Page 18 of Curses & Keys
“Is her friend there? The shifter?” I ask impatiently.
“Unfortunately,” he replies with an irritated sigh.
I remind myself to ask him about that comment later. “Hawthorne, when did she text you?”
“A little after noon,” he replies. “I’m heading to the condo.” His breathing increases as he hurries down the loud hall.
“Let me see if I can track her phone,” I tell them, navigating to the site. “Cell towers report her last known location as…the university. Are you sure she isn’t there?”
Hawthorne stops. “Yes, I used a spell. I’ve checked her office, the loading dock, library, teacher lounges, classrooms. Basically, the whole damn building. My magic says she isn’t here. I wouldn’t have called you without checking.” Irritation bleeds into his usually calm voice.
“Let’s regroup here. See you in ten.” Hanging up, I bring up the campus CCTV system and pinpoint the six camerasassociated with the entrances and exits around campus. Then I start methodically rewinding them to noon so I can watch all the vehicles leaving between twelve and one o’clock. The first two cameras yield nothing. On the third, I spot her black Mercedes leaving at five past two. She’s definitely not on campus.
The door opens, and Hawthorne and Gatlin walk in. “Did you find her?”
I swivel around in my chair. “She left campus. East Entrance. Five minutes after she texted you. Unfortunately, she took the highway, and I lost her.” I look at Hawthorne. “Didn’t you put a tracker on her car?”
He holds up his phone to show me the dot blinking on the map. “I did. It’s still in the parking lot.”
“She removed it,” I insert, suspicion rising at her evasion tactics. “I’ll call Jamison.”
12
PHAEDRA
User9738432 sent me a message early this morning with several complex archaeology questions to past finds. Knowing there was a reason, I sent the anonymous user an in-depth reply to each one. Way beyond what could be found by a decent Google search. At noon, I received a meeting time and location, plus instructions for sending the money to an escrow account until the deal is done. I transferred the money, sent Hawthorne a text to cancel our regroup, and jumped into my car.
When I turned the ignition, a special app on my vehicle touchscreen lit up with a message and a dot. Furious, I got out, slid under my car, and yanked off the tracker. After a quick look around, I left it in the center of my parking spot. Probably Jamison, but out of caution, I decide to take the back way to the airstrip.
Owned by a paranoid demon who jokingly calls himself Maverick, the private airstrip outside Raleigh allows me to come and go without having to fly commercial or use a portal. I call to let him know I’m going to be leaving on my private jet in half an hour and to let the pilot know we’re headed to London.
Thankfully, I keep the plane stocked with everything I could possibly need, from weapons to surveillance equipment to the crack technology I use to break into today’s sophisticated security systems. I quickly pull the car into the hangar and cover it with a tarp.
I wait outside the small jet while Charlie checks it over. Maverick introduced us a few years ago, and we’ve flown together ever since. Charlie, real name unknown, is a pilot and mage, which comes in handy. After performing the usual maintenance checks, he then runs a spell to check for trackers and other nasty surprises. I snort. Come to think of it, we all might be paranoid. He jerks his chin in my direction, and I board the plane.
Once on, I buckle in and open my laptop to start viewing the area around tonight’s meet. It’s a derelict warehouse called The Millennium Mills. Abandoned for over forty years, it sits quietly on the edge of the Royal Victoria Docks in East London. In its heyday, it was once the largest center for flour milling in London. Today, the area is undergoing revitalization. Fortunately, they haven’t touched the warehouse yet.
I scroll through the images online to get a feel for the place. Mostly concrete and broken windows, the main building stands roughly ten stories tall with a couple of additional abandoned buildings nearby. Eerie and grey, the outside is full of overgrown weeds, the perfect setting for a zombie apocalypse. I chuckle. Or a secret meeting to sell a stolen archaeological piece.
I get to work. With the blueprints pulled up on one monitor, I create a replica and overlay it onto the actual building. Inote several places where I can set traps without bringing the building down on top of me, memorize all the exits, and estimate the proximity to the water from every angle in case I need to use it as an exit.
Once everything is plotted, I call a contact in London to request specific ammunition and detonation devices. Mercer sends me an invoice for the entire amount. Non-refundable. We’ve been doing business together for four hundred years, but she still insists on full payment. I pay it and tell her to stop worrying so much. While she doesn’t know who I am, I’m sure she’s pieced a few things together over the years, especially when I request something unique from her. She always delivers but demands payment upfront to mitigate any risks.
I wish I knew her real name. Everyone refers to her as Mercer or The Merchant. She’s part of a larger underground group called Harlequin. We’ve met a couple of times when I’ve picked up my order, but she’s overly cautious in giving out any personal information. Not that I blame her, but it would be nice to have more friends instead of acquaintances.
Finally, I pack. Climbing gear, electronic devices, handheld weapons, magical potions, and my bulletproof suit that has fabric to render me invisible to infrared technology along with a few other surprises. I stop and look around, but there’s nothing left to pack or do. I drop into the seat to grab a catnap. It’s going to be a long night.
Heftingthe duffle over my shoulder, I begin the long trek up to the roof. Dark and cold, the stairway in the center of the building was the least exposed. I move quickly, floor by floor, until I reachthe top, then prop open the door. Keeping my body low, I cross from one side to the other to set up the ropes and stash weapons in several key places, then add a few cameras to give me visuals.
I’m tempted to peek over the side and scan the surrounding area but fight the urge. It only gives away my position, and I need every advantage I can get. Leaving the door propped open, I head down, then over to an interior staircase to lay one of the traps. I do the same with the one on the other side. Forcing everyone to the center evens the playing field. Shutting the roof door, I add a tiny laser tripwire to alert me if it’s opened.
Downstairs, I slip out a window and crawl through the weeds to the overgrown bushes near the front door and set up another tripwire. Sticking low to the ground, I slide around to the back of the building and do the same. Of course, they could come through one of the many nonexistent windows, but larger groups will likely use one of the entrances.
I return to the building, make my way to the designated meeting spot, and wait. An hour later, the cameras pick up a shadow moving along the side of the building. Small in stature. No weapons that I can see, but that means nothing. Supernaturals have their own built-in arsenals.
A small green sphere moves from the shadow to the building. It floats along until it comes to a stop in front of me. It scans my body, changing from green to purple. I mentally flinch, unsure what that means, but I don’t like it. After a moment, the sphere disappears, and a shadow stands in its place. Nice trick.
“Forgive the intrusion, but I had to know you weren’t one of the humans who have been trying to get their hands on this key,” he says in a shockingly familiar voice. “I never expected the buyer to be you, Phaedra.”
