Page 10 of Licence To Howl
Interesting. He turned to the final page. The last lot was a remarkably ugly ring. ‘Don’t tell me you’re after this?’
‘You’ll have to wait and see. If that ring does what it’s supposed to, it’s a powerful thing indeed.’ Devereau frowned. What did she mean by that? Apparently sensing his confusion, Alina gave him an amused look. ‘And,’ she added in a languid drawl, ‘I do love power.’ With that, she turned away, sauntering to the other side of the room and coiling an arm round the shoulders of a dark haired man who was in deep conversation with an older gentleman. The man looked up in his direction and Devereau felt himself tense. Well, well, well. It was Christopher Solentino. The target himself.
The blurry photos he’d perused in Sarah Greensmith’s file hadn’t managed to capture the essence of the man. In person, he was surprisingly squat, although his stomach was flat and his heavy shoulders and thick arms spoke of considerable power. His skin was so pale it wouldn’t have looked out of place on a night-loving vampire while his crooked nose suggested numerous fights followed by poor medical assistance.
Alina said something to Solentino. Devereau strained his ears to listen but his supernatural skills couldn’t extend above the hubbub of conversation to pick out her words. Solentino glanced over in his direction. Devereau noted his light blue eyes. It wasn’t the colour which was remarkable, however. It was their expression. He’d seen eyes like that on several men in his time. Those eyes possessed the sort of coldness which only someone who had experience in causing the deaths of others could obtain. All the same, Devereau smiled briefly and raised his bottle of beer in acknowledgment. Then, to avoid appearing too interested, he returned his attention back to the auction catalogue. Maybe connecting with Solentino would be far easier – and far more dangerous - than he’d thought.
* * *
Devereau wasonto his third beer by the time the waiting crowd were called for the auction. He drained the bottle and followed the others into a grand room filled with half a dozen rows of empty chairs, all of which faced an empty pedestal where no doubt the auctioneer would direct the evening’s sales. Devereau took a seat next to the aisle and watched as the rest of the would-be bidders took their places. This was a well-heeled lot. His gaze swept over several older couples, noting the way that several of them were clutching their own catalogues with tight anticipation, and his attention hovered with vague curiosity over the row of various professional looking men and women, each of whom were holding their phones in their hands and whose clothes, while smart, did not quite possess the immaculate cut of some of the others. Christopher Solentino, with Alina still by his side, sat in the very first row. Devereau noted the faint bulge in the cut of his suit as he made himself comfortable. He was definitely carrying a weapon of some sort. Solentino was obviously a man who took few chances.
A short woman brushed past Devereau’s shoulder and took the seat directly in front of him. He glanced at her before performing a double take. She was a gremlin; he’d put money on it. Then his nostrils tickled. There was a sudden faint tang of blood clinging to the air. Devereau tracked it, his eyes eventually landing on a tall male dressed in a smart cloak and holding a top hat of all things in his lap. Vampire. And sitting two rows behind the vampire were two violet haired pixies.
Devereau’s skin prickled. He might not know a great deal about Italy but he was more than aware that the population of supes in Rome was similar in size to that of London’s. So why were there so many congregating in this one room? What was so interesting about a small jewellery auction? He frowned. It was no wonder that so few people had stared at him or picked him out while he’d been waiting at the bar if they’d already been expecting this number of supernatural creatures. In this crowd, he was far from unique – and that little fact piqued both his interest and his wariness considerably. Then he felt the unmistakable sensation of someone watching him. He turned his head to find a pair of yellow glowing eyes burning into him with malevolence. Another werewolf. Not just another werewolf, in fact. This was a wolf who looked about ready to leap forward and sink her teeth into Devereau’s neck.
He met the wolf’s gaze head on. There was no other choice. Patches of angry fur sprouted across her cheekbones, causing the humans seated nearby to shuffle away in sudden alarm. Devereau growled quietly and intensified his stare. The wolf snarled once and looked away. I win, Devereau thought. But that tiny victory still didn’t explain what was really going on and why so many supes were in attendance.
Before he could ponder the mystery further, there was the sharp sound of wood hitting wood. Discomfited, Devereau returned his attention to the front of the room. A smartly dressed woman was standing behind the pedestal with a gavel in her hand. She cleared her throat and began to speak in a stream of smooth Italian. A moment later, she switched to accented English.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she intoned. ‘Thank you for coming. Due to the international nature of tonight’s guests, the bidding will be conducted first in Italian and second in English to ensure that everyone is able to participate. I therefore ask for your forbearance if some bids take longer than expected to complete.’ She bowed slightly. ‘So without further ado, let us begin.’
On cue, a muscle bound human who’d clearly spent more hours in the gym and on protein shakes laced with steroids than on real life activities appeared. In his hands, and nestled in a velvet lined case, was a sparkling set of diamond and ruby earrings.
The auctioneer smiled and launched into Italian once again before repeating her words in English. ‘Our first lot is this stunning set of earrings. Everything you see tonight has been retrieved from the estate of the late Visconte Gatto, and these beautiful earrings are no exception. The platinum settings are incomparable in both their workmanship and design, while the clarity and exquisite cut of each individual stone proves their undeniable resplendence.’
Devereau blinked. Undeniable resplendence? The earrings were pretty and no doubt worth a great deal but the auctioneer’s florid description was remarkably over the top. He snuck a glance around the room. The vast majority of the would-be buyers appeared patient and unruffled rather than excited. These earrings were far from the star attraction. They were barely even an amusing sideshow. The audience – including both Christopher Solentino and Alina - were obviously waiting for one of the other pieces of jewellery to come up. For reasons which weren’t yet clear, it was surely the unattractive ring. It had to be listed as the final lot for a reason. Devereau flipped once again through the catalogue and gazed at the photo and description of the ring while the unenthusiastic bidding for the earrings commenced.
Cast in silver and including a large moonstone, this ring has been in the Gatto family for generations.
Huh. That was it. No overblown descriptions which waxed lyrical about the ring’s supposed beauty. No mention of the quality of the silver or of the moonstone. No valuation. And a single photo which appeared to show both scratches and minor dents in the metal work. There was definitely more to this ring that met the eye. He wondered idly if Sarah Greensmith knew anything about its apparent importance and had deliberately declined to tell him. He wouldn’t put it past her. Still, as intriguing as the ring was, it wasn’t why he was here. He closed the glossy catalogue once more and settled back to watch the action – and in particular the dark bowed head of Christopher Solentino.
* * *
The auction proceeded quickly.The earrings went for a respectable nine thousand euros. The fifth lot, the very stealable diamond necklace, caused a flurry of activity and a minor bidding war between an Italian gentleman in his late sixties and an American woman who was already wearing enough heavy jewellery to sink a small fishing boat. By the time the gavel closed the bidding on the bracelet, which garnered Visconte Gatto’s estate a cheery forty two thousand euros, the atmosphere in the room had ratcheted up several notches.
Solentino had been shifting around in his chair for several minutes, his agitation growing to the extent that Devereau was beginning to wonder if the man had piles. It would certainly explain the pallor of his skin. When the muscly male model appeared with the moonstone ring, however, he sat bolt upright. By his side, Alina did the same, her hand draping around Solentino’s neck.
‘And so, ladies and gentlemen,’ the auctioneer announced, ‘we come to the finale of tonight’s little auction. Dubbed the Ring of All Seasons, its original provenance is unknown. The Gatto family acquired it in the late nineteenth century and it has not been seen out in public since then.’ She smiled at the audience, taking a moment to savour the moment. The entire group of professionals, who were representing absent clients, raised their phones to their ears and murmured into them. The gremlin to his right made no attempt to hide his interest and actually stood up, planting his two large feet onto the seat of the chair so he could see over the heads of the others, and several audience members snapped photos of the battered ring. Then the auctioneer drew in a breath and all eyes turned to her. ‘I will start the bidding,’ she proclaimed, ‘at two hundred thousand euros.’
Devereau’s jaw dropped. Two hundred thousand? For that?
The pixie immediately raised her hand.
‘I have two hundred thousand,’ murmured the auctioneer.
The older man who’d won the bracelet nodded.
‘Two hundred and fifty.’
A woman along from Devereau flicked her catalogue. ‘Three hundred thousand.’
Devereau saw Solentino jerk. ‘Five hundred,’ he called out.
The auctioneer nodded in acknowledgment. Solentino’s bid was quickly usurped by another and Devereau noted the spasm of rage on his face. He didn’t give up, however. Within moments the bids accelerated, interest parties raising their hands and nodding from all across the room.
‘One million euros,’ the auctioneer intoned.
Solentino didn’t miss a beat. ‘One five.’
