The Emerald Key (8 page)

By closing time, order had been restored and Cass got to work sorting through the hundreds of different crystals and stones she kept in open bins. The bell at the front door tinkled and she looked up to find Nic standing there, plastic bag in hand. She’d thought him still outside somewhere going over the wiring. He had on well-worn jeans and a black T-shirt that molded to his chest, showing off every muscle and her breath caught in her throat.

She rose and dusted her hands, trying to find a semblance of sanity. Unfortunately, it didn’t work very well.

* * * *

William flung the leaded crystal goblet against the wall. It shattered, dripping wine and shards of glass down the wall onto the plush carpet. Idiots. He was working with idiots. The general Brotherhood had devolved over the years, but this…this went beyond incompetency. They treated the sacred vows and rituals as if they’d joined some sort of social club. He had the captains of industry, lawyers, cops, and politicians in his pockets. All that money and influence and still, they’d failed. They’d made a mess of everything. Not only had they failed to capture the key, but they hadn’t taken out the protector or the guardian.

He’d gone through every piece of jewelry in the damned store and nothing. He’d taken his rage out on the remains. Besides, his Cassandra didn’t need all that fakery. Once she was his, she’d have anything she wanted. Of course, not for long, but still, all would be hers.

The time of convergence drew near. He had to have Cassandra and the key by the solstice or the doorway would remain closed to him.

The three holding the other keys would come to his Cassandra—she had the honor of being the first, the one with the true power—like him. With her blood, he’d be able to open the doorway between this world and the magic realm, fair Lemuria. This would be his last chance. Twice he had tried, and twice he had failed. No more. This time, he would have her completely.

But he didn’t understand her. Why did she run? He’d shown her how noble her death would be. His e-mails should have enthralled her. She would be honored above all others. The other three would die ignoble deaths, but hers—hers would be glorious. He paced the room, his fingers beating a tattoo against his legs. He needed to take care of everything himself. If his people couldn’t do the job, he’d hire those who could, though it irritated him that he had to stoop so low. Calling on those who lived on the bottom edges of society was beneath him. He glanced at the list of available members once more and stopped on a name. This person. This one person. This man not only knew his fair Cassandra and kept her safe for him, but he would be acquainted with the right people to do the job. Finally, someone who could take care of things. He needed to call him. But first, he needed to rest. He felt so tired. Something—or someone—had to be draining him. Who would dare? And why now?

Nic held the bag out to her. “I thought you could use this.” He’d considered her pretty last night, but now, standing there with strands of hair escaping, old jeans, and an oversize T-shirt covered with dirt, she looked enchanting. After going over her security measures and repairing the damage, he’d spent part of the afternoon looking into Cassandra Richards and her aunt, using some techniques and contacts he hadn’t the previous night—some of which Greg would definitely not want to know about.

Of the two, Minerva definitely had the more interesting past, but not nearly as intriguing as the wisp of a woman standing in front of him. A spark of electricity jumped when he handed her the bag. He chalked the sensation up to static, but wondered. Every time he came around her, it felt like a charge built between them.

Cass took the bag, opened it and emptied the contents onto the counter. “Thank you. I think.”

Nic had stopped by the local hardware store and picked up a dead bolt lock. “It’s for your door upstairs. That flimsy lock wouldn’t keep out a toddler.”

“My door?” Her face scrunched up in puzzlement, then lightened and she grinned. “You mean the one at the top of the steps in my office?”

Nic cocked his head at her. “What other one would I mean?”

Cass chuckled. “Come with me.”

She attempted to brush the dust off, but ended up making things worse. Finally, she gave up, set the alarms, and led him out the new front door, which she locked securely behind them. She climbed the same steps they’d used the night before. Once inside, Cass led him down a short hall, past the large eat-in kitchen, the bedrooms, and bathroom. At the end of the hall stood a huge dresser that looked like it hadn’t been moved in centuries. Behind the dresser, Nic glimpsed the top of a door.

The door.

Cass leaned against the dresser. “Anybody who knows me, knows I’ve never used the inside door. The dresser came with the place and I’ve never been able to move it. The door opens in and the hinges are on this side. Nobody can get enough leverage to get the dresser out. I could have destroyed it, but liked the design, so I kept it.”

Nic had seen the piece the first time he’d come in, but hadn’t noticed the door behind it and hadn’t thought about it when he checked out the door. Nearly as wide as the hallway, with barely a quarter of an inch clearance on either side, the dresser stood as tall as he did and had a curved front. The bottom dropped close to the floor, giving little chance of getting any sort of grip there. The highly polished wood floor showed no signs anything had been moved. He pulled out one of the drawers—solid. Even using all his strength, he couldn’t budge the piece.

“I see what you mean,” Nic said. Then he thought about her statement. Anybody who knew her? That meant the break-in had to be someone she knew. Anyone else would have at least tried the door and there’d been no evidence of tampering when he’d examined it.

“Anyone who knows you? What do you know about who did this?” Nic stared at her, eyes narrowed. Jaw clenched, she stared right back at him.

“Nothing.”

“Try again.”

She raised her chin and looked directly in his eyes. “I do not know who did this.”

“Maybe not the name, but you know something.”

“I know whoever he is, he cost Minerva and me a fortune in supplies and inventory.”

“He? So we’re looking for a man?”

Cass blinked several times, then chuckled. “You’re good.”

“I get paid to be. Want to give me any details?”

“I don’t know anything, really. I have my suspicions, but nothing definite. I told you about him earlier, when Greg asked.”

“Wouldn’t happen to know a name, would you?”

“Nope.”

“You said you saw him outside, last night, at Greg and Dori’s.”

“Maybe. I couldn’t see him very well in the dark. But I know his face.”

“Come again? If it was too dark, how could you have seen his face?”

“I saw him this morning.”

The muscles in Nic’s jaw bulged as he attempted to control his frustration. Over the years, others had tried to evade his questions, but he refused to be deterred. “When?”

“During the cleanup and again, yesterday, when he came in.”

“Not exactly proof I can take to a judge, especially since he came back to help with everyone else. Did he do anything suspicious?”

“You mean besides stomping around and picking up different pieces of jewelry? No. And don’t bother with evidence. This man is never going to appear in front of a judge.”

“You think we won’t catch him?”

“Not until he lets us. And then, it won’t be because he’s lost the battle. It will be because he wants me.”

“Wants you for what?”

Cass pulled the pendant from under her shirt. “He wants this. And he wants me dead.”

Nic glanced at the pendant, then stared at it. He knew that piece. It looked like the ones in her shop, but he saw a subtle difference. He detected a faint glow surrounding the piece. “It looks familiar.”

“I call the design ‘Magic.’ It’s one of my more popular pieces.”

“You designed this?”

“No. I received this one as a gift. I simply make copies that I sell.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Yes and no. Aunt Minerva gave me the piece and she assured me the designer did not mind the copies. She even has a document giving me sole ownership of the design.”

A door opened in Nic’s mind. “There are four pieces that make up the key. The pieces are scattered. Each is imbued with a separate element and together, they open a door to unimaginable power.”

“What? Where did you hear that?” Cass’ face had gone pale, and she clutched the pendant until her knuckles turned white. “How do you know that? Who are you?”

Nic rubbed his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. Just as I don’t know how I know you, but I do. And your aunt. What the hell is going on here? I feel like I’m in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle or something.”

“I know. But I don’t know why. I need to talk to Aunt Minerva.”

The doorbell rang, startling them both.

“Are you expecting someone?” Nic asked.

“No.” Cass quickly tucked the necklace back under her shirt. Nic’s eyes followed where it went, focusing on where the amulet lay. He forced his attention back to her face. “Answer it.”

He led the way to the hall and stood behind the door. Cass peered through the peephole. “I don’t see anyone.”

“Cassandra?” They heard Minerva’s muffled voice through the door.

Cass opened the door. “Aunt Minerva? What are you doing here? I thought you had a séance tonight.”

Her aunt glided into the apartment, her long, brightly colored skirts flowing around her ankles, multiple necklaces and bracelets jangling. “I told the client the signs looked bad tonight and we’d try next week.”

Nic bit back a laugh. Except for her being barely five feet tall with a shock of white hair arranged in a soft bun, here in one package stood everyone’s stereotype of a gypsy fortune-teller. She even had a fringed shawl and dangling hoop earrings.

Minerva preceded Nic and Cass into the living room and perched on the rocking chair. The carved wooden back topped her head like a throne, and Nic wondered if she’d chosen the chair on purpose. He suspected she did. Plus her showing up right now seemed too much a coincidence.

“I suppose you and Nicodemus know about the key by now,” Minerva said. “At least in part.”

“What is this, Aunt Minerva?” Cass held out her necklace, the light glinting off the emerald center.

“Cassandra, have you eaten yet?”

“No, Aunt Minerva.” Cass shook her head and glanced at Nic. “Don’t bother to argue. We’ll get our answers when Minerva is ready and not before.”

Minerva smiled at them as she rocked. “Well, then get to it. I’m wasting away to nothing here.”

“Yes, ma’am. Nic, would you like dinner? I don’t have much, I didn’t get to the grocery store today, but I’m sure I can come up with something.”

Nic watched her face. Every emotion, from frustration to resignation with her aunt, then her narrow-eyed consideration of him, crossed her features. He wondered about her thoughts concerning him until Minerva spoke up.

“Don’t worry, Cassandra. He has no ties. You two go figure out what we’re having. I’ll set my things up in here.”

Shaking his head, Nic limped down the hall and into Cass’ kitchen.

Cass followed him into the royal blue, yellow, and white kitchen. Pale blue and white patterned no-wax flooring covered the floor, and blue and yellow café curtains hung across the single window. The old-fashioned white cabinets sported glass-fronted doors. It looked like she’d spent some money modernizing the appliances. The room reflected her—a mixture of modern and old-fashioned; comfortable. Nic opened cupboards, looking through her supplies.

“Not much here,” he said.

“I know. I got a little busy with other things. Besides, I didn’t mean for you to help,” she said. “Sit down and relax and I’ll see what I can throw together.”

He ignored her, opened the freezer and scrounged through the contents, then closed it. “Nonsense. Besides, I know my way around a kitchen.” He set supplies out on the table. “Your aunt’s a force of nature.”

As he’d hoped, she sat at the table, but he noted the look of consternation on her face.

“That’s an understatement,” Cass said. “Aunt Minerva could bring a raging bull to a stop with a look. A mere mortal has no chance against her.”

“Are you mortal, Cass?”

“That’s a strange question. Of course I am.”

“Maybe mortal,” he muttered, “but are you human?” He clattered the pots and pans louder than necessary. She didn’t answer. But was it because she didn’t hear his question? Or to keep him guessing?.

* * * *

He proved he did indeed know his way around a kitchen. In less than an hour, the three of them sat at the table eating pasta and sautéed zucchini with garlic and caramelized onions.

“I didn’t know I had this kind of stuff in my cabinets,” Cass said. “Where’d you learn to cook?”

“Let’s see, family number ten? No. Eleven. The Veros owned a little Italian diner and Mama V. made sure all her kids, even the wards, knew how to cook.”

“You were a foster kid?”

“Worse. A throwaway—abandoned as an infant. I got shuffled from family to family. Every time one tried to adopt me, something happened to screw it up.” Nic faltered. What had happened here? He never told anyone about his past. Never. He glared at Cass and Minerva. “What did you two do to me?”

“Nothing,” Minerva said. “You weren’t meant to settle. Not yet. But soon.” She turned to Cass. “The man who damaged the store is very dangerous. There are strong shades protecting him. I set extra wards around the store, but he won’t go back there.”

“I know,” Cass said.

“How do you know?” Nic asked. When had he become a one-person audience, watching a scene from a show? He felt like everyone knew everything except him. And that did not sit well with him.

“He did not find what he wanted,” Minerva said.

“The key.” Cass grasped the pendant through her shirt.

“Yes.”

“Aunt Minerva, why is this so important?”

“Nic has already remembered what it is, haven’t you?”

“In part. But how do I know? I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“Oh, but you have, Nicodemus. You have. You just don’t remember. Not yet. Clear this away and join me.”