Chapter 10 #2
Of that, I had no doubt. I guided our thief over the rooftop and down into the laneway.
He was still screaming, but with the air now whirling around him, keeping his voice contained, it didn’t really matter.
Once I’d placed him next to Mathi, I severed my direct connection to the wind while keeping our thief restrained, then turned and made my way back down the old metal stairs to investigate what he’d been doing in that room.
The glass case he’d broken into was one of four sitting on the top of a wide display table, and the three he hadn’t touched held rather ancient-looking leather books, meaning there was a fair chance that the one he’d broken into had held something similar.
But how had he known which of the four..
. The thought stalled as the soft sound of wood creaking rose from the floor below.
Someone had just entered the shop. Slowly. Cautiously.
I had no idea if that someone was a thief taking advantage of the front door being open or one of the many police officers who did regular patrols around this area, but I wasn’t about to chance being sidelined for hours explaining myself to a copper.
I quickly but carefully made my way back to the metal stairs and went up.
After closing the upper door, I hurried over to the terrace’s side, called to the wind, and asked it to lower me down.
It did so with such vigor that it tore a gasp from my lips.
I hit the ground a little too hard, heard Beira say, Next time, order a soft landing, as the wind whipped her presence away, and would have fallen had Mathi not grabbed my arm.
“Seriously?” he said. “We’re now leaping off rooftops when there’s a perfectly good fire escape not ten meters away?”
“I wasn’t to know that, and it wasn’t like I had time to look. Someone else was in the building.”
“Then we had best move.” He grabbed our thief and dragged him toward the parking area behind the Mediterranean restaurant a few doors down. Henrick waited near the Merc’s trunk, several thin strips of plastic in his hands.
“The usual, sir?” he said.
“You have a ‘usual’?” I glanced at Mathi, eyebrows rising. “Just how often to you indulge in a little kidnapping?”
“Only when absolutely necessary.”
“Which could mean anything from once a year to once a week.”
My voice was dry, and amusement briefly warmed the seriousness from his eyes. “Indeed. Can you pull the wind back enough to reveal his wrists while the rest of him remains restrained?”
I did so. Henrick grabbed our thief’s wrists; he resisted as much as he could, given his limited range of movement, but a glare from Henrick had him stilling. I couldn’t really blame him, because that look had promised serious harm.
After we’d repeated the process with our thief’s feet, Henrick gagged the man, then opened the trunk, shoved him inside, then slammed the lid down on his muffled protests.
Only then did I release the wind.
“Home now, sir?” Henrick asked.
“Yes, but detour down Watergate Street.” Mathi glanced at me. “Might as well check who else went into that building.”
Henrick opened the doors for us, then climbed into the driver’s side and started the car. The engine’s purr just about muffled the complaints coming from behind us.
A quick jaunt down Watergate did reveal it was a cop I’d heard, as there were now several patrol cars standing out the front and a number of officers going in and out. Lucky I’d heard him or her when I had, or I’d be explaining to Sgott why I’d broken into yet another property.
We continued on. The traffic wasn’t too bad, considering the hour, and we made it over to Mathi’s apartment in good time.
Like many other highborns, he maintained a secondary residence outside the main Ljósálfar encampment; his lay in the Garden Terraces district, a beautiful and rather expensive area that was close to the canal and surrounded on two sides by community parks.
He hadn’t chosen the location for the greenery or indeed the water, but because it was close to the main commercial and shopping districts in East Deva and made commuting to work easier.
Henrick drove into the underground parking and skillfully wove through the various concrete pillars dividing the narrow spaces until we reached Mathi’s parking allocation next to his express elevator.
Henrick stopped, opened our doors, and then hauled our captive out of the trunk.
I hadn’t really had much of a chance to take a good look at him, but in the garage’s sallow light, he looked much older than he’d appeared in the vision.
Perhaps his use of the pectoral had aged him—most godly relics did come with a price, after all.
In every other way, however, he was standard issue Myrkálfar—dark skin, dark hair, and gray eyes, though he wasn’t as muscular as many of them.
“Thanks, Henrick,” Mathi said.
“Do you wish me to carry him up, sir?”
“No, go home for now. I’ll likely call once we finish interrogating.”
“Very good, sir.” He gave me a polite nod, then climbed back into the car.
Mathi returned his attention to our captive. “Now, are you going to be a good lad and behave until we get to my apartment, or do I have to knock you out and carry you up?”
The dark elf scowled but nodded. Mathi grabbed his arm and forced him to bunny hop toward the elevator. He punched in the code to call it down and, a few seconds later, we were walking through the plushly carpeted, pale-green foyer to the penthouse’s door.
I followed them in and couldn’t help the odd feeling of coming home.
I’d lived here off and on for a good part of the ten years we’d been together, and I’d loved the place—especially the kitchen and the living room, with their panoramic views over the gardens and the city.
At night, with the glass dark, all you could see was a sea of twinkling lights, stretching out almost as far as the eye could see.
Mathi took the gag off our prisoner, then escorted him down the wide hall. “Beth, do you want to make us both a coffee while I make our guest comfortable?”
I nodded and walked through to the kitchen.
It had received a makeover by Mariatta—the would-be wife who’d subsequently tried to neuter Mathi when he’d broken their contracted engagement—and was now all glossy white cabinetry and marble counters.
One of those counters displayed Mathi’s café-grade espresso machine.
He might claim to be incapable of love, but that incapability did not extend to coffee.
“You two won’t be so fucking comfortable once I report your actions to the IIT,” the dark elf growled.
His breathing was labored, and sweat beaded his forehead.
Bunny hopping, it seemed, was giving his fitness a good workout.
“What you’re doing is tantamount to kidnapping, and you can be sure I’ll be suing both your asses off. ”
And that right there was youth rather than experience speaking. “Do either of us look as if we actually care? Besides, given who you’re targeting, the last thing you want is to land in IIT hands right now.”
“How do you know who I’m targeting?” He scowled at me. “No one does—that’s the whole fucking problem.”
“Good on you for not denying the targeting,” I replied, amused.
“What’s the point? You obviously know who I am and what I’m doing.”
“Actually, all we truly know is that you’re one of Jarvil’s sons or grandsons.” Mathi shoved him into a plush leather armchair that rocked slightly under the dark elf’s sudden weight. “So why don’t we start with who you are and who you’re looking for?”
“If you don’t know, I’m not enlightening you. Not until you let me call my fucking lawyer—”
“That’s not how these things generally work.” Mathi’s tone was more than a little condescending. “Now, be a good lad and answer the question, or I shall be forced to use chemical means.”
While I’d never spotted said chemicals in my time living here, I had no doubt he did possess them.
He wasn’t one to make a threat like that without having the means of following through.
Once upon a time, the knowledge would have appalled me, but I’d seen a lot—done a lot—in the last few months, and that had definitely broadened my horizons when it came to the gray areas between right and wrong.
“You can’t do that. No matter what you think I’ve done, I have rights—”
“Rights don’t matter a damn when you get on the wrong side of a Ljósálfar.
” I crossed my arms and leaned a hip on the counter while the machine did its thing.
“Look, we believe you’re going after the woman who killed Jarvil, and that means we’re on the same side.
So cut the crap and just answer our damn questions. ”
He glared at me. “Why should I believe you? You fucking kidnapped me—”
“The woman you’re hunting,” I cut in, not wanting to hear his tirade, “killed my mother, so believe me when I say I understand your need for revenge. But there’s more at stake here than that.
Help us, and we’ll hand you over to Cynwrig Lùtair.
Obstruct us, and we’ll forcibly extract the information we need, then hand you over to the IIT and let you take your chances. ”
He snorted. “I like my chances more with the IIT than I do with you lot or Lùtair.”
“Then you are a fool,” Mathi said. “For your information, the woman you hunt successfully murdered four men in IIT’s securest cells only a few weeks ago. You’re obviously aware she’s a face shifter, so do you really think she could not get to you if she wished?”
The young elf scowled at Mathi for a few seconds, then slumped back in the chair. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“First up, your name.” I walked over with the two coffees and handed Mathi one. “Are you one of Jarvil’s sons or grandsons?”
“Macsen Maehdon. Grandson.”
“And you worked with your grandfather?”