Chapter 29 #2
“Why did we not think of the Gala?” Emerie was the first to speak as we pulled on our gloves, wearily eyeing the boxes. “It was perfect. No one batted an eye at all the private jets landing in one airport. Or all the Rolex-wearing assholes gathering in one city.”
Someone had turned off the vinyl player, making the room eerily quiet. Somewhere, water was dripping.
“No one thought they had the balls to hold the auction right down the street from us.” Syntax pressed her lips into fine lines, carefully lifting the lid off her present.
She froze, staring at it.
“What is it?” I asked, feeling the anxiety rolling off her in palpable waves. I peered into the box. It was a doll with a golden dress and only one glass slipper. The doll was old and worn, the hair tangled and the dress frayed at the seam.
“It’s my favourite doll. The one I lost. I… how…” She looked up at me, utter shock trapped in her wide eyes. “I lost it when I was ten. I don’t understand. How did…” She swallowed hard and took a step back, shaking her head wildly.
I clasped my hand around hers. “Don’t let them do that, Syntax. Don’t let them get in your head. They want you scared. Don’t give them the satisfaction.”
“Maybe it’s not even the same doll,” Marshall offered.
“I wrote my name on her back,” Syntax murmured, but not daring to look herself.
I lifted the doll and pulled the dress up. “Cynthia,” I read aloud.
Syntax shuddered and clamped her eyes shut.
Fuck.
“Jesus!” Emerie threw her present back into the box and turned to Marshall, pressing her wrist against her forehead. “You too?” she asked him.
He nodded, frowning down at the piece of paper in his hand.
Owen stepped closer to look. “A plane ticket to the Bahamas?” he frowned. “Why do the two of you have tickets to the Bahamas?
“I said I’d take her,” Marshall answered, looking worriedly at Emerie.
Owen gave a confused chuckle. “You? I don’t understand. Why would you—”
“He was saying it while we were alone in my room, Becket. While he was fucking me. Discussing honeymoon destinations. Do you understand now?” Emerie lashed out, anger starting to replace the fear in her eyes.
“Oh my God,” Syntax breathed, shaking her head in shock.
“Owen,” I whispered nervously.
“Yeah,” he sighed heavily before taking a steadying breath. He pulled the lid off his box and quickly reached into his pocket, ripping out his cell phone.
“What’s wrong, O?” I was almost too scared to ask. His face was contorted in panic.
He dialled a number, breathing heavily as he waited for whoever to pick up.
I couldn’t see what inside his box had him so panicked. It was a dusty old dog collar and a bottle of flea powder. Which made sense. Grayson had called Owen a dog before.
“Owen, dear! What a nice surprise!” came a voice on the other line.
“Mom? Oh, thank God! Are you okay? Where’s Dad?”
I clasped a hand over my mouth. Would he do that? Would Grayson hurt innocent people?
I already knew the answer to that. He would do anything to protect his own.
“Slow down, boy. We’re fine. What is going on?”
Owen was panting, relief washing through him. “Nothing. Just stay inside and lock the doors. I’ll have agents over there to come watch you. They’ll explain everything. I have to go. I’ll talk to you soon, okay? Just stay inside.” He quickly ended the call before his mother could protest.
He dialled Director Devereux and asked for a protection detail for his parents. The director didn’t ask any questions and while on the phone with Owen, ordered four agents to his parents’ house.
When he finally dropped the phone, he was pale. I took his hand and squeezed it hard. “They’re threatening your parents?”
He nodded.
“To me this looks like Varon is calling you a dog, nothing more. So please enlighten us, Becket,” Emerie demanded, clearly rattled.
“This was my childhood dog’s collar. I buried him in it when I was seventeen. In my parents’ back yard.”
Ice prickled my fingers. “Bastard,” I muttered, wanting to rip Grayson to shreds. Nothing was too low for him, it seemed.
“Your turn, Ava,” Syntax coaxed quietly.
I stared at the box, my hands trembling. Gods, I was fucking scared. My box was the biggest. Did I really want to find out what was in it?
I grinded my teeth together. Fuck you, Grayson. I’m not letting you win. I will not fear you.
My name wasn’t on the box like the others. Instead, it read to my Ved’ma.
I swiped the lid from the box, letting it slide across the floor.
I gagged, quickly looking away.
No one said anything. Just stared at it.
“You know what it means,” Owen stated.
I nodded.
“Tell us.”
I looked back at the box. On a bed of Vervain flowers was a black velvet cushion, holding a beautiful gold necklace, with three moons. Intricately carved into the moons were vines covered in thorns.
On each side of the velvet cushion, laid two human hearts.
My mind dragged me back to Rainbow Falls. To the feel of Grayson’s fingers gently tracing the tattoo behind my ear, his breath tickling the hairs on my neck.
“I have a necklace of the triple moons, that once belonged to a High Priestess, if you’d like it. This particular Priestess enjoyed luring bad men into the forest, making them believe they were the predator, before cutting their hearts out.”
I swallowed down the memory, refusing to remember any more. Instead, I read the little notecard above the cushion, written in Grayson’s elegant handwriting.
Oh, serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!
“What does it mean, Ava?” Emerie pressed impatiently.
“Oh, I can go on for hours about every little message each of these items hold.” I laughed bitterly. Apart they had their own meanings, combining any element in the box created different meanings, and as a whole?
I snorted, shaking my head.
“Who do the hearts belong to?” Marshall asked.
“One is Anderson’s. The other belongs to the Russian man who died in the park. The men I had helped kill. If you count the vervain flowers, there will be one for each of Anderson’s men that I helped kill with my tranquiliser.”
I shuddered, the flash of red, sticky floors, body bags everywhere, making me want to double over and puke my guts out.
Syntax scrunched her nose in disgust as she came closer, reading the card. “So Varon is saying that you have a beautiful face but inside you are a snake?”
“Pretty much. But don’t get it twisted. This is very much a compliment. His highest fucking praises. He’s saying I’m just. Like. Him.”
Syntax lowered to her haunches, angling her head to the side. “There’s something underneath the card.” She lifted it, revealing a small black remote with only one button. She looked up at me. “And what do you suppose this is?”
I chewed on my cheek. I had no idea.
“Fuck it.” I quickly pressed the button.
There was another loud clicking sound and the lights went off. Slowly, a square of light became brighter on the wall that the rows of chairs were facing.
A projection.
“Why the hell not?” Owen clapped sarcastically. “Let’s all watch a fucking movie!” He roughly swiped the box from his chair and plopped down onto it.
He was losing it. We were all close to snapping.
An image popped onto the wall. A video. The camera was shaking, pointing at someone’s shoes.
“Damn this tiny thing! I can’t… There,” Liam’s voice echoed off the cold stone walls as the camera righted.
My heart panged, seeing his grinning face. He was looking at us from a bathroom mirror, wearing a tux. He finished pinning the camera to his lapel that looked like a cancer awareness pin.
“Look, I know you guys are totally flipping out about missing the auction, and I’m sorry, okay? But trust me. It had to be done this way.” His grin turned mischievous. “To make it up to you, I’ll take you along with me. Show you what you’ve missed.” He straightened his tie. “Let’s go,” he sang.
He walked out of the bathroom, into the museum, people in tuxedoes and fancy gowns milling about.
He turned into a corridor, then stopped at the elevator.
He made sure no one was watching then got on and pressed the basement floor button.
When the elevator doors opened, it was pitch black, except for a glowing yellow path.
“Let’s follow the yellow brick road,” Liam chuckled.
“Right arm.” The sudden deep, unfamiliar voice made me jump. We couldn’t see who it was. It was too dark.
A purple light switched on, and Liam’s arm appeared in the frame. The image of a devil glowed on his wrist that wasn’t visible before.
The man patted Liam down, taking his phone and gun, then handed him a flashlight. “You may go through. Watch your step.”
Liam turned the flashlight on, revealing a hole blasted through the basement wall. He laughed excitedly as he stepped into the tunnel. “They made a walkway between the museum and the building next door where the auction is. You know, for privacy.”
Emerie snorted.
Liam switched off his light as he neared the end of the tunnel.
He stepped into another basement room, extravagantly decorated in golds and deep royal reds.
Priceless art adorned the space—on the walls, on pedestals, in glass boxes.
People were roaming around, admiring the art and artifacts, but they were all blurred, completely unidentifiable.
A larger group stood off to the side, crowded around a painting, lifting their hands as the auctioneer rattled off the price.
“Fucking hell,” Owen breathed as he slowly lifted out of his seat, his eyes glued to the video.
“That’s billions… billions of dollars in stolen items, right there,” Emerie whispered in shock as she took in the room on the projection.
“Welcome to the last Collector’s Auction.” Liam held his arms wide, then laughed. “Oh, I can imagine your faces right now! Well, take a good look. You’ll never see anything like it again. Grayson is bored with it.”
He walked deeper into the room, passing two men who were discussing the auction.
“Why do you think they’re stopping the auctions?” one asked.