Page 74 of Terror at the Gates

He gave me a look, as if to saythis is your best?

“Just tell me what he described.”

I rolled my eyes and swiped my journal off his counter.

“A blade with a gold-plated hilt. It’s set with red gems.”

There was a beat of silence. Baal’s brows rose. “That’s it? That’s all he told you?”

I flushed. I didn’t know if I was frustrated or embarrassed.

“If that is all the information your client gave, I’m afraid he is wasting your time.”

“He told me to keep it sheathed when I found it,” I said. “Unless I wanted my eyes to bleed.”

He chuckled. “Now I am certain he is wasting your time.”

I stiffened. I thought for sure that would spark something.

“What do you mean, I’m wasting my time?”

“Sounds like your client believes in a myth,” said Baal.

“Which part is the myth exactly?” I asked.

I had to change my tone halfway through my question. I sounded too defensive, like I knew better.

Because I did.

“There’s a belief that the unworthy cannot behold truly sacred things,” he said. “But what makes something sacred other than the human belief that it is important?”

“Maybe it has nothing to do with veneration,” I said. “Maybe the blade’s cursed.”

Baal looked amused. “Maybe,” he said. “But I have handled many sacred things and passed them on to many unworthy people. I have never witnessed their eyes bleed.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I think you’re right,” I said, taking a step back. “If you had ever handled anything truly sacred, you would definitely be dead by now.”

I turned to leave when Baal called out to me.

“Your client,” he said. “It’s not Zahariev Zareth, is it?”

I looked at him, surprised by the question. “Why would it be Zareth?”

“Word on the street is you were seen with him outside Abram’s shop the night he died,” said Baal. “All that seems a little coincidental.”

“I didn’t know you were a gossip, Baal,” I said.

“The network’s suspicious, Eve,” he said.

Eve was the name I gave my contacts. There were a lot of reasons I didn’t want to give my real name.

“About what?”

“No one wants to make deals with someone associated with the families.”

“Do you really speak for everyone in the network?” I asked. “Or are you just afraid Zahariev will find out you’re a pedophile?” Baal’s features hardened, and I laughed. “I think it’s the latter. Good night, Baal. Thanks for nothing.”

I left his shop, only quickening my pace once I was out of his sight. I didn’t want him to think he’d gotten under my skin, but now I wondered how many of my contacts had heard the same rumor.

---