it would? I flexed my hand. What had the word on Shaughnessy's ring—STUIR—meant? What would've happened to me if he'd touched me?

  CHAPTER 14

  ELIASTER

  Despite what Josh might have thought, it killed me to leave him. I hated it, hated feeling like I was abandoning my friend, hated that I felt so guilty over it. Hated that I'd allowed myself to be forced into a situation where I had no choice but to work with Banshee.

  I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. She lounged back in the driver's seat, nails tapping on the steering wheel as buildings slipped past outside the window. She'd added a few more piercings since I'd last seen her—her ears were pierced all the way to the tips, and the diamond in the side of her nose was new as well. Her long, platinum hair shimmered in the sunlight. Crap, she was as attractive as ever.

  I stared at her, trying quickly to sort through the cause of the slow burn at the back of my throat. Had to gather my thoughts before she could use the fact that I was off balance. Anger, nostalgia, disgust, relief, betrayal, and—of all things, longing—all pooled into a vicious cocktail that would probably make me puke if I swallowed.

  I took a deep breath. "Okay, Banshee. Give it to me straight."

  She turned, blue eyes wide and innocent. "Give you what?"

  "Don't play this game with me. Not now. Not ever again. Tell me why you're here."

  She spun the wheel, ignoring the car honking behind her. "Secrets, secrets, sweetheart."

  I shook my head, blew out a deep breath, and tried to contain my anger. Getting mad at Banshee would accomplish nothing and only make her laugh. She wasn't scared of me. I'm not scared of her, either.

  But if I was honest with myself, that was probably only half true. I chewed on the inside of my lip. No, I wasn't scared of her. Banshee wouldn't hurt me. Tease me, play games, lie to me, yes. Try to stoke up our old relationship, probably. But hurt? No. She wouldn't dare. But I didn't know what she wanted—and that scared me.

  "So where'd you pick up the human?" she asked.

  I frowned. "Josh?"

  "No, the other human who's tagging along with you." She rolled her eyes.

  "You can't tell me that you don't already know."

  Banshee tapped her fingers on her knee. "He's kinda cute, in a little-lost-puppy sort of way."

  I glared at her. "Don't even think about it."

  "Jealous?"

  "No." Yes. I shoved the thought away. I couldn't go down this road again. She was gorgeous, she was good at what she—we—did, but we were like ammonia and bleach. Toxic. She pulled me down roads I'd rather not travel again.

  Her laugh rang out in the car, just as boisterous as ever. "I wondered how long I'd have to dig to bring out the 'cranky guardian' act."

  Dammit, she'd managed to distract me after all. We pulled into a parking lot, and Banshee parked as far away from the building as she could.

  I turned her. "Tell me why you're really here."

  She held up her hands, palms toward me. "Keelin called me in because I have a reputation for this kind of work, and he didn't want any curators involved."

  "And we're involved why?"


  "You pissed him off by interfering."

  I narrowed my eyes.

  Her lips quirked to the side. "Okay, yes, you have me to thank for that. He was going to have you two hauled back to Missouri, but I convinced him to bring you in, try to get you on board." She studied her black-painted nails. "I didn't tell him to threaten you, no matter what you might think."

  Did I believe her? I stared into her eyes. As usual, I couldn't quite manage to read her. Everything about her face, her open posture, told me she was being honest. But was she being fully honest? She'd played me before. I didn't want to get burned again.

  Guess I'd just have to chance it and see.

  I looked up. Across the street was an old-looking brick building, but the steel around the windows and doors glinted, new and shiny, in the sunlight. One of those old factories turned into trendy, hip studios full of exposed brick walls and beamed ceilings with modern furniture. I didn't see the appeal.

  "Part ownership of a nightclub can't pay for this place," I said. "How does he afford it?"

  Banshee shrugged. "Oh, maybe the fact that he's involved in moving illegal relics?"

  I rolled my eyes. "You know I was just thinking out loud. Enough with the sarcasm."

  "Pot, meet kettle." She got out of the car.

  I shoved open my door and reached for the back door to retrieve the swords I'd propped in the back seat.

  Banshee shook her head. "Leave them."

  I glared. "You're seriously asking me to leave my swords behind."

  "I know they're your security blanket, but you'd barely be able to swing one in a small loft apartment, much less both of them." She checked the gun at her side. "Maybe it's time to modernize."

  I crossed my arms. "I'll stick to my knives, thanks."

  "Suit yourself." She spun and started toward the building. "He's on the second story. Come on."

  I jogged up the exterior metal stairs. They reminded me more of an old-fashioned fire escape. The way the metal platforms swayed under my feet was more than a bit disconcerting.

  Banshee crouched at the top, pulling a set of lockpicks from an interior pocket of her coat. I scanned the parking lot below, listening to the metal tchk, tchk as Banshee rotated the picks in the lock. After less than a minute, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  I hung back, running my hands along the doorframe. "That didn't seem a bit easy to you?" I asked. "The guy has had Keelin's goons on his tail for the past two weeks, and supposedly he has access to relics, but his door isn't trapped or alarmed?"

  "You don't trust me to check that?" Banshee's chuckle drifted out of the apartment.

  All right, so maybe I was taking my paranoia a little too far. Banshee knew what she was doing, even if I distrusted her methods. I stepped into the large, wooden-beamed room and closed the door behind me.

  The opposite wall was exposed brick, lined with picture windows that revealed Kansas City's downtown below. To one side of the open room was a little kitchenette, with a half-sized refrigerator, a tiny stove and sink, and a couple of cabinets topped with a small counter space, half of which had been taken up by a basket of fruit and a toaster oven.

  Banshee stood at the far corner of the room, digging through a standing dresser wedged between the wall and the bed.

  I took a few steps into the apartment toward the living room area, intending to search the trunk that doubled as a coffee table.

  I heard a scratching sound over my head. I started to turn, but wasn't quick enough. A solid mass slammed into my shoulders, throwing me sideways to the ground. Heat flared through my skin, and I brought one arm up to protect my throat and grabbed a knife with the other.

  Thin links of metal gouged into my hand, feeling like needles digging into my skin. I gritted my teeth and slashed backward. Felt the knife catch. My attacker hissed in pain and let the chain go slack. Claws skittered away as Banshee ran toward me. I scrambled to my feet and spun around.

  A cat-sidhé lunged for one of the windows. Banshee dove after it, slapping its hand away from the window latch. She palmed its face, slamming the back of its head into the window. The cat-sidhé slumped to the ground, mewling and clutching the back of its head.

  I looked down at my hand. Blood dripped from a gash on the back. A thin jewelry chain was embedded in my palm, the ends dangling nearly to the floor. Strangled by jewelry. Now that was new to me. I glared at the cat-sidhé as I peeled the golden chain out, sucking in a sharp breath between my teeth. Damn, that hurt.

  I held the chain up and checked it over for ogham. No runes marred the smooth surface of the links. Well, at least I wouldn't be poisoned by some kind of malicious glamour.

  Banshee poked at the cat-sidhé with the toe of her boot. "What're you doing here?"

  The goblin glared at her, then glanced over at me. "You!"

  I recognized him at that moment. The one who had attacked Josh and me in the alley the other night. I smirked. "Nice to see you again too."

  The cat-sidhé hissed.

  I balled up the bloodied chain and stuffed it into my pocket, then pressed the hem of my T-shirt against the cut. I walked over the kitchen cabinets and started pulling out drawers.

  "What are you doing?" Banshee demanded.

  "Looking for a towel," I muttered. "I'm not about to leave my blood lying around for anyone to get hold of."

  She quirked an eyebrow. "You've learned a few things."

  I shrugged off the praise and grabbed a couple of towels. Clutching one in my injured hand to stop the bleeding, I used the other to wipe up the splatters of blood my struggle had left on the floor.

  "One more time, goblin … why are you here?" Banshee demanded.

  After a few seconds of silence, there was a crack. The goblin shrieked. My stomach lurched. I looked up to see Banshee's foot on the goblin's knee. Its leg was bent at a weird angle. I clenched my hands, swallowing down the bitterness in my throat. This was far too much like old times for me.

  "Ready to answer me this time?" Banshee snapped, grinding more weight down on the leg.

  Tears streaming from its eyes, the goblin locked his teeth together.

  Banshee moved her foot.

  "Shaughnessy was working with you, wasn't he?" I said, straightening. Maybe if I led him with some easier questions, I could get him to talk. Maybe Banshee wouldn't have to torture him anymore.

  The goblin glanced over at me and nodded. "Ran relics more than anything. That's why I'm here—he called me, told me to clean out the apartment."

  Banshee glanced at me. "He's running."

  "Keelin's guys spooked him. No surprise there—I don't think subtle is in their vocabulary." I looked back at the goblin. "Where's he keep the relics?"

  The goblin pressed its lips together.

  "Suit yourself," Banshee muttered.

  "Banshee, wait—"

  She stomped on the goblin's unbroken leg.

  The goblin howled and writhed. I turned away, grinding my teeth together. This was all too familiar. It was all I could do to not press my hands over my ears. I scanned the living room, reached up, and rubbed the cross pendant under my shirt. Tried to focus my mind elsewhere. Where would Shaughnessy keep relic-related stuff, if he had any in the apartment? Josh had said something once about Marc hiding papers in a video game console, but Shaughnessy didn't even have a TV.

  I walked over to the bookcase and began pulling books out at random and shaking them out.

  "It's there, in the trunk!" the goblin sobbed.

  I turned. The goblin was pointing at the flat-topped trunk in the middle of the living room. I met Banshee's eyes. "Rigged?"

  She shrugged.

  It looked like an ordinary metal trunk. I knelt next to it and examined the exterior, searching for fine wires, hidden switches, anything that could indicate a trap. Nothing. I moved the dirty dishes, books, and papers stacked on top of it and tried to raise the lid. Locked.

  "Where's the key?" I asked.

  The goblin's trembling finge
rs pointed to the bookshelf. I retrieved the key hidden under a few books, then unlocked the trunk and flipped open the lid. Nestled in a cushions of extra blankets and pillows were three items—a red book about the size of my hand, a wooden box, and an external computer hard drive. I shuffled, leaning over so that my body blocked Banshee's line of sight, and slipped the book into my jacket pocket. At the same time, I placed the hard drive in my other pocket, hoping Banshee would notice that instead. Then I grabbed the box and opened it. A couple of pieces of jewelry—a necklace and a ring—winked out at me. I folded the end of one sleeve over my fingers and poked at the jewelry, trying to find ogham engraved on the pieces.

  "Where is he getting these?" I muttered.

  After a second, Banshee snapped, "Hey, you heard him. Answer the question."

  "I don't know," the cat-sidhé sobbed. "Galen knows all sorts of people."

  "Relics are expensive! He's not going to get a collection of them just by knowing people! How could he afford them? How did he afford this place?" Banshee poked at him with her boot. You're not gonna tell me it was just because he could manipulate the mind of a few humans."

  The goblin shrieked again. "No, no, no! This is recent—he just made a deal. Tipped off someone important about something. He wouldn't tell me what. But about three months ago, he had some woman here—not one of his lovers, either. She was important. She was powerful."

  "Powerful?" I pocketed the jewelry box. "What do you mean by that?"

  The goblin whined. "She reeked of glamour. Of sorcery."

  "Describe her."