Chapter Seventeen
ROUX
“I fear Celeste is baiting you,” I warned the sisters the next evening, shortly before the auction in Belleville.
“Well, she’s baiting the wrong dragon,” Mina declared. Little puffs of smoke escaped her nostrils.
Gen leaned back, wide-eyed. “Whoa. I keep forgetting you can do that.”
Marius expelled an angry puff of his own, and Mina shot him a lovey-dovey look. I used to roll my eyes at that, sure Marius was going soft. Now, well…
My eyes drifted to Gen.
Focus, I ordered myself.
We had to track down the painting and expose Celeste for who she was — murderer, thief, and swindler.
But the succubus wasn’t making that easy. Sid had made inquiries with the antique shop, which had documents to “prove” the painting was part of a legitimate sale between Celeste and the heirs of a woman named Geraldine Dantou-Beaudetier.
In other words, Mina and Gen. Geraldine was their grandmother.
They’d seethed upon hearing that.
“Now Celeste is forging documents?” Gen had screeched.
“I wouldn’t sell that bitch the shit pile around the back of the stables if she begged for it,” Mina growled.
“It gets worse,” Sid had reported. “The forged documents claim the painting was part of your grandmother’s collection, which included other artworks hidden at Chateau Nocturne since the Second World War, when your grandmother collaborated with the occupying Nazis.”
“When she what?” Gen had shrieked.
Further evidence that Celeste was baiting them — and possibly setting them up for investigation.
I stroked my chin, trying to figure out what Celeste was up to.
Marius put it best. “Working out the logic of a mind as twisted as Celeste’s is beyond me.”
“None of this makes sense,” Bene agreed. “Why steal a painting, only to sell it? And who’s likely to buy a painting by an unknown artist?” He held up his palms in an apologetic gesture. “No offense meant to your father.”
Gen sighed. “None taken.”
I called to notify Gordon of the new development.
“How would you like us to proceed, sir?”
Gen was beside me, and she leaned in to suggest, “We can attend the auction and buy it back.”
My eyes slid shut, and I inhaled her flowery scent. As crazy as the situation was, her presence calmed my soul, pushing away the tense anticipation of the shit about to hit the fan.
“Absolutely not,” Gordon barked. “For one thing, I refuse to bid on something stolen from me. Secondly, I don’t want Celeste to know we’re onto her. That means observing the auction inconspicuously — something you should leave to Monsieur Anand and the other members of my team.”
“What if someone buys it?” Gen protested.
“Leave it to Monsieur Anand and his team to follow them. We need to piece together what kind of game Celeste is playing, and with whom,” Gordon ordered.
Which was how we found ourselves huddled around a laptop in a café across the street from a modest little antique shop called Chez Robert — Cabinet des Arts et Objets d’époque on the evening of the auction.
Chez Robert might be small, but it was firmly in the twenty-first century, with the auction live streamed to potential bidders who had registered in advance. I’d created an account under an alias, so we were in.
The split screen showed the interior of Chez Robert, with about a dozen people milling around before the auction began. One camera pointed at the crowd from over the auctioneer’s shoulder, while another took in the room from the side.
“Recognize anyone?” Marius asked.
We all shook our heads, keeping our eyes on the screen.
My idea of an art auction came from the movies, with a classy venue, neat rows of chairs, and patrons dressed to the nines. This was a more modest affair, both in size and grandeur. The clients, however, fit my stereotype. All looked to be over fifty, artsy, and rich.
“There’s Dad’s painting,” Gen pointed to the screen.
It was propped up on an easel near the front of the room, but no one approached for a closer look.
“And you’re sure that’s it?” Bene asked.
Gen nodded. “I’m sure.”
She and I had visited earlier that day to confirm exactly that. I worried she might snatch it off the easel and run, but she’d kept her cool and pretended to inspect a vase instead.
At one point, I’d noticed her cocking her head with her eyes closed.
What are you doing? I’d whispered.
Shh. I need to listen, was all she’d said.
Listen — to a painting? It made no sense, but Gen moved to the beat of her own drum, and I hadn’t asked.
On the live feed, a newcomer entered the room and took a seat near the back.
Henrik perked up, muttering, “Anatole.”
“You know him?” I asked. When he nodded, I ventured a guess. “Vampire?”
Forget long fangs. The best way to spot a vampire was to look for a tall, pale, haughty guy with a bored, Remind me what century we’re in expression.
Henrik nodded, looking concerned. Not a good sign.
“Who’s Anatole?” Marius asked.
“A vampire who works for Alexandre Ernaux, the head of the Saint-Germain coven. Even Gordon might choose to back away from him.”
Marius and I exchanged wary looks. We were already dealing with an angry warlock and a scheming succubus. Now, fate was throwing a vampire into the mix?
Not fate, Marius grunted. Celeste.
An older couple took their places at the auctioneer’s table and introduced themselves as Monsieur and Madame Robert.
“Mesdames et Messieurs, please take your seats,” Monsieur Robert announced. “We’ll begin with lot 471.”
Lot 471 was an antique rocking chair set up near the front of the room. The starting price was €750, and it sold for €905.
An assistant moved it aside, opening the view to a bulky dresser that probably weighed more than a minivan.
“Lot 472,” Monsieur Robert announced. “Late eighteenth-century oak dresser in the style of Louis the Sixteenth.”
A series of feverish bids between two older ladies took it from €2000 to over €3000.
“Sold for €3025,” Monsieur Robert said. His wife made a note in her ledger.
It was such a low-key event, he didn’t even have a gavel.
The third item was a pair of mirrors set in ugly gilt frames that screamed Rococo on steroids. Bids came from two people in the crowd, plus a third bidding remotely, as indicated by a light over a device in front of Madame Robert.
The mirrors went for €1340 — nearly double the list price.
Then came the painting by Gen’s father. She leaned forward in anticipation.
“Ladies and gentlemen, lot 474, a charming scene of a countryside chateau in oil by Thomas Durand.”
Gen gripped Mina’s hand.
“Bids open at—” The auctioneer looked up, annoyed, at a late arrival.
“Celeste,” Mina practically spat.
She was dressed in a shimmery silver gown, all done up like she was on her way to a prime seat at the opera. And hell, maybe she was. She stepped to the middle of the room and looked around like a queen regarding her realm.
“That’s her, huh?” Gen muttered.
I nodded with distaste, and Bene sighed. “The one and only.”
The auctioneer gestured. “Please take a seat, madame.”
Celeste made a show of looking around for a chair until a middle-aged man offered her his, leaving him no option but to stand at the back of the room.
“Typical Celeste,” Marius muttered.
She took the seat as if it had been hers all along, barely thanking the man.
“Now, then,” the auctioneer said. “Lot 474. Starting at €500. Do I have €500?”
Anatole, the vampire, raised his bid card.
“Interesting,” I murmured.
Gen frowned. “A vampire bidding on my father’s painting isn’t interesting. It’s alarming.”
“€500… €550… €600.” The auctioneer acknowledged as Anatole and an old guy in a three-piece suit traded bids.
“€1000.” The vampire jumped ahead, looking to close the deal quickly.
The other bidder shook his head and dropped out.
“I have €1000,” the auctioneer said, looking around.
Judging by the previous sales, I didn’t expect it to go much higher.
Neither did the vampire, who sat smugly.
Neither did the auctioneer, who picked up a pencil, ready to note the final price.
Then the light over the device displaying remote bids blinked, and Madame Robert read, “€2000 from online bidder 2641.”
Eyebrows rose as the bidding continued in thousand-euro increments.
“€3000… €4000… €5000…”
“Who is that?” Mina asked.
“No way of knowing without hacking into the auctioneer’s system,” I murmured as the light blinked yet again.
“Can you?” Gen asked, a little wide-eyed.
I shook my head. “Not my skill set. But Gordon probably has someone.” I pulled out my phone and dialed.
“Or Gordon is the anonymous bidder,” Marius mused.
He wasn’t, as I established in a call that took less than twenty seconds and ended with Gordon’s curt, “I’ll get my man on it right now.”
Gen stared at my phone while Mina gave her a look that said, I told you our godfather is a criminal with all kinds of nefarious contacts.
Bene patted Gen’s shoulder.
“€10,000,” the wide-eyed auctioneer announced.
“€20,000.” The vampire glowered.
A few guests gasped, while others broke out in shocked murmurs.
Celeste’s expression went from smug to concerned. Clearly, this was not what she had planned. She glanced back at Anatole, who shot her an angry look.
“Huh. I guess Celeste had some kind of arrangement with the vampire?” Gen observed.
“Then why not sell the painting — or whatever is hidden in it — directly? Why risk an auction?” Mina asked, watching the screen intently.
“Because they want an official transaction that’s on the record, but they’re doing it at this small establishment to avoid attention,” Henrik guessed.
“Think of money laundering. It’s a similar principle.
” At Mina’s astounded look, he went on. “That’s why they forged a bill of sale from you to Celeste.
They want to be able to establish the painting’s provenance. ”
“I understand having to trace the history of a Van Gogh to prove it’s not a forgery,” I said. “By why bother with an amateur painting?”
“I don’t know, but whatever’s hidden in the painting has to be worth a fortune,” Marius said.