Part 24 (1/2)
”G.o.ds,” I said. Like the sun had finally broken through polluted clouds, I grinned. Seamus couldn't be allowed to read the daemon workings, and Dmitri needed daemon magick.
”Luna?” said Sunny with concern. ”Is something the matter?”
”Sunny,” I said, grabbing her hand. ”You have to help me steal the Skull of Mathias.”
CHAPTER 27.
Sunny thought I was patently insane, of course, and went home after making me promise not to do anything stupid. I duly promised, because stealing the Skull wasn't stupid. It was the solution to all of my problems.
It was why I was driving recklessly into the city, dodging taxis and pedestrians who probably had the right of way. I parked the Fairlane in the valet slot in front of Shelby's building. The valet glared at me when I got out, and then at the Fairlane with its poor dangling headlight. The glare said I'd better come up with one h.e.l.l of a big tip if he was going to drive this undignified piece of c.r.a.p around the block.
Shelby answered the door herself this time, and I was relieved to see that her leg was encased in one of those cloth walking casts instead of the Frankensteinian swath of bandages she'd gotten at the hospital.
”Did you come back to give me a hard time again?” she asked morosely. I noticed that most of the art I'd seen on her walls was gone and her apartment was dark except for a single light next to her chaise.
”No,” I said, stepping in. ”I wanted to ask you something, and-wasn't there a lot more furniture in here before?”
Shelby blinked. ”You came to ask me about my furniture?”
”No, no, something else,” I said. Her apartment wasn't just spa.r.s.e, it was d.a.m.n near empty.
”Uncle Seamus cut me off,” said Shelby. ”I'm losing my lease at the end of the month. Sold off some things for a deposit on a new place.”
Oh G.o.ds. If I had ever felt worse about a decision I'd made, I was hard-pressed to find it. She was sitting here in the dark like the little match girl and I was about to ask her to partic.i.p.ate in something even more egregious.
”I'm sorry,” I said lamely. ”If there's anything-”
”Forget it.” Shelby tilted her chin up. ”You make the same salary I do, so please don't try to salve your guilt by offering to help me.” She hobbled back to the chaise and flopped down. ”This was a long time coming, anyway. Ever since my father died. Seamus was devastated, did you know that? He loved Daddy. Big brother watching out for littlest brother and all that.”
”Shelby, Seamus is not who you think he is,” I said carefully, trying not to let any of what had happened to me at Seamus's behest creep into my voice.
”He never got over me letting him down,” Shelby mused. ”Figured it was my mother's fault. Did you know I spent a month in a hospital when I was fifteen? I tried to swallow a bunch of Percodans. Seamus made me so miserable.”
”My father was an alcoholic auto mechanic,” I offered. ”And not even a good one either.”
Shelby laughed, once. ”I'm named after a car. The 1967 Shelby Mustang. Hardtop. Baby blue. My father was driving it the night he died.”
I stayed silent, and Shelby sighed, braiding and unbraiding the end of her long blond waterfall of hair. She looked up at me and stared, as if she'd just woken up. ”What happened to your face?”
”Seamus,” I said. ”And his hired pit bull, Joshua.”
”What did you do?” said Shelby, with no surprise. ”Must have been something that shook him pretty badly, if he risked beating on a cop that way.”
I took a breath. I didn't want to, had no right to ask Shelby what I was about to ask, but if I didn't the deaths would keep piling up. The blood of O'Hallorans and Blackburns, blood witches and caster witches, would run in the streets if I didn't put the Skull back where it belonged.
”I went to him and told him I knew that he'd killed Vincent Blackburn. And I know about the Skull too, Shelby. Everything your uncle has been ...” I left out the part about the evidence being in a crumpled little ball on Seamus's floor last time I'd seen it.
Shelby nodded. ”That'd do it.” She rubbed her leg. ”You got away though. He won't like that.”
”Well, he'll like this even less,” I said. ”I'm going back to the tower, and I'm going to steal the Skull.” I fixed Shelby with my most severe stare. ”And I need you to help me.”
She sat in silence for a long time, still as a store mannequin. ”I should hate him,” she said finally. ”He doesn't love me. He's made my life h.e.l.l. He lied to the whole family, about keeping that filthy blood witch relic under our roof.” Shelby sighed. ”You realize that trying to swim with Seamus is like dousing yourself in blood and jumping in a pool with Jaws.”
”He's not the worst thing I've ever come across,” I said honestly. Definitely second worst. A close second. But she didn't need to know that.
”I wish everything were so black and white for me,” said Shelby. ”You have it really easy, Luna, you know that? Good, bad, and no in between.”
If only she knew just how in between I was. I'd kill to have Shelby's clean conscience.
”What do you need from me?” she asked. I breathed out a quick thank-you to the bright lady.
”I need to know where Seamus keeps the Skull,” I said. ”How to get into the tower after hours, and I can handle whatever else crops up.” I hoped it was Joshua. One electric shock to the t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es wasn't enough for that jerkoff.
Shelby nodded slowly. ”Okay,” she said. ”Okay,” a little stronger. She had a new light to her face, drawn and shaken as it was. I thought that she might just come out of this whole thing all right, if any of us lived that long. If I got the Skull from Seamus. If I didn't, I had the feeling that as soon as he translated the inscriptions, my credit card fees and Shelby's bare apartment wouldn't matter much at all.
”It'll be dark in a few hours,” said Shelby. ”Hand me that pad and pen?”
I saw the set on her one remaining side table and pa.s.sed it to her. ”It will be dark,” she said again. ”You can stay here until the sun goes down, if you want.”
”As long as you don't expect me to braid your hair and talk about boys,” I said. One side of her mouth curved up.
”I'll draw you a map of the building with the cameras and security routes,” she said. ”At least the ones I know of. The Skull is probably in Seamus's private safe, in the apartment he keeps adjacent to his offices.”
”Thank you,” I said, meaning it. Never mind that I didn't know how to crack a safe, despite that idiotic rumor about cops being the best criminals. If I could open vaults and get away with it, I'd be living on my own private island, with a yacht and a helicopter to land on it. That, and a closet the size of Fenway Park to hold all of my designer shoes.
”Don't thank me,” said Shelby, ”because aside from the map, all I can offer you is luck.”
The sun was a thin smear of orange over the bay. I got my car keys and jacket. ”I'll be going,” I told Shelby, tucking her hand-drawn diagram of Seamus's apartment into my pocket.
”Don't bother calling if you get it,” said Shelby in her oh-so-encouraging way. ”I have a feeling I'll find out soon enough.” She had the grace not to add that if I didn't get it, I wouldn't have to call either, because I'd be dead or beyond the point where talking was strictly possible.
I let my mind wander as I drove the few blocks to the O'Halloran Tower. I should have called Sunny. Too late now. If she knew what I was up to she'd call Mac and he'd raise all kinds of h.e.l.l and screw the whole thing up. I should have been nicer to Trevor the last time we talked. I should have never let Dmitri Sandovsky into my life. He was the only one I didn't have any regrets over.
”Stop talking like you're going to die,” I told myself, in my rearview mirror. ”It's depressing as h.e.l.l.”
The tower was quiet at seven p.m., one lonely security guard stationed by the camera bank in the lobby and one receptionist who'd pulled the short straw at the information desk. I scanned the list of bra.s.s plates posted just to the right of the door and picked out a name on a high floor. I ignored the guard, because a normal civilian would, and went to the receptionist.
”Maybe you can help me?”
He looked up, bored. ”What do you need, miss?”
”Could you tell me which office Gerard Mansfield is in?”
The receptionist clicked at his computer. He was wearing a cheap polyblend vest that was supposed to make him look professional and his nametag said emmanuel. I felt bad for Emmanuel, because I was probably going to get him fired.