Page 52 of The Stolen Queen

“Which are attracted to fabrics. Genius, really.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Who gave you the box?”

“I picked it up from the Museum of Natural History before I arrived.”

Charlotte gave Annie a quick sideways glance. “Is that right?”

“You don’t think I was part of this, do you?” Annie’s face burned. “I swear, I was just doing what I was told.” She grabbed Charlotte’s arm. “Is the broad collar safe?”

“It is. I checked on it.”

“Thank goodness. Do you think that the moths and the theft are related? Like I said, the guy didn’t seem overwhelmed by the pandemonium. Not in the way everyone else was.”

“Maybe.”

They ventured farther down the bright hallway, the only sound their footsteps and the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead.

“This is crazy,” said Charlotte. “Everyone’s upstairs. We shouldn’t be doing this alone.”

“But we can’t let the man escape,” countered Annie. A rush of cool air made her stop in her tracks. “What is that?” She pointed to what looked like an old-fashioned tunnel with an arched brick ceiling that branched off to the left. Padlocked metal cages lined the sides, bursting with a mishmash of antiquities, including marble sculptures, fluted columns, and coats of armor. The handle of a dagger poked through the gap between one of the cage doors.

“It’s an obsolete storm drain for the park’s reservoir, built back in the mid-1800s. It runs diagonally north to south the entire length of the building.”

“And they use it for storage?”

“There are over two million pieces of art in the museum’s collection; we can only exhibit a fraction at any one time. We need all the storage space we can get.”

A wave of sadness ran through Annie at the thought of so much art tucked away in a cold, dark hole in the ground, pieces that were deemed extraneous and locked away in an art jailhouse because they didn’t make the cut anymore, or never had.

“I can’t believe it,” said Charlotte, swearing under her breath. “I was right there when he took it.”

“You saw him steal the Cerulean Queen?”

“Not exactly. But I came upon him right after and followed him down the stairs to the Costume Institute exhibition. If only I’d been a few seconds earlier, I might have caught him in the act and stopped him.”

“That’s terrible. But it’s not your fault.”

“It’s someone’s.” Charlotte didn’t meet Annie’s eyes.

Annie shrank back, stung. Did Charlotte mean it washerfault? Maybe it was. If the moths were some kind of diversion for the theft—and it was too much of a coincidence to think they weren’t—then she was definitely at fault. She’d probably be put in jail, or at the very least fired for her actions.

Charlotte turned to walk back from where they came from, but Annie stayed put, staring hard into the darkness of the tunnel. “Wait, I think I heard something.”

“It’s probably a rat scurrying around. The man is long gone by now.”

Annie ventured forward a couple of steps. “I’ll wait here, you go get the guards.”

“I’m not leaving you here alone, Annie. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Annie stared into the darkness, her eyes refusing to adjust. “I swear—”

Suddenly, a figure emerged like a rocket out of the pitch black. A man. He swung a bowling-ball bag at Annie’s head, but she ducked in time, falling back against one of the cages. With his other hand, he shoved Charlotte hard and sent her sprawling to the ground, face-first.

As the adrenaline surged through Annie’s body, it was as if time slowed down. She scanned him from head to toe: His shirt collar was open, and a silver pendant around his neck blinked in the light. His eyes were dark brown and almost lashless; his hair dark, curly, and short. He gave off a musky, animal scent, and the look on his face was one of fury and violence.

He stared at Annie, breathing heavily. She was trapped and he was twice her size. But then Annie’s hand fell upon the handle of the dagger that poked out of the cage. As he began moving toward her, she yanked it hard, and to her surprise, the blade slid out easily.

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