The Thief (Black Dagger Brotherhood #16)(51)

This was said as if it were meant to shock. Dismay. Cause a fluster.

And so when Vitoria made no response at all, Miss Fortescue’s left eyebrow, which had been drawn on as if it were part of an architectural rendering, twitched. “Well?”

“Life is full of unrequited desires.” Vitoria smiled. “We must learn to adjust to being disappointed—”

“We don’t know who you are. You could be anyone. Eduardo and Mr. Benloise didn’t tell us they had a ‘sister.’?”

That last word was uttered with a tone that put its definition more along the lines of “thief” or “interloper” than familial relation of a female extraction.

As the woman’s eyes settled on the desk, her expression became remote—and that was when all became clear. Ah, yes, Eduardo had been engaging in a bit of fun with this paragon of precision and disapproval, hadn’t he.

Vitoria smiled. “Clearly, you were just not significant enough to merit information about our family. That happens to mere casual or business acquaintances.”

Miss Fortescue planted a hand on the blotter and leaned in. “I know what else got sold around here. I know what Eduardo was keeping track of—”

“Do you often find yourself overstepping bounds? Or do you simply lack the self-awareness to recognize them in the first place. I think perhaps the latter informs the former.”

The woman seemed nonplussed. But she recovered presently. “I could bring down this whole lie. Eduardo told me things, and when the two of them stopped coming in here, there was a lot of talk. I kept quiet, but that may not last.”

Vitoria sat forward and linked her hands on her brother’s journal of notes. As her burner phone started to ring, she let it go to voicemail. “This is an art gallery. My brothers sell art—which I believe is your reason for employment here?”

“I know about that little book.” The woman pointed to what Vitoria was covering. “I know what’s in there.”

“Tell me something, has my brother gotten in touch with you recently?” When there was only stony silence: “Yes, that is what I thought. I’m afraid you are less amusing than your cheerful attitude and dress suggest.”

“They say he’s dead.”

“Who is ‘they’?” When there was no reply, Vitoria shook her head. “You know so much less than you maintain you do—and I imagine it can be disappointing when one’s position is less exalted than one assumed.” Vitoria made a show of looking at her watch. “Is it six o’clock already? Closing time.”

“I want proof of who you are.”

“Yes, you’ve made that clear. However, what I would be worried about, were I you, was whether or not I will have a job in the morning.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Not at all.” Getting to her feet, Vitoria came around the desk. “Why would I fire someone who has just suggested that my brothers were engaging in illegal activity? That deserves a promotion. Now, off you go, and I’ll lock up behind you.”



* * *



—

“So I’m thinking Amalya is not going to show.”

As Jane spoke, Vishous looked over at her. The two of them had spent all day in the courtyard, lounging on the marble floor of his mother’s private quarters, propped up against the lip of the fountain. It was typical of the Sanctuary that not even the stone made your ass fall asleep. Even after all these hours, they might as well have been stretched out on a pair of Wonder Bread loungers.

“I guess not.” He rubbed his hair. “She knows we’re here. I mean, that’s the way it’s always worked.”

In fact, he had half expected the Directrix to magically materialize from out of his mother’s private bedroom and announce that she was the chosen one, the handpicked successor to the Scribe Virgin.

That shoe hadn’t dropped yet, though. And as for Amalya’s no-show? It had meant he and Jane had talked for hours and hours about absolutely, positively nothing that was hard stuff. They had stuck well away from her work, his work, their distance. Instead, they had covered things like Assail’s recovery, Luchas’s progress, the Lessening Society’s disintegration, the Dhestroyer Prophecy—and Right vs. Left Twix, Super Bowl predictions, and the theory of Atlantis.

That last one had been because they had also gotten into a quote war over the original Ghostbusters.

“I’m sorry I never asked you,” Jane said softly.

He refocused. “What?”

“About losing your mother.”

There was a pause, and then her eyes locked on his own. As the silence stretched out, he knew she was inviting him to talk…deliberately giving him space and attention.

V brought his knees up and propped his gloved hand on one of them. Flexing the fingers, he pictured the thing without a covering. “You know how when you go out at night, you look up and expect to see the sky? And when you do, it’s this combination of something that affects you, because it can be cloudy or clear, raining or snowing…and yet it is totally impersonal? The sky is at once dispositive and irrelevant—and that’s what she was like. She was always there, and I don’t know; maybe she tried the best she could to connect with me and my sister. But she sucked at relating to people.” He looked at Jane pointedly. “I get that from her.” Then he shrugged. “So that’s what it feels like for me on a personal level. But then there’s also the other, more important shit. I feel like the race is exposed, and I don’t like that. There’s too much weird shit happening at once. I mean, she disappears, and we’re coming down to the end of the war—and then I run into that shadow in the alley? I don’t fucking like it, true? We’re at a crossroads, and sometimes the new direction doesn’t improve things. It lands you right in the crapper.”