The valet pauses midtoke, blinking at Elias and Sully’s sudden appearance, Bolan and I still out of sight behind them. While smoking his joint, the valet appears to be taking pictures or vid of the nearby cars.
“Elias Fitzbern,” Elias says smoothly. “Earl of Hereford. This is Lord Savoy.” Then he waits expectantly. As if the valet is just another employee. As if he has every right to go wherever he wills.
Bolan’s fingers flex around my wrist. I turn the phone off speaker and press it to my ear.
“You’re supposed to check in at the entrance, my lord,” the valet says, lowering both his phone and the joint. I can’t place his accent. Watered-down Slavic? He’s wearing some sort ofessence charm. I can feel it now, but not his own power. Which is presumably why Bolan picked up the scent of the joint first. “Supposed to let me park for you.”
Either the valet is a mage, or he has a powerful employer. Any charm that can fool my senses is rare. And expensive. Similar to the unusually powerful block currently on the kids’ phone. While we drove here, Coda informed me snootily that even if the phone were broken, the awry tech would have been able to trace it— meaning it has to be essence-blocked.
Elias sniffs offishly. “I knew the way, of course. And I loathe anyone driving my car but me.”
The valet looks behind us, perhaps to see what car would be worth walking through the garage for. Elias is still controlling all the light around us, though, keeping the upscale vehicles illuminated but Bolan and me in shadow.
That’s when I realize that the valet can’t see Bolan or me at all. Can’t apparently sense us in any way. His eyes skim right over us, looking only at Elias and Sully.
He snuffs out the joint, then gestures toward the door with a mocking bow. Elias and Sully step forward. Bolan holds me back.
“Don’t worry, Princess,” Coda murmurs in my ear so quietly that I barely pick up the words. “I’ve got them tagged and tracked.”
The screen reader built into the wall scans the valet’s face instead of his palm. Then he grabs a large lever and disengages the metal lock strapped across the door in two places with a slight grunt, making me wonder if the weight or the awkwardness of the maneuver is part of the security measures.
Elias and Sully pass through the steel door without looking back. What appears to be a long concrete corridor stretches out beyond them. The guard follows, turning back to shove the doorclosed with his shoulder. The clunk of the lock and a shiver of essence follows, presumably sealing the door again.
“Tech and essence protections on the door leading through into the tunnels,” I whisper, just in case Coda missed it with the phone being pressed to my ear.
They don’t answer. I get the sense that the tech awry has a half-dozen things currently going on at any time, maybe more. Bolan and I wait for another moment. My heart is racing more than I would like — seeing as how any nearby shifter would be able to hear it, including Bolan.
“The Aston-Martin.” Bolan nods his chin toward the car in question.
I put the phone on speaker again, pointing the camera toward the vehicle that bothered Elias and stepping forward just enough to get a clear view of it.
“Got it,” Coda says.
“So … do we bust through the door?” I ask Bolan. It’s fairly clear that Coda can get us through the tech. My essence usually cancels out all other essence, even when I don’t want it to. And Bolan is more than strong enough for the manual locks. “Or find another entrance?”
“Option two,” Bolan says, threading his fingers through mine and tugging me lightly back the way we’ve just come. “We don’t know if it’s wired to their main security.”
I blink up at him.
“What?” He flashes me a grin. “You think I haven’t gone where I’m technically not wanted before?”
“Breaking and entering, you mean?”
“Please. Is it really breaking anything when your accomplice can just slide the locks open?”
He means Armin. And my brother’s telekinetic abilities.
I laugh, quietly pleased.
Bolan squeezes my hand.
For one of the very few times since Armin died, my thinking of him — and the tiny glimpse of him I never had before — doesn’t hurt my soul.
“He would have just sauntered in through the front door,” I say, a little ruefully.
“No, Mirth,” Bolan says, deadly serious suddenly. “He never would have risked the kids like that. Or you.”
“Only himself.”
