“Nice to see you again, Aidan. I’m here for some advice.”
He grinned, displaying dazzling white teeth. “It just so happens that advice is my middle name.”
“I rather doubt that,” I said. “Speaking of which, what is your middle name?”
“Whatever you’d like it to be, Lily,” Aidan said silkily. “You know my fondest wish is to please you.”
Aidan’s blatantly flirtatious manner, combined with his incredible good looks, used to fluster me. Not anymore. At least . . . not as much.
“Okay if we step into your office for a consultation?”
“Please, come in,” he said, standing back and waving me through the doorway. “I’ll just add this to your growing list of indebtedness to me, shall I?”
This was the deal when reaching out to Aidan: Everything had a price.
Aidan’s rebuilt office was an exact replica of the one that had burned down, and was decorated in a lavish style I thought of privately as “Barbary Coast Bordello.” Red velvet drapes with gold fringe hid any trace of windows, while a plush Oriental rug in deep red, emerald, and ocher hues covered the floor. A heavy carved mahogany desk and leather office chair dominated the room. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases ran along two walls, their shelves crammed with musty leather-bound tomes. Aidan had lost his last library in the fire, but told me he had managed to replace many of the rare manuscripts by scouring the Internet. I had an inkling there was more to it than that—many of the books in Aidan’s collection were arcane depositories of highly specialized magic, with only one or two copies in existence—but since he allowed me to avail myself of his library whenever I wanted, I hadn’t pushed the point.
I took a seat in one of the comfortable leather armchairs facing his desk, and he settled into the thronelike desk chair. Placing his hands flat on the blotter, Aidan leaned toward me.
“What can I do for you today, Lily? Is this about Selena, or Renee?”
“What? No.” Then I wondered. “Why? Have you seen something?”
“Nothing new, not in particular. But we need to come up with a defensive plan soon. Have you been hunting down some of those names from the Satchel?”
I nodded. Not long ago Aidan had asked me to babysit his special satchel while he was out of town. In it were names of people who owed him favors, and who had pledged their loyalty. As the threat I believed Renee posed heated up, Aidan and I had been shoring up support, preparing to circle the magical wagons.
“We’ll need the Gypsies in on this,” Aidan continued. “Their support will be essential to our success.”
“Sailor told me his aunt Renna is on board, and Patience Blix also agreed, though with reluctance because she’s not much of a team player. Where those two go, apparently, so goes the rest of the extended family. Sailor can’t speak for any other clans, of course—”
Aidan waved off my concern. “If we have Sailor’s people, we’re good. What matters is not just that they’re Rom, but that they have special abilities.”
I nodded. “Also, Hervé Le Mansec is making contact with the voodoo practitioners.”
“Excellent. And how is Selena’s training coming along?”
“It’s . . . coming,” I hedged. Selena wasn’t the most patient student. Yet another way in which she reminded me of me. “Anyway, none of that is the reason I’m here tonight. I get that we need to deal with whatever Renee’s up to, but I have to address something a little more immediate. I’m under a forty-eight-hour deadline.”
“What is it?”
I placed the shoe box atop the desk blotter in front of him. Aidan stared at it for a long moment; then his blue eyes met mine. “Intriguing.”
I nodded. “In a creepy sort of way, sure.”
“Would you like me to sequester it? I know of a rather effective little Etruscan binding spell I picked up in my travels.”
“No, I’d like you to open it and tell me what you see.”
“Probably best not to open it.”
“How so?”
His elegant eyebrows rose. “Is this a joke?”
“Not hardly.”
“Why in the world would you want to open”—he inclined his head toward the box—“that?”
“Do you know a fellow named Tristan Dupree?”
“Of course.”
“You do?” I had assumed Aidan knew of Tristan Dupree. I just hadn’t expected him to admit it.
“How is Dupree doing these days?”
“Seems like his old self.” In fact, Tristan looked exactly as he had when our paths crossed more than a decade ago. Exactly. “Anyway, he says I stole something from him.”
“Did he?”
“Do you know what it is? He said it was a bleeg, or something like that? I didn’t quite catch it. I wondered if he was trying to say ‘bag,’ and maybe referring to the Satchel you had me watch over?”
Aidan sighed. “It’s not the Satchel.”
“Then what is it?”
“Lily, Lily, Lily. When will you listen to me? Have I not been nagging you to study your craft more intensively?”
“Just tell me what it is, Aidan.”
Aidan rose, pulled a fat volume off the bookshelf, flipped it open, and handed it to me, pointing to a passage on one page.
“I would guess Tristan was referring to a bēag.”
I read: Old English bēag, referring most often to circular jewelry such as rings, bracelets, necklaces; also garlands, collars, crowns; might include shackles and coils, or precious objects in general. From the Proto-Germanic baugaz (bow or ring); from the Proto-Indo-European bewg (to bend). Cognate baug in some German dialects (ring, collar), or Icelandic baugur (circle). Relative of bagel.
“Tristan thinks I stole his bagel?”
Aidan smiled. “More likely a ring.”
“Or it says here it could be a collar, a garland, or a crown. Any precious object, really.” I blew out a frustrated breath. “Could I ask you something?”
“That’s why you’re here.”
“Why do magical folks have to be so gol-durned nonspecific? Why do they always have to talk in riddles? Why can’t they just say what it is they want, in modern English? I’d take Spanish, or Nahuatl, for that matter.”
“That would take all the fun out of it.”
“Not for me. I get plenty of fun with my vintage clothes. Going out to dinner, hanging out with my friends . . .”
“If you’re asking seriously, I would say it’s because the flow of power we tap into is primordial, beyond language. We are interpreting symbols and sensations, which don’t lend themselves to specific meanings.”
“Huh. I never thought of that. Good point. Anyway, so what does ‘bēag’ tell us?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“I can’t—I don’t remember stealing anything from anybody, much less Tristan Dupree. Do you think he might be working for somebody?”
Aidan looked thoughtful. “I suppose it’s possible, but I haven’t heard Dupree associated with anyone in that way. He’s generally a loner, and while he might ally himself with folks from time to time, he’s more of a contract worker than a salaried employee, if you get my drift. Coming after you in San Francisco indicates something more serious is afoot. Did he frighten you?”
A little, though I was loath to admit that to Aidan. I shrugged.
“Anyway, if I stole anything from anybody when I was with my father in Germany, it’s probably in there,” I said, pointing to the shoe box.
His gaze fell to his desktop. “The box you’re afraid to open.”
“Looks like I’m not the only one.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m afraid, exactly. More like prudent.”
I held Aidan’s gaze, and after a moment he let out a sigh.
“You don’t remember what happened in Germany . . . none of it?”
“Not really. I get little details from time to time, flashes of memory, but nothing concrete, nothing more than a quick picture.”
“And yet you remembered Tristan.”
“I remember meeting him. But I don’t remember what went on.”
He gave me a strange look.
“What is it?” I demanded.