Page 467 of Shadowblood Souls
There’s one row of the three-by-four windows for every story. Pushing myself a little faster and reveling in my speed, I count them off in my head until I reach twelve.
Then I hook my fingers and the claws I’ve extended as deep as I can into the small concrete lip I’m clutching, bracing myself to hang there for at least a couple of minutes. “Go ahead.”
This part, only Zian could do. Balthazar wants us coming and going without leaving an obvious trace of our presence.
Heat wafts through the air, and a thin ruddy glow spreads along the edges of the window. Zee has honed the cutting edge of his X-ray enough to aim it steadily.
As the heated line runs along the final side, the cut pane starts to wobble. I slip my fingers around the opposite edge to hold it from toppling and shattering on the floor.
When Zian has finished the cutting, he eases his own hand around the other side. Together, we lower the glass to the floor just inside.
It hisses against the vertical blinds that are closed over the window. They warble louder as each of us crawls through the space into the room beyond.
Darkness fills the sprawling office. I don’t dare turn on a light, but I do adjust the blinds so they let in some of the city glow and moonlight from outside.
The thin illumination washes over a broad mahogany desk, a row of matching bookshelves behind it, and a cluster of modern armchairs and loveseat around a sleek coffee table at the other end of the room. This dude—or dudette—has an office as big as the vast drawing room back in the villa.
I guess they’re someone pretty important. Maybe the head honcho of whatever business we’ve invaded.
It’s not like Balthazar would care about messing with some minor underling, after all.
We need to find somewhere to put his “gift.” As I give the room a more thorough scan, fingertips graze my arm.
Zian has reached out tome. I hold still, and he lets his hand linger against my elbow, fixing both of us in the space no matter how invisible we are.
He edges a little closer before he speaks. He doesn’t touch me anywhere else, but the warmth his unseen body gives off grazes my skin.
His voice is barely more than a breath. “What do you think?”
I cock my head, forcing myself to focus on the scene in front of us rather than the leap of my heart at Zee’s closeness. We’re supposed to leave the unknown item in its taped paper wrapping somewhere itcanbe found but where it won’t catch the eye unless someone knows to look for it.
Carefully, I adjust my arm so I can give his bicep a little nudge toward the bookcases. As we slink over to them, his touch falls away, but he stays close enough for me to feel his presence.
I pause to study the framed certificates on the wall next to the shelves. I was right in my first guess ofdude—this office appears to belong to someone named Rodney Milner. A Rodney Milner who received an MBA and also a few different awards and commendations he was proud enough of to show them off.
Most of the organizations and honors don’t mean anything to me, but one of them is the International Clean Energy Federation. Not that I was aware of that organization either before this moment, but a frown crosses my face as I take it in.
The politician Balthazar had me murder—he had something to do with fossil fuels. Wouldn’t this guy be on the opposite side of an energy debate?
Is Balthazar just trying to throw everyone into total chaos, or is there some pattern I’m not grasping?
Zian taps my shoulder, bringing my attention back to the job at hand. I step closer to him, and we inspect the bookcases together.
“Here?” Zian murmurs, guiding my hand tentatively toward a section with some shorter books. “Or would it be too obvious if we just stuck it on top?”
I hum softly. “I think we’d want to tuck itbehindsomething so it’s a little more hidden. Is there anything on the higher shelves that would obscure it?”
There’s a pause before Zee answers. “Mostly books, but there are a couple of liquor bottles and a cigar case.”
“How big is the case?”
“About…” He hesitates and then takes both of my hands. With a light grip, he adjusts them so they’re about eight inches apart.
A tingle races over my skin at the contact, but I don’t push for more. “I think that’s too small. And we don’t know how often he’s taking it out.”
I prod Zian farther down the row of shelves. He directs my hand toward a shelf at my chin height. “We could pull these books a little farther out?”
He’s found a spot with a row of matching volumes that are all relatively narrow despite their height.
