He truly understood where she was about Rhoger. He’d been there with Rahvyn. And fuck, if he believed in miracles? In fate? In the universe being a right and just place? He might trust that he and his first cousin could be still reunited and if Mae brought her dead back, there would be no regrets.
But he didn’t buy into that existential justice shit anymore.
And damn it, Mae was going to thank him for what he was about to do. Maybe not right away, but later . . . when nature was not interfered with and she was not in so much pain. Then, she would know he’d done the right thing.
Calming himself, he dematerialized out through the open shutter. But he didn’t go back to his place to get his shitbox ride.
He went downtown.
As he’d only been in Caldwell a month, he didn’t know streets’ names or anything. The good news was that the Commodore was the only twenty-plus-floor residential building around, and given that it had vertical light-up letters on its flank that spelled out “C-O-M-M-O-D-O-R-E”?
It didn’t take a genius to locate its roof.
And just like they’d planned, there was a lone figure waiting for him by the HVAC blowers.
As Sahvage re-formed in front of the guy, he kept his hands by his guns, but he didn’t palm up. No reason not to be civil, and besides, he’d gotten a sense of the Bastard over the daylight hours. While Mae had slept, he’d gone upstairs to find out who had been blowing up his phone.
And what do you know. The call he’d been waiting for.
“So you’re Sahvage, the male of the hour.” The fighter extended his dagger hand. “Balthazar.”
Sahvage nodded and shook what was offered. “You ready to do this?”
“Like I said on the phone, we should move fast.”
Glancing around, Sahvage had the sense that the building was surrounded. Shadows? he wondered. No . . . he could catch the scents, even though they were distant and distilled by the cold wind, and he recognized a lot of them.
“Your backups are in position,” he said. “I know we aren’t alone.”
“Just as we agreed, they’re on the perimeter and staying put unless things get fucked. I don’t want . . . well, like I told you, last night she came as soon as I got close to the Book.”
“Just point me in the right direction, I’ll take it from there.”
The male narrowed his eyes. “That wasn’t our agreement.”
“Even if it keeps you from getting killed?”
“She wants the Book, not us. So if I wake up dead, it’s going to be because I’m collateral damage. The same is true for you. We do this as we agreed or not at all.”
Sahvage met the fighter straight in the eye. “Roger that.”
As Balthazar turned away, Sahvage followed the male over to the entry to the stairwell that ran up the middle of the building. Inside, they descended the concrete steps at a jog, and when, a couple landings down, Balthazar paused at a fire door and seemed to be scenting the seam around the doorjamb, Sahvage realized something.
“You didn’t make a sound,” he said softly.
The Bastard glanced over his shoulder. “Huh?”
“As we went along. You didn’t make any noise.”
“I’m a thief.” The guy rolled his eyes and punched the handle to open things up. “You think I should have a marching band plugged into my ass?”
“Now there’s a Christmas card.”
Out in a corridor that smelled like rich people, and had a sleek, contemporary vibe, they strode forth quickly, and Sahvage tried to take a page out of Mr. Shhh’s book. But how did the fucker manage to not even have his equipment creak?
It was obvious where they were going.
The police tape gave it away.
As they came up to the door, Balthazar looked back. “Open foyer on the other side. I’m praying there’s no police equipment in the way. I’ll disarm the alarm and take us through the collection rooms.”
“I’m right behind you.”
Balthazar went in first, and Sahvage was a nanosecond behind him. No police equipment, just an open foyer as described, like the place was a museum.
“This way,” the Bastard whispered. “It’s down here.”
The rooms were small and windowless, and contained collections of strange things. Surgical instruments. Bat skeletons? And then—
Sahvage’s breath exploded out of his lungs as they entered a space filled with book displays—and his boots froze where they were. There, across the intricate floor, past a ruined section of shelving and a mess on the hardwood . . . was a clear box.
That housed an object Sahvage hadn’t seen for two hundred years.
As he blinked, he was back in Zxysis’s master quarters, the blood of his innocent cousin spilled on the sheeting of the bedding platform, the window open, the herbs and potions and candle wax over on the trestle table.