Darkest Misery (19 page)

Marie talked us down from our excitement-induced stupidity. After all, we didn't know for certain whether Narah's Cup was the Vessel. That was the whole reason for taking it back to Headquarters where we could attempt the parchment's spell on it and find out for certain. The trip to pick it up, therefore, could wait until morning. It had been sitting in a secured location for decades.

While I knew Marie was right, I remained eager to get my hands on this thing and bring it back to Grenoble. I was certain it had to be the Vessel, and although the warehouse was secure, it was not half as secure as World's official archives.

More to the point, once we had our hands on one of the Vessels, everything else we'd been doing should become unnecessary. Assuming, that was, our interpretation of history and the recent events that led us here were correct. The Pit couldn't be opened without all five Vessels. Therefore, no matter how many others the furies got their hands on, we'd be safe. We could turn our efforts from fighting the apocalypse to fighting the furies who'd caused so much death and destruction in their quest to bring it about.

Devon could tell I was extra jumpy about something that evening, but I refrained from discussing it until we were safely locked in his hotel room.

“If the Gryphons have their Vessel,” he mused, “I wonder whose Vessels the furies stole.”

“Does it matter?” I stretched out on the bed, yawning. With great excitement came great energy crashes later.

“Maybe not, but it would be a bit embarrassing if ours was one of them.”

I attempted to toss a pillow at him at him and missed entirely. “I don't suppose you can fire your upper management for incompetence, can you?”

Devon pulled out his phone. “There are two ways to get removed from the Upper Council, much like getting kicked off a domus council. The rest of the council votes to boot you or you die. Well, I suppose you could resign too, but I've never heard of that.”

“So you're stuck with Claudius until the end of time, or until I kill him.”

“You're not going to kill him.”

No, probably not, but if he made a play for my body or soul again, I'd try. Fail, but try. “What are you doing?”

“Looking up rental car companies. The Gryphons aren't going to let me come with them, so I'm going to have to follow you.”

I sat up and tucked my feet under me. “Your dedication is honorable, but Tom is taking a convoy with us tomorrow. It's not exactly discreet, but he wants to be ready for anything. I'll be surrounded by Gryphons.”

“You'll forgive me if that doesn't inspire confidence.”

I flopped back on the bed. “No wonder you and Lucen get along so well.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

We left bright and early the next morning, right around the time Devon should have been falling asleep. I hoped he came to his senses and did exactly that after walking with me to World, but I doubted it.

Once I met Tom inside, I didn't have a moment more to spare for Devon's decisions. Tom's team had been briefed yesterday, so all that was required this morning was for everyone to arm themselves and the convoy to roll out.

The sky was a gorgeous clear blue backdrop to the Alps as we drove away, the third car in a four-car caravan. Marie was at the wheel, and another member of the
Le Confrérie
rode shotgun. I was stuck in the backseat with Tom.

Ours was the only car filled entirely with members of the Brotherhood. Me, the test subject, not included. The other three cars each contained one member who had been fully briefed on what was going on, despite my objections, and three nonmembers who were along for their tactical support. They only knew we were going to retrieve something potentially dangerous. The details were forbidden.

The benefit for us, therefore, was that we could discuss strategy for searching the warehouse and what we would do when we got back to World. At least, that was the theory.

Tom and Marie were perfectly willing to include me in the conversation, but the other
Le Confrérie
member didn't seem so inclined. Mostly, he ignored any contributions I attempted to make and asked questions only of Tom. I would have written off his behavior to sexism, except the few times he did deign to address me, it was to wonder why I was along. The point of my existence, according to him, was to be a fighter. My brain was not needed for other tasks.

Annoyed, when conversation lulled, I pointedly asked Tom about the status of Mitch and Grace. As I suspected, not much had changed with either. Mitch was still missing, and Grace, though she was improving with her training, was still hopelessly slow and skittish about magic.

The
Le Confrérie
member sitting in front of me said nothing, but I could taste his bad mood and I savored it. If something went wrong today, he'd damn well better remember I was their only useful science project. I expected respect, or if nothing else, to be treated like a human being, or maybe a satyr, or a fuck-it-who-cares-at-this-point person. So long as it was an equal person.

Countryside finally gave way to civilization, and civilization to unattractive urban blight, proving that big cities were all alike in many regards. The warehouse was located in an industrial area filled with many similar-looking buildings and heavily patrolled by private security.

Marie put the car in park outside one of the ubiquitous gray façades. I reached for the door handle, but Tom shook his head. “Wait here.”

I strained to see what was going on, but I was on the wrong side of the car. I could hear voices speaking French, a car door shutting once then twice. A few minutes later, Marie started the engine again and turned the car around.

The warehouse's ground floor doors were opening. We followed the first two cars in the convoy inside.

This time when Marie stopped, she shut off the engine and everyone got out. The warehouse doors closed behind us, trapping us inside what amounted to a large staging area. More doors, wide enough to admit a single car, were closed before us.

Tom and the others headed toward a set of stairs on the right, and I kept pace. Someone on the other side of the door buzzed us in, and we entered what appeared to be part security office and part old school library.

The security appeared high tech—lots of monitors showing lots of camera angles, and computers that must control all the various locks. The library side of the room could have used one of those computers to organize the papers and—you had to be kidding me—an old-fashioned card catalog.

I gripped Tom's arm. “Do we seriously have to use that? I've seen one before, but I'm not sure I know how.”

“Relax, you don't need to use the card catalog.” He patted one of the large books on the table. “You need to use these indexes.”

Fortunately, that turned out not to be as onerous as it sounded. We only had to look up one object, and it was an easy one to describe. The challenge came with finding it once we entered the warehouse.

Unlike the official archive, where everything was neatly stored by shelf and row number, items in the warehouse were stored by section. Some had shelf numbers attached, but I was warned that disorganization reigned. Attempts to control the mess were haphazard at best.

Then there was the complication that the Brotherhood wanted to exclude their nonmembers from searching. As a result, seven of the sixteen of us entered the warehouse proper once we had an approximate location.

I'd been expecting something dark and dingy, like a giant attic filled with Gryphon junk, but I should have known better. Disorganized and neglected was in the eye of the beholder. The warehouse was climate-controlled like the archive, brightly lit and scrupulously clean, even if the shelves weren't properly labeled and items sat on them without apparent consideration for age, use or value.

Tom led us to the correct section of the warehouse, then we split up to cover the shelves and tables within it. My stomach growled, and I pulled on my windbreaker. After the hot sun outside, the A/C within was extra chilly. For the first time since we left Grenoble, I wondered where Devon was and how he was surviving the sunny day.

Very few of the objects I came across in my search were labeled, or if they were, their labels were irritatingly vague. The Gryphons didn't know half of what they had stored, but that was hardly a surprise. It was the reason I was here.

Working my way down a shelf, I closed a box containing a stone figurine, and moved on to the canvas bag next to it. Whoever had tied it had done so tightly. I gritted my teeth, fingers digging into the leather strap and the leather strap returning the favor painfully. When it gave, I let out a breath of relief and yanked the bag open.

For a second I froze, not wanting to get ahead of myself. Then I eagerly pushed the bag down and lifted the object within. It was lighter than it looked, but wow, did it look ugly—a misshapen clay pot, no larger than my spread hand. It was nicked and lumpy, something my childhood self might have produced in art class. It also gave off no telltale signs of power. No tingles in my hands, no hairs rising on my neck.

Gingerly, I set the object on the shelf and poked around in the bag in case I'd missed anything. Some of the items had their labels stuffed in their storage containers. I was rewarded when my fingers closed around a piece of paper. The writing had faded to a barely readable purple, and I stepped into a better lit aisle to read it.

Believed to be Saint Nora's Cup. Original tag lost. Verification needed.

Verification, huh? We could do that.

With shaking hands, I carefully set the label inside the cup. “Found it!”

It would be another hour before we left. The Gryphons came running, and every member of
Le Confrérie
wanted to examine the object themselves and pass judgment. A few wouldn't be satisfied until we finished searching the area, and I got the sense that they wouldn't truly accept the damn thing until they'd searched the entire warehouse and maybe did some carbon dating on it. Fortunately, they were overruled.

While the Brotherhood fussed over packing the Cup for transport, and our support lounged around the vehicles eating lunch, I checked my phone. Devon had texted me about ten minutes ago.

Are you almost done? It's hot as balls out here.

You would know.

So would you.

I sat on the metal steps and took a sip of water.
We should be leaving in a minute.

Good.

Indeed. I was starving, and the granola bar I'd brought along was not tiding me over, but there'd be no stopping for lunch on the drive back with the would-be Vessel. So very disappointingly un-French to skip the midday meal.

I clambered to my feet as the security door opened.

“We're leaving.” Tom had won the war over who got to take possession of the Cup. He carried it inside an innocent-looking cardboard box.

We're leaving,
I told Devon, then I crumpled my granola wrapper and started down the steps.

Wait.

I frowned at my phone.
What?

Devon didn't respond immediately. Impatient, I texted him again, but my phone buzzed with an answer too late. The giant doors in front of the warehouse rattled, and an explosion thundered in my ears. The whole building shook. Dust fell from the ceiling, and I grabbed the metal baluster for support even as I doubled over.

Alarms shrieked overheard, mixing with a cacophony of English and French shouting. Though the doors remained unharmed by all appearances, I heard someone yell something about wards weakening.

Staying low, I checked the phone I'd been clutching to my chest.
Fury addicts. About two dozen.

Shit. How was this possible?

I closed my eyes for the briefest of moments, letting the panic have its way, then I pulled myself together. “Fury addicts!”

No one asked how I knew, which was a good thing. The reason they didn't ask, however, was because another explosion swallowed the end of my words. When the doors clanged and vibrated this time, smoke began to seep into the room. The Gryphons and the security team leapt into action, but whatever they intended to do, it was too late. Seconds later, the doors burst apart in a blaze of light and shrapnel.

I wasn't the only one screaming as I hit the floor. Smoke or dust, hot and heavy, settled in my lungs, but I felt no pain. Only heat. Only panic tearing at me from the inside. Where was the cup? That was the single thought running through my mind. People might be hurt,
I
might be hurt, but protecting the possible Vessel had to be my focus.

I coughed and my ears rang, and it took a moment before I realized the warehouse floor had descended into bullet-flying chaos. Security had rushed out from their perch inside the office, and the heavy security door hung open. My eyes burned as I crawled up the steps and put the door between myself and the stairs in a pathetic attempt at a shield.

Below, the red-tinged smoke was lifting, informing me that was no ordinary explosion but a series of magical blasts designed to take out any magical, as well as mundane, security measures. It might have been addicts leading the charge, but with weapons like those, this assault had been planned and provided for by their masters.

This was no time to think about how it was done though. I'd come armed like everyone else, and I took the gun from its holster, not the least bit comforted by its heft. For all my shooting practice with Tom, it felt like an awkward weapon in my hand. A fistfight was far more my style, but no one had asked me.

The Gryphons had opened their car doors and were using them as cover. I couldn't find Tom or the cup from my vantage point, but I could see a couple black-clad bodies on the ground and blood.

Anger soared through my veins, and I sucked in the power it gave me. The hit drove away some of my fear, and my fingers adjusted their grip on the gun. It was unfortunate it had been loaded with those pred-killing rounds. They'd be wasted on humans.

Crouched low, I nudged the door open as far as I dared with my knee, and fired into the melee. My first target screamed something in French and dove to the floor. My second shot missed completely, but it served to alert the addict I'd targeted to my presence. I threw myself back around the door just in time. I swore I could feel the bullets he sent whizzing through the air.

Fear told my anger it could fuck off. This was not my type of fight, and I wasn't ready to find out what lead poisoning felt like. Breathing heavily, I slunk farther into the security office, wondering if there was something else I could do. Some other weapon I could use from my height advantage. Curse grenades would be handy, but I carried none.

My phone buzzed, and if it weren't for the vibration, I'd never have heard it. “Devon, where are you?”

“Jess, are you all right?”

“I'm fine for the moment. You?”

“I'm okay. I'm right behind them. I've got some grenades loaded with disorientation curses. They're enough to knock out a good number of addicts at once, but they're short range. I can't get close enough to set any off so long as the Gryphons are returning fire.”

I swore. The gunfire below was ceaseless, and the Gryphons were outnumbered. It was a good bet that since the furies were orchestrating this, they were pumping their addicts full of power, giving them a preternatural ability to overlook pain and fight through any injuries. They'd also be charmed out the ass. They could go on fighting well after a normal human should have dropped.

And all it would take was one to get close enough to the cup to grab it.

I swallowed, an idea forming that I didn't much care for. “What if I can get the Gryphons to stop shooting?”

“I've got the grenades, a gun, and I'm fast. What are you thinking?”

“Nothing any of us will like. Just be ready.” I hung up before Devon could protest or I could come to my senses.

Taking a deep breath, I peeked down below. More smoke had cleared around the giant doors. They'd partially collapsed, forming a convenient pile of twisted scrap metal for the addicts to use for cover. New smoke also indicated someone had set off another curse, but I found no indication of what it had done. More Gryphons were down. Marie was holding her right arm, braced against one of the cars. And there, I thought I could see Tom's blond hair.

The shooting had slowed but not stopped, and this would be my best chance to be heard. I had to trust the furies didn't want me dead and that these jackasses knew it.

I threw the door open and stepped onto the stairwell. “
Arrêtez! Je suis Jessica Moore. Votre…
” Ah, fuck. That was where my high school French ran its course. “Uh,
votre
masters want me alive.
Oui?
”