Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
W hatever else was going on, Twenty-one was clearly worried about me. The hotel was expensive. Even pricier than my hotel in Paris, and there I had been playing a very well-off criminal who sold illegal magical artifacts as a side hobby.
The bellhop looked us over, but my suit was nice, despite the dust and tears. Cassander somehow still looked pristine, despite having rolled around in the same mud as me. He swept through the doors, pausing only briefly in the lobby, his eyes sweeping over the grand opulence: high ceilings, gold everywhere, people dressed in the height of fashion.
I took the lead, striding toward the desk and pulling out my wallet. The receptionist smiled politely, hands clasped in front of her as she spoke rapidly in French.
I waved a hand. “Can we do English?”
The woman’s expression visibly cooled, and I winced, ready to be given the worst room that she could assign us, when Cassander stepped up next to me, his French just as fluent in Canada as in France.
Whatever he was saying was more charming than anything that came out of his mouth in English because the receptionist grinned, looking at me slyly before turning to her computer and tapping in information. She asked Cassander a question, and he replied.
More tapping, and I took out my ID for lack of anything else to do. My French was passable, and I had studied up before going to the Parisian office of Green Scales. But they were American-based, and everyone spoke English. I had only needed French out in the city, and I was not up to either Cassander’s or the receptionist’s level.
The receptionist held out her hand for my ID. She glanced at it, typing into the computer again before handing it back along with two room keys and a printout of the map of the hotel with our room circled.
When she handed Cassander his key, she let her fingers stroke along the side of his hand. His smile tilted, almost as though he was flirting, but I could see the calculation under it.
Cassander turned, pausing as though he was used to being in the sort of hotel where the manager led him to his room, so I took the lead, checking the map before heading to one of the elevators. Inside, after giving our floor to the bellhop, I found myself seething. I had risked my neck for some civilian. I had risked my career for some civilian.
I was an idiot. No. I could salvage this. I just needed to figure out why the gunmen were after him in the first place and what artifact he had that brought us to Québec.
If I could bring a teleporting device back to the SPA, my career would be saved. I had this.
When we got off the elevator, I strode down the hallway, finding the right room. When I slid the key in, the door refused to open. Huffing unhappily, I tried again. Then, annoyed, I shoved the key in one last time.
When I yanked it out, it snapped off in the lock, and I gaped.
“You’re angry,” Cassander said, his voice curious.
I rounded on him. “Yeah, I’m a bit peeved. It’s been a day.”
Cassander blinked at me in surprise. “It’s not over yet.”
Glaring at him, I worked my jaw back and forth before I said, “Is that a threat?”
It was his turn to stare at me in confusion. “No. The clock in the hotel lobby said that it was eleven in the morning.”
Then, as though by magic, he raised his hand, hailing a hotel maintenance employee who happened to be walking by. The man was easily able to get my broken card out, and Cassander’s key worked no problem in the lock.
When we opened the door, I stared. “There must be some mistake.”
Cassander breezed by, striding into the massive room and over to the open windows. The opulence and the room matched the lobby. Everything was decorated with gold accents and muted, rich colors.
But what tripped me up was how expensive the massive suite obviously was. There was a bedroom to the side, a massive sitting room, and even a small kitchenette in the corner. Twenty-one might be worried enough about my safety to use the maximum per diem she was allowed for a hotel room, but there was no way she reserved me this presidential palace.
Cassander’s mouth went flat, and he looked around the room, his lip peeling back. “Disappointing.”
I raised both eyebrows. “I’m sorry, is the king’s suite not up to your expectations, Your Majesty?”
“No.” He strode to the windows, throwing open the privacy blinds. There was a large patio outside with a table and chairs, overlooking an expansive view of the city. Cassander made a noncommittal noise. “I suppose it will have to do.”
“Right. It will have to do.” I shook my head again, reminding myself that it didn’t matter how gorgeous he looked, backlit against the midmorning light, the angle of it casting his skin gold.
For a long beat, he was silent, considering the view. Then, he looked over his shoulder at me, his golden-brown eyes flashing, and for a second, I thought maybe he was just as interested in me as I was in him.
“I don’t suppose this place has any food.”
I recognized that tone. It might have been in a different language, but that was exactly the same voice he’d used to coax the king’s suite out of a poor hotel receptionist.
I pursed my lips, striding over to the window and grabbing his arm, dragging him back to the massive couch with its plush cushions. He wanted to play this game, okay, we could play that game.
Crossing his arms, Cassander looked up at me, both eyebrows raised. I towered over him, glaring down, waiting.
His smirk spread slowly, and I couldn’t help read him. He was used to getting what he wanted, mostly from his royal blood, but now he was using his charm, which meant he was able to use his charm. That meant his position didn’t always get him what he wanted.
When … When did his position not get him exactly what he wanted?
I needed more information. As it was, I could tell by his smirk that he wasn’t scared of me. More than that, he was amused. I needed to push him just a little bit, mostly to see what he would do, so I could know how to play it.
Now, did I focus on the gunmen or the magical artifact that he was hiding? My mother’s voice reminded me sharply that few people got the opportunity to redo their line if the first one didn’t work out, so you always did both.
“Who was after you?” I asked.
“I didn’t get their names. They had very large guns and didn’t seem that interested in talking.” He tilted his head, lifting his chin. “Perhaps you could ask them for me, although based on the number of bullets, the conversation would likely be brief.”
“Yeah. I’ll sit them down for a tête-à-tête.” Time for a push. My mother would have done a gentle nudge, just enough to get more information, so that she could do another gentle push. She was the best in the business for a reason.
The smart way would be to play it Mamá Reyes’s way. But there was a reason I didn’t work in the family business anymore. I was going to try pushing him off a cliff.
“So, you think your brother sent them?”
Cassander’s entire face dropped, and that might as well have been a ringing dinner bell clanging that I had just won the grand prize. Based on what he had said, I had guessed brother, cousin, or sister. Someone close enough that they would still be considered family, but not parents.
Something in the twist of his mouth when he’d said family hadn’t said parents to me. It was that sixth sense that Mamá Reyes had drilled into me since she first brought me on board.
All right, I could follow the obvious path that the word brother had opened up. “Yeah, I bet, Prince of Shadows, heir to the throne of Moonlight and… What was it? Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight?”
“Shadow Prince, heir to the throne of Moonlight and Whispers.” Cassander breathed the words, his eyes going distant, as though he was seeing some different place, someone else mocking him.
“Your brother, he wants to be Prince of Shadows, heir of the throne of twinkle twinkle little star?” I watched, checking, ready to pull back, ready to rephrase it until it hit home. Because that was the trick when you made a wide swing: you had to immediately be able to pull back, pretend that you had made a mistake, said something wrong rather than admit you had been guessing.
“My brother has his own title to worry about now,” Cassander said mildly. He looked up at me, eyes crinkling in the corners, and whatever dark place I had sent him that made his expression fall had been pushed away, shoved into a little box that he wasn’t going to let me open again.
Like recognized like. I had my own little box, full of memories and family that I didn’t want to think about ever again either.
“Who were the gunmen?”
“As I said, my brother would not employ anyone with weapons so… blunt.” He chose the word carefully, as though selecting the perfect watch to wear with his outfit.
“What did they have to do with Green Scales?” Another swing, and I was ready for this one to miss. If he was willing to pretend that he didn’t know why rogue European gunmen would come after him, I doubted he was going to admit to knowing one of the largest criminal gangs in the world.
Still, it would be impossible for the SPA to ignore the fact that an armed team had gone after me at the same time as they were killing the strike team sent after Green Scales leadership. There had to be a connection, and right now, all I knew was that those armed men hadn’t been after me. They had been after Cassander.
“Green Scales?” Cassander seemed genuinely puzzled, but then again, he had seemed genuinely flirtatious with the receptionist. So I ignored the way his eyes darkened, pupils going wide when he looked at me. “Is that a band?”
“Yeah. They play punk rock with a side of stolen magical artifacts and murder.”
“Their shows sound very loud.” Cassander tilted his head, his tongue slipping out from between white teeth, and I was suddenly very aware that while I was towering over him, it put my groin directly at mouth level.
I stepped back, crossing my arms. “So, why does your brother want you dead, then?”
Cassander’s eyes went distant, and whatever he was seeing, he didn’t like. His mouth twitched, his brows drawn together in unhappiness. Finally, he said, “My brother lacks vision.”
I stared at him, and when he blinked, I could practically see every thought flipping behind his eyes. Mamá Reyes and her training didn’t miss a trick.
The smart move was to play along, get on his side. He wanted someone on his side, someone who believed in him. He was practically begging me to agree with him, just so he would have someone to spill his guts to.
Instead, I said, “I assume you don’t mean he needs glasses.”
Cassander’s lips went flat, and he pulled his lips back. “No. Of all of his faults, my brother has perfect eyesight. He is shortsighted in other matters, severely lacking in imagination, but he is the prince everyone expects.”
When he gestured to himself, I struggled to see what he meant. Cassander was slender but not overly thin; the lean muscle on his body spoke to functional strength. His brown eyes were easy to get lost in, and his hair was cut beautifully, a few strands falling across his forehead.
He lifted his chin and raised long pianist fingers to brush his hair out of his eyes. When he saw me examining him, he tilted his head. “You’re staring. Do you perhaps need glasses as well?”
“Just wondering where you’re from.” I said it to say something, but the question was also real. What small European nation still had a functioning monarchy, much less one with this level of backstabbing?
“You haven’t heard of it,” he said confidently.
“I haven’t heard of it,” I said. “Try me.”
He said a series of sounds that, when strung together, sounded like a place. Maybe one of those Welsh cities with more syllables than vowels. I blinked.
The easy joke was to say bless you . Instead, I said, “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
Cassander’s entire face shut down, the flirty glint in his eyes disappearing entirely. His lips went flat, and he said, “Either way, my brother didn’t do this. And I have no idea how we got here. Again, my goal is in Paris. That’s where I want to return.”
“And I want to know how you took us here. I want to know why an entire government strike team was killed.” My stomach rumbled. “And since someone knocked over my falafel, I want dinner.”
“Well, at least you have your priorities straight. I assume you gave me your list in reverse order?” Cassander raised his hand again, dragging it through his hair, and I could not get enough of a man in a button-up shirt flirting with me.
Everything in me told me that was another route to follow, another way to get him to open his mouth and spill his secrets like he was some fairy-tale princess, cursed to only speak gold.
“Next time, I can alphabetize it for you.” I let my lip twist up. “Or use the Dewey decimal system.”
“I’ll wait with bated breath.” Cassander stood, pulling back his shoulders and tucking both hands into his pockets. He looked me over. “Although, I bet I could tell you exactly what you want.”
My entire body jerked, and I had a strong desire to know exactly what he observed when he looked at me. The last people who had been able to read me at all had been my family, and ever since then, no one had ever gotten me.
The thing about being able to give everybody what they wanted, about being able to tell at a glance what someone wanted to hear, what they needed to hear to keep talking, was that at a certain point, you forgot what you wanted. I forgot what I wanted.
And what I wanted was Cassander.
Cassander walked over to the room phone, picking up the receiver and dialing three digits. After a moment, he spoke rapidly in French, consulting a menu next to the phone.
As he listened to the person on the other end, his mouth dropped open again, tongue sweeping out over his plush lower lip. He tilted his head, considering me.
I took a few steps forward, ready to see exactly how far he was going to push this farce, when bullets exploded through the hotel door, shattering the glass windows I had been standing in front of. Cassander’s mouth went open, eyes wide, and he froze, skin pale.
For all of our flirtation, for all of the fact that he seemed in this with me, this was the second time he had frozen under fire. I grabbed him around the waist and spun, throwing both of us to the floor.
I expected to land on soft carpet, get us both safe behind the couch, and figure out how to defend against a fire team after that.
Instead, my hands and knees hit solid concrete, hot from the bright sun.