Book of Night(117)

“Wait,” Vicereine said, reaching past him. “I know that book.”

And from the safe, she took out Knight Singh’s notebook, papers detailing Salt’s crimes in his own hand shoved hastily back into the leather cover, edges sticking out. Right where Charlie had left it when she’d taken the Liber Noctem.

“I—” Salt began, but no words came.

Charlie had known the way to trap Salt since the day she’d spent with him. She’d thought it then, idly, not realizing how much it would matter. Let him dominate. Let him win. He’d be so certain he belonged on top that he’d never guess he was being drawn into a trap.

He’d honestly believe that she gave him all that time while she futzed around with the first lock for no goddamn reason.

He’d honestly believe that she could crack a safe but not be able to guess he had a security app on his phone.

“Ms. Hall must have put it there, whatever it is,” Salt said finally, recovering enough to realize he had to pin the appearance of Knight’s book on someone else immediately.

Lionel Salt was a planner. Charlie was sure he’d planned for being confronted with any number of his crimes. He’d be able to explain lots of true things. But no one can plan for planted evidence.

“I thought that I couldn’t get into your safe?” Charlie reminded him. “Isn’t that what you were trying to prove? Which is it: Did you hide the Liber Noctem in there, and I stole it while putting something else in your safe? Or did I lie about the Liber Noctem, and you’re lying now?”

Lionel Salt cut his gaze toward the Hierophant. Admitting to the first was less damning, but it meant admitting he’d been stringing along a very old and powerful Blight.

Vicereine was opening the papers stuffed into the top of Knight’s book, smoothing them out. Charlie wasn’t sure that Salt knew what they were, but she could tell by the way Vicereine’s expression shifted that she realized who’d written them.

Malik frowned. “I think it’s time the Cabal spoke with you and Stephen separately, Lionel.”

Salt reached into his pocket and took out his matte black gun, pointing it directly at Charlie. “You have made a very bad mistake crossing me, Charlatan—”

Charlie froze. Vicereine’s shadow cat roared as three shadows spread from Malik, their mouths full of teeth. Bellamy drew a sword of shadow.

“Lionel,” Malik said. “There’s no need for this.”

Behind Salt, Vince lifted his wrists and the cuffs came away, falling to the ground. He stepped forward with inhuman swiftness, pressing the point of a letter opener to Salt’s throat.

Adeline made a sharp sound that was almost a scream.

The sounds of the party seemed very far away.

“You said I was a creature of hate.” Vince spoke into Salt’s ear. “And I do hate you. For Remy, whose blood is my blood, whose flesh is my flesh, and whose hate is my hate. For Char, who will survive tonight. Aim that gun somewhere else, or I will hurt you and go on hurting you until there is nothing but pain.”

“You can’t—” Salt began, voice trembling.

“I’m sorry, Char.” Vince wore a small, sad smile. “It was always going to happen like this. I knew he’d let me get close to him, and it’d give me a chance.”

When they found Vince waiting in the library, alone, Charlie should have realized something was off. Should have seen what the disappearance of the man in the suit meant. Should have realized what Vince had been making in the hotel room—faux onyx tiles. Ones that made him seem safely cuffed when he was entirely able to pull his hands free.

He had known that, Charlie or not, Salt was going to show him off to the Cabal. And then he’d planned to slip his cuffs and kill Salt before anyone would be able to stop him.

And after that?

Vince pressed the knifepoint harder, and a bead of blood trickled down Salt’s throat like the track of a single tear.

He made a choking sound, and his arm sagged, although he didn’t drop his Glock.

Still, it wasn’t pointed right at her face. Charlie let herself breathe.

“Drop the gun on the rug, Lionel,” Vicereine said. “The Blight will remove the knife, won’t you?”

“Will I?” Vince asked lightly. “I didn’t come here planning on leaving.”

Lionel Salt’s face had paled and his eyes darted around. How odd the moment must be for him. Malhar had called shadows “ghosts of the living,” but Vince was the shadow of a dead man.

Vince, who was almost Salt’s grandson. Who was that grandson’s avenging specter.

“You’re going to leave,” Charlie told Vince. “With me. Plans change. The Cabal knows what he’s done. Surely they’re not going to ignore the murder of one of their own.”

Vince lifted the point of the knife infinitesimally away from Salt’s artery.

“I have done nothing—” Salt’s words came to an abrupt stop as the Hierophant stepped between him and Charlie. His back was to Salt and his eyes blazed.

The Blight looking down at her through Stephen’s eyes was ancient. And wrathful. He held the Liber Noctem in his arms.

“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me about this book. Tell me about his lies.”

Charlie cleared her throat. “Vince could probably answer this better—”