I gawked at her in shock “No! Really?”
“Died two months ago, haven’t you heard? Cancer.”
“He was such a nice old man,” I said sadly.
“You called him pompous and unbearable!”
That was true, but when people died on you, adjectives morphed, becoming slightly more positive. “He was a pompous and unbearable nice old man.”
“That’s a lovely eulogy. You should send it to his wife.”
“Who then?”
Sinead thought about it for a second. “There’s a new guy. Kane Underwood. He has a good reputation.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Probably that he’s never been caught drinking blood in public, or cackling with his hands raised high as lightning flashed behind him.”
“Oh, good.”
“I can’t think of anyone else.”
“I’ll check him out,” I muttered.
Sinead leaned back, putting her feet on the table. “Don’t you have a puppy?” she suddenly asked. “He’s probably pissed all over your house.”
I shook my head. “I texted Isabel earlier. She took Magnus for a long walk.”
“That’s nice of her.”
“Isabel is good people.”
“We’ll need her. You know that, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And we’ll need a hacker.”
“A hacker who can handle magic.” I tapped the notes.
“Fine, I’ll ask around.”
“And I’ll talk to this guy Kane.”
Sinead groaned and massaged her forehead. “So… you, me, Isabel, Kane, and hacker. That’s five. Do you think it’s enough?”
I considered it. “Yeah,” I finally said. “I think it’s a job for five people.”
Chapter Nine
Kane Underwood’s office, located on the second floor of a dinky building in East Boston, was not what I expected.
There were no shelves stacked with leather-bound tomes in the room; no raven, cat, or lizard staring at me, eyes unblinking. The office was also lacking in ancient ceremonial daggers, weird mysterious masks, and arcane glowing glyphs.
It had a small wooden desk, littered with pages, some torn or crumpled. A brimming ashtray and a half-full whiskey bottle acted as paperweights. There was a tall metal filing cabinet in the corner of the room, and another ashtray, also full, sat on top of it. The office was dimly lit by one bare lightbulb, but even in this murky light I could see the fine layer of dust that settled in the corners of the room. The place smelled richly of clove and pine. And it was empty.
I took a step forward and glanced at the papers on the table. It was a bizarre mix of unpaid bills, yellow crumbling parchments scrawled with dark blotchy ink, diagrams of circles of power doodled on napkins, and various takeout menus. Mesmerized by this assortment, I leaned closer to inspect one of the scraps of paper, when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around, and was taken aback at the sight of the man standing in the doorway.
“I know you!” I said. It was the guy I’d met in the street two nights before. He was dressed in the same dark trench coat, and had the same smug face. The coat and the smugness were probably permanent fixtures.
He quirked his lips in a tiny smile, and stepped inside the room, brushing past me. He put a plastic cup of coffee on the desk, and then shrugged off his trench coat, hanging it on a nail in the wall. He sat on the chair behind the desk, and leaned back, folding his arms. “You’re the dream peddler,” he said. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were coming, or I’d have brought a cup for you too. What brings you to my office, Ms. Lou Vitalis?”
I was thrown off by the fact that he knew my name, and found myself opening and shutting my mouth like a goldfish. The fact that this guy managed to consistently throw me off my guard vexed me. Finally recovering, I blurted, “Are you Kane Underwood?”
“Yes, I am. Pleased to see you again, Lou.” He said my name strangely, as if tasting the way it felt on his tongue. His green eyes never strayed from mine. “How can I help you?”
“What were you doing that night, in the street?” I asked.
He took a sip from his cup and fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Placing one in his mouth, he motioned at the only other chair in the room. It was by the corner of the desk, and had a layer of dust on it. I brushed it lightly, and sat down. Kane lit his cigarette with a dented metal lighter. He inhaled, blew the smoke sideways, and looked at me thoughtfully. “Working,” he finally answered.
I let the word hang in the air. The smoke from his cigarette carried the same scent of clove and pine that lingered in the room. It was a rich fragrance, unlike any cigarette I had smelled before. “Working at what?” I finally asked.
“Something I was hired to do.”
“I need to know what it was, to know if I can trust you.”
“Well.” He sighed sadly. “I guess you won’t be able to trust me.”
That didn’t satisfy my curiosity, but it did satisfy my need to know he could keep a confidence. Most sorcerers could; you don’t get far in the sorcery world if you blab.
“I need a sorcerer,” I said.
“You found one.” His green eyes twinkled. “What for?”
“For a difficult, dangerous, confidential job.”
He took another puff from his cigarette. “People don’t come here when the jobs are easy, safe, and widely known. Before I take on a job, I need to know the details first.”
“I need to break into a vault. It’s very well protected. There are some wards, runes, probably a curse or two.”
“Where is this vault?”
“We can discuss that later.”
“Who does it belong to?”
“Later.”
“What’s in it?”
“Later.”
“Then what can we talk about right now, Lou?”
“I want to know if you’re the man for the job.”
He smiled and stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray. “So this is a job interview? Okay. You want to ask if I’m the man who will break into a well-protected vault whose location, contents, and owner I don’t know? No. I’m not that guy. That guy sounds like a moron, and I’m not a moron.” He took another sip of his coffee. “I really feel shitty that I can’t offer you anything. Do you want to go downstairs? There’s a nice café there.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Look, what I want to know is if you’re good at what you do. If I can trust you. If—”
“Does this look like a face you can’t trust?” He gestured at his scruffy unshaven cheek. “What’s the job? And what are you paying?”
There was no way around it; I had known it when I came to his office. He was right, only a moron would agree to a job without hearing the basic details. “I want to break into the vault of Ddraig Goch.”
He put down the coffee cup and cleared his throat. “Well, you weren’t kidding about difficult and dangerous.”
“There’s a box in the safe my client wants,” I explained. “I only need the box. The rest of the safe’s contents can be split between the members of the crew. There should be six dragon scales inside.”
He digested this. The mention of dragon scales didn’t seem to have an impact on him. I was beginning to suspect I’d have to find someone else.
“How many members in the crew?” he asked.