Chapter Sixteen
Sixteen
On Thursday evening, Henry went with Rose to Jason Yun’s home to discuss their plan for the gala at the Reuter mansion. Henry would’ve preferred to stay in.
The evening before that, he and Rose had enjoyed a second amorous encounter, and he was more than ready for a third.
They’d spent a long while in bed while the rain pattered on the windows and little pink candles burned in their holders here and there in the bedroom, casting dark shadows and quivering golden light.
He’d discovered that she loved long, slow, featherlight caresses up the sides of her body, the sides of her breasts, her satiny inner thighs.
After sex, she’d gotten up and made him a cup of tea, bringing it back into the bedroom.
Never in his life had he been served a cup of tea by a naked woman.
And Henry could well imagine other ways he’d like to serve her.
He’d never imagined having such passion and pleasure again.
But in his sober moments, while Rose was away at work, he reminded himself that a life couldn’t be built on passion and pleasure.
Getting their hands, literally, on the astrolabe was their only idea so far for returning him to where he belonged. And to do that, they needed Jason.
Rose said that ordinarily she would’ve taken the bus there, but she hired a car because Jason had given them all that money. Jason’s home, which she called a condo, was in a neighborhood called River North.
They took the elevator to the fifteenth floor of the building, and once Jason welcomed them inside, Henry could not help but gape at the glittering view of the other tall buildings and the dark, vast lake beyond.
The condo itself, sparsely furnished, was not much larger than Rose’s own apartment.
This surprised Henry, because the man was wealthy.
It was obvious to Henry not only from the way Jason handed over money, but also in the perfect tailoring and high quality of his clothes, his manner of carrying himself, and more than anything else, the way he’d exhibited no discomfort or shame whatsoever when making an outrageous request. Even from century to century, some things didn’t change.
“I love your place,” Rose told Jason as they sat down on his gray couches. “I thought a curator would have art, though.”
“If I did, I’d want to change it too often,” he said.
He gave them what he called a Wi-Fi jammer: a black box a little bigger than a box of matches, with two prongs, presented in a steel case.
Rose had already explained to Henry the concept of security cameras, and this device, it seemed, would prevent them from operating.
Turning the case over, Rose asked, “Why is the label in Russian?”
“It’s from Russia,” Jason said, and she looked a bit sheepish. He showed her where to switch it off and on again, then gave them pairs of anti-recognition glasses.
He said, “Ordinarily, I would keep your first names, so if you happen to see someone you know and they say your name, it doesn’t look suspicious.
But Henry, you don’t know anyone in town, and Reuter’s probably seen that portrait in the news, so you’re going to be Michael.
And Rose, since you’re connected to the museum, you’re getting an alias, too. ”
He handed them each a stiff card with their images and false names that read Illinois and Driver’s License at the top.
“Sarah Martin,” Rose read aloud. “I don’t think I can get my hair to look like that.” In her photo, she had straight, smooth dark brown hair that didn’t quite reach her shoulders.
“Hang on.” He retreated to one of the bedrooms and emerged with a package that proved to be a wig.
“Wow. Okay.” She peered at Jason. “So your group does this a lot? Disguises and false IDs?”
“I wouldn’t say a lot.”
She persisted. “Do you meet a lot of time travelers?”
“No,” Jason said. “Here’s what you can use to put gray streaks in Henry’s hair, like on his driver’s license.” He handed her a plastic bottle. “Just apply it with a clean toothbrush.”
Rose set the wig down in her lap. “What if we get caught handling the astrolabe? What do we say?”
“That you wanted a picture with it.”
“Could we get arrested?”
“Just for touching it? Not likely. It would be impossible to prove attempted theft.” Jason leaned back in his chair. “Reuter’s doing this gala to look good and make people forget about the aldermen scandal…and probably, to have a clandestine meeting or two in plain sight.”
“Calling the cops on his guests over nothing would be a bad look,” Rose mused aloud.
“Yeah. Let me go over some more details.”
Henry asked, “Mr. Yun, do you and your cohorts intend to steal the astrolabe later?”
“We don’t have plans to do that. And speaking of plans, I’ve got something for you.”
From a drawer in the coffee table, Jason pulled out a large piece of paper and unfolded it. “Here’s a blueprint of the Reuter mansion that you can take home. I talked to Ryan again.”
“You did?” Rose asked, clearly surprised.
Jason nodded. “Here’s where he found the secret compartment.” He pointed to a small red star on the wall of a second-floor room. “But don’t bring this with you to the gala, obviously.”
Henry tapped his fingers on the blueprint. “I will commit this to memory.”
“Good. Your Grace, I’d like you to carry this messenger bag with you to the event.” Henry had not noticed it next to the sofa before, but now he set it on the table. It was made of smooth black leather with a long shoulder strap and tiny letters on the side that read Smythson.
“Isn’t this your bag?” Rose asked.
“Yeah, I’d like it back, actually.”
She looked dubious. “People don’t usually bring big bags to galas, though.”
“Yeah, but Michael is an excessive worrier, and he refuses to go anywhere without…” Jason opened the bag and took items out one by one.
“A first aid kit, hand sanitizer, an extra pair of glasses, his phone, a power bank for his phone, his wallet and keys of course, medication in case he has a panic attack, Tylenol in case he gets a headache, and a cashmere cardigan in case his date gets chilly.”
“All practical items, as far as I can tell,” Henry said.
Jason told him, “And if someone says you can’t bring the bag inside, you’re going to get really haughty and arrogant and demand how they could dare treat you like this.”
“He can do that,” Rose said, at the same time Henry exclaimed, “But it would not be arrogant to protest. Truly, it would be outrageous for them to confiscate my personal belongings!” Then he caught Rose and Jason exchanging an amused glance.
“Why does he need the bag?” Rose asked.
“Because you should have a plan for a quick change. That’s what the cardigan’s for, too. Now the good news is, you’re going to be dressed up, and it’s always easier to dress down…”
—
“Damn it,” Rose exclaimed an hour later, as they returned to her apartment.
“What is it?” Henry asked. He’d become accustomed to her cursing. And he could hardly judge, when she’d used even more shocking language in the bedroom, and he’d enjoyed it.
“I didn’t ask him anything about his secret society!” She closed the door and locked it behind them. “I was going to ask him who they are, and how he got involved in it, and all these other things.”
“Our task at hand is complex,” Henry said, setting down the messenger bag Jason had given him. “It is hardly a wonder that you could think of nothing else.”
“I guess.” She sighed and walked toward the kitchen.
Henry followed her and saw she was pouring herself another glass of wine. She asked, “Do you want a glass, too?”
“Yes, thank you. Are you anxious about the gala?”
As she poured, she shrugged. “It’s not like we’re committing a crime. We’re just going to use the astrolabe right where it is, if we can find it. And Jason has planned everything out pretty well.” She brought his glass over to him. “But it makes me a little nervous.”
Henry nodded. She probably wanted to talk about it more, and maybe he did, too. “Shall we go out onto the rooftop?”
She brightened. “Let’s.”
They climbed through her bedroom window, but before she sat down, he said, “One moment.” It was still damp from the last night’s rain. He removed his jacket and spread it out. “There.”
She touched a hand to her heart. “That is so sweet. But your butt’s going to get wet. I’ll go get a blanket for you.” She made a move back to the window.
He took her arm gently. “No, do not trouble yourself. It will make my gallant gesture seem foolish. And you know that if there is one thing I cannot abide, it’s seeming foolish.”
She giggled. “Okay, but it wouldn’t. That was fairy-tale romantic.” She sat down, and he took his place next to her, noting that his arse would be only a little damp.
“We have to remember to use our fake names at that party,” she said.
“Very well, my dear Sarah,” he said, making her giggle again. He added, “As a duke, I never imagined the need to assume a false identity.”
“I’ll bet. When I was looking at that blueprint, with all those rooms, I remembered how Everly Park is so much bigger than that.”
He stilled. “What do you mean, remembered?”
“From the website? Of course. I was looking at it again at work.” She shook her head. “It just made me think again about how I took you from having everything, to having absolutely nothing.”
“I would hardly say nothing,” he said, thinking of the night before, and the night before that.
She gave him a wistful smile. “Still. I know you miss it. At work today I was thinking how I’m surprised that you’re not still mad at me.”
“My feelings, as I think you know, have quite changed.”
“They might change back, if I can’t figure out this spell, and you get stuck here.” She set down her wineglass to push her hair away from her face, a motion that lifted her breasts enticingly beneath her purple blouse.
“I am confident you will,” he said with a twinge of misgiving. “How did you learn how to do magic spells? Was your mother a witch?”