Siege of Shadows (Effigies #2)(71)

“Be careful.”

“Oh, um. Yes.”

Her eyes were deep, dark wells, the kind that hold too many secrets. Beautiful . . . but creepy. My muscles tensed and my feet were itching to take me in the opposite direction, but there was something nagging at me.

“By the way . . .” I leaned in and searched her face. “This is going to sound weird, but have we met?”

It wasn’t just her voice. There was something about her face, its chiseled structure, about the way her deep brown eyes twinkled with mischief as she smiled. “Yes and no.”

Not cryptic at all. “Okay . . . um . . .” I shook my head. This lady was clearly taking the whole mysterious-woman thing a little too seriously. As if she weren’t being creepy enough. “I don’t understand.”

“You’ve done so well, Maia,” she said. “Go now. Do what you need to do.”





17



I RETRACED MY STEPS BACK to the reception hall and found the right set of plain pine stairs leading down into the basement, which looked as majestic and well decorated as the main floor. It was all hand-carved wood and oak, mahogany floors, golden rims, Persian rugs, and silver doorknobs. There weren’t as many people down here—a few drifting patrons, a couple of catering staff. Even asking one for directions, I wasn’t sure if I’d find the right room until I came to a set of double doors around a corner—guarded. A single security guard had been stationed next to the doors. I ducked out of his sight.

“Crane, checkpoint twelve, all clear,” he said into his comm—that is, until he saw me rounding the corner.

“What are you doing here?” He looked shocked to see me. Maybe a little excited. He was a young guy, and he didn’t quite have that stone-cold security glare down like some of his colleagues. But whatever excitement had flashed in his eyes passed quickly. He tilted his chin to the side as if he were about to speak into his communication device again.

“Wait!” I said, putting up a hand to stop him. “Um, this is Blackwell’s study, right?”

“It is.” He adjusted the wire around his neck leading up to his ear.

Why guard the study? There wasn’t anyone around. I checked behind me to make sure. This particular corridor was empty. I hadn’t seen any other security guards except at major exits. The only reason Blackwell would keep someone here was to keep others out.

“Are . . . you lost, Ms. Finley?”

I fidgeted a bit at the sound of my name. I’d probably never get used to people just knowing it. “I was told to get something out of Blackwell’s study.”

“Sorry, no one’s allowed in. Not even you.”

“It’s Sect orders,” I pushed.

“Sorry,” he said again. “But . . . now that you’re here . . .” He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, trying to avoid my eyes until he reached into his pocket and pulled out a napkin. “I don’t have a pen, but . . .”

He had to be joking. “You want my autograph?” I gaped at his expectant hands.

“It’s not for me. It’s for my little sister,” he said quickly, shaking the napkin at me. “Please?”

“If I sign this, will you let me in?”

When he answered with an awkward, noncommittal shrug, I sighed and took a pen out of my bag. “Who do I make it out to?”

“Steven.”

I looked at him.

“It’s short for Stephanie.”

“Of course it is.” I signed my name, discreetly stealing a second look down the hallway to make sure it was clear. “Is this okay?” I handed it back to him.

His whole face lit up as he took it from me, holding it up as if he had to inspect the ink to make sure it was real. “This is lovely, thanks! Sorry, it’s just that I’ve never really met a celebrity before.”

“Oh, it’s no problem! Glad to do it.”

But the moment I started to move past him, he put up his hand to stop me again.

“Sorry, no one’s allowed in.”

“Are you kidding me?” I complained with a groan. Then I checked behind me one last time. “Fine, then. Plan B.”

Plan B was hitting him really hard on the back of his neck. I was fast, too fast for him to react. He went down, but I grabbed him before he could make a sound and dragged him into the study. Don’t get caught, Chae Rin had said. Well, that was out of the question now. Maybe I could bribe Crane into silence with another autograph once he woke up. At any rate, all the security guards would have to check in, which meant I didn’t have much time in here.

The study was a musty, oval-shaped delicacy of books; one long mahogany case curved around about half the structure as if it’d been built especially for this room. Beautiful nineteenth-century portraits of old people hung around the room. A lavish rug lined the wooden floor, but there were only a few sitting chairs in the room: a couple by the left sections of bookcase, one behind the large desk where the bookcase ended, and a maroon-and-brown patterned settee in front of the fireplace by the right wall. But the main piece of the study had to be the statue at the room’s center—another woman with a pearl, carved in white stone. The smooth groove representing her eyes felt somehow hollow and knowing. She was just like the other two.