Chapter Sixty
Nicole
THE AUCTION WAS HOSTED IN WHAT LOOKED, AT FIRST glance, to be an abandoned old-world building perched on the corner of a busy Edinburgh thoroughfare.
Its large, arched doors and windows were fogged, but it was adorned with layer upon layer of sculptural details: caryatids, pilasters, and grinning Satyrs that held up the lintel above the door. Some in red stone, most in the silver-gold of the rest of the city.
Beneath the varnish and thick wards there were likely glimmering lights and the sounds of sophisticated revelry from the rooftop five storeys up. A dark party of supernatural antiquities in the heart of Edinburgh.
Nicole’s pulse leaped as they walked up to the entrance, marked by a great gold plaque above the double doors.
Edinburgh sprawled out behind them. The moon was low and bright with a hazy, paranormal aura. But the city was growing darker and cooler by the moment, the air stirring her shimmering, blood-red dress, the fabric reminding her of the swathes in so many of Caravaggio’s paintings.
Kyan wore a black suit that fitted all the brawn and bulk of him, while keeping the top buttons of his shirt open, showing that strong, tanned throat.
Energy simmered between them as he shadowed her.
It had felt different since Ireland. Since that vulnerable, physical connection and its secret experience.
She kept feeling it, recalling details that skittered her pulse each time their eyes met.
That heat, that memory, had him moving closer.
Yet after the news she was most grateful for his steady, reassuring presence.
Her father held out their invitation at the door: the card they’d found with the Tène. It flashed like gold lightning.
The doorman, who was clearly a type of Hearthea, based on the way he blended with the wards rippling on the front of the building, gave Kyan a suspicious look. Then, to her surprise, her, too.
‘Empyreals.’
She’d been concerned they wouldn’t be welcome after Callum had told them auctioneers often suspected Empyreals of using Influence so the Wake could raid their collections.
Nicole stiffened. She wasn’t used to it: being figured out so easily. She was obviously not just a Seer to others any more.
‘They’re with me,’ her father said.
An unusual ripple of power had Kyan’s head turning in her father’s direction.
The bouncer took in her father, and whatever he saw, it allowed them into the building. Nicole restrained her exhale, unspoken questions souring her tongue.
Inside was a study in darkness, drawing the eye to the items and allowing the walls to blend away.
The auction’s artefacts varied from the trove-worthy to the mystical.
She glimpsed hoards of cursed Roman coins, a sixteenth-century Witch’s athame, and a La Tène shield that rivalled the Battersea one with its ornate bronze repoussé swirls.
There were torcs, just a few, and other pieces of ancient jewellery embedded with glinting jewels.
But as she strolled through to check, none appeared to be Kyan’s.
Unveiled supernaturals wove through the space.
Warlocks and Witches, even a Selkie that Nicole identified by the marine scent of her skin.
Though she was in her human form, she retained the pebbled white and grey of her seal origins in stunning vitiligo, her eyes large and dark as the depths of the ocean.
A Bòcan – a mischievous hobgoblin, who wasn’t as small as humans believed – lingered near an ancient armband decorated with amber beads.
They were startlingly attractive, with sharp ears strung with studs.
There were more supernaturals, many sophisticated and dangerous. Nicole would have had to engage with them to figure out their natures, but wealth poured off them all.
She knew her mother had bought from many auctions in the past – always with a fake identity – and couldn’t help but imagine how well she would have moved through this crowd.
Nicole didn’t even want to appreciate it after the news about Verin.
It had burned into her with a pain that singed, leaving her slightly shaky and more wary.
She tried to corral it so she didn’t appear suspicious.
The next room was filled with chairs, images of the artefacts slowly scrolling past on a large screen, a dais ready for the auctioneer.
Nicole took one of the night’s pamphlets as her father approached an attendant waiting on the door.
‘We need to speak to whoever’s in charge,’ he said, flashing the card.
The attendant turned her head slightly as if listening to an order whispered in her ear. Then she pasted a pleasant smile on her face. ‘Of course. Please come this way.’
She led them from the room and down a dark, tastefully decorated corridor to a sleek gold lift, before selecting the top floor.
It took them up swiftly, then opened to unveil a grand room and bar, the wide rooftop terrace open to the night, supernaturals milling about with drinks.
‘This way,’ the attendant said, leading them to a set of double doors carved with the unicorn of Scotland. The wood was so highly polished it looked like a real, gleaming coat, the noble spiral of its horn torquing up, as sharp and deadly as it was mystical.
The attendant knocked and opened the door, to reveal the thief.
Seated at a desk, a great oil painting of Edinburgh’s castle behind him, he was so much younger than Nicole had expected.
He looked to be in his thirties. His eyes roamed over them with the perusing glance of a connoisseur capable of spotting treasure a mile off.
His hair was brushed back, adding to his elegant style and echoed by an expensive suit that disguised his rangy build, but it was a mercurial shade of brown that made her wonder if he was showing his true features or was somehow disguising them.
He was handsome, but it had an edge that reminded Nicole of a sliver of obsidian.
The room had a snug old-world air. Kelpies were carved into the black marble fireplace and Scottish thistles into the dark panelling.
‘Please, sit,’ said the thief, gesturing to two dark green smoking chairs opposite the desk. ‘What can I do for you this evening?’ He rested his chin on one hand, his other around a glass of amber liquid.
Nicole couldn’t get a read on what he was; the antiquities on the low-lit shelves around the room gave off enough supernatural energy to disguise it.
‘This,’ said her father, showing the little calling card.
Nicole sank into the right-hand chair, while Kyan remained standing.
‘Ah, it seems my ego has got the better of me once again.’ The thief’s lips quirked up. ‘Which treasure would this be?’
‘A torc that belongs to me,’ Kyan added. ‘I want it back.’
A glint of intrigue entered the thief’s dark gold eyes.
Her father adjusted his suit jacket to take a seat. ‘Perhaps you’ll permit us to browse your collection. We’d be happy to buy it off you.’
Buy it?
Nicole knew her mother had amassed a great deal of money in her long life, but enough to buy something like this? Something the thief now knew was more valuable? She schooled her expression to not outwardly cringe.
‘I have many torcs in my collection, it’s a hazard of the trade.’ The thief smiled. ‘But I would imagine something like that would not be for sale.’
‘What do you want for it?’ Kyan asked.
Always blunt and honest. Nicole almost smiled.
The thief’s eyes slid to Kyan. ‘I don’t sell items to the Wake.’
Kyan’s shoulders tensed. ‘The Wake’s not buying it. It’s mine.’
‘Here I thought Empyreals weren’t supposed to have their own treasures.’
‘Please,’ Nicole cut in, ‘we want to keep it safe.’
‘It’s quite safe. Besides’ – the thief held up his hand, revealing a missing pinkie finger – ‘a Tène is infamously difficult to get past. I paid the price. I’ll be keeping it. But I am curious as to the provenance of the piece. Where, exactly, did it come from? Who made it? I’ve long wondered.’
It was made by the hands of an Irish god, could hold the blood of a goddess, and could remake the world as we know it.
‘It’s a family heirloom,’ Kyan said instead.
‘I see.’
‘How exactly did you find it?’ Nicole asked.
‘I have a skill. Call it a blessing, call it a curse.’ The last word had a ring of darkness to it that caught Nicole’s attention. ‘But I keep my favourites. I suppose I have more in common with a Tène than I thought.’
She took a breath, uncertain how to continue. People had died for this, and if they weren’t faster, more might.
‘How about I pitch you a few ideas,’ her father said.
The thief pursed his lips. ‘Why not? Drink?’
‘Sure. Why don’t you two wait outside,’ her father suggested to her and Kyan. He looked the picture of ease, legs crossed in the chair beside her, picking something off his three-piece tweed suit. He nodded to her slightly, signalling with one look: I’ll handle it.
Only that made Nicole rise.
‘Thank you for your time,’ she said.
Her mind churned as she left the room and walked to the rooftop, while Kyan paused at the bar.
The whole balcony was warded, the barrier of it gleaming with an iridescent shimmer that reminded Nicole of Lawna’s shields. She relaxed slightly, knowing it would hide them from anyone outside, even if Luca was still dutifully working on his CCTV blocking.
But these wards still let in the fresh air, chilled up here, thanks to the hilltop placement of the city, and she willed it to clear her head.
Below spread an unimpeded view of Edinburgh: the clocktower’s glowing face; the castle lit in the distance; the deep navy sky above, and the gold and amber lights in the buildings blanketed between. Spires sliced up here and there, gothic imprints against the skyline.
Kyan brought her a cocktail, standing to her left with his body angled to see the rooftop, the skyline, and the door.
Nicole took a sip, focusing on the bitters and coil of orange, the heat at the back of her throat.
‘What do you think he wants?’ she asked quietly.