CHAPTER 22 #2
Finn had emerged from the panic room. He was sitting across from Leo, his notebook open, his shrewd eyes fixed on the arsonist with the intensity of someone witnessing history.
"The busboy," Leo said. His voice was steadier now, but still hoarse.
"His name was Carlos. Carlos Mendes. Twenty-two years old.
He'd been working at Santoro's restaurant for six months.
He was the one who tipped off the FBI. He was the one who recorded the conversations in the walk-in freezer.
He was the one who got Santoro arrested. "
"And Santoro found out," Cole said.
"Not Santoro. Santoro's been paranoid for years. He never trusted anyone. But his lawyer—Covington—he's the one who figured it out. He traced the leak. He found Carlos. And then he hired someone to make Carlos disappear."
"The same someone who hired you."
Leo's jaw tightened. "No. The person who hired me is someone else. Someone who's been watching the Velvet Rose for a lot longer than Santoro. Someone who doesn't care about the RICO case or the money laundering or the drugs. Someone who wants the flame."
"The flame," Mara said. "Not the bar. Not the network. The flame."
"The flame." Leo took a sip of his coffee. His hands were still trembling. "The person who hired me—they know about the origin chamber. They know about the first wand. They know about Mira Bennett and the three sacraments and the hundred-year lineage. They know everything."
"How?"
"I don't know. That's the truth. I don't know how they know.
I was hired to burn your apartment. I was hired to scare you.
I was hired to make you think Santoro was behind it, so you'd go after him and leave the Velvet Rose vulnerable.
But I wasn't told why. I wasn't told who.
I was given instructions through a burner phone and a dead drop and a P.O.
box in South Philly. I never met them. I never saw their face.
I only know that they're patient. They've been patient for decades. And they're not going to stop."
The pendant was cold again. Colder than it had been since the night of the fire.
"Decades," Mara said. "How many decades?"
"I don't know exactly. But the instructions I got—they included details about the bar that aren't public knowledge.
The location of the panic room. The number of steps in the spiral staircase.
The existence of the final cache. Things that only someone who'd been inside the Velvet Rose would know.
Things that only someone who'd been trained as a priestess or a keeper would know. "
Cole leaned forward. His gray eyes were hard—the eyes of a man who'd spent twenty years walking into burning buildings, the eyes of a man who'd seen the worst of what people could do to each other.
"You're saying there's another priestess. Another keeper. Someone inside the network who's been feeding information to whoever hired you."
"I'm saying I don't know. But the information came from somewhere.
The information was accurate. And the person who gave it to me—the middleman, the one who passed along the instructions—he's dead.
He was found in the Schuylkill River three days ago.
Two bullets to the back of the head. The same way Carlos was found. "
"Who was the middleman?"
"A guy named Tommy Chen. He worked in Santoro's restaurant.
He was the one who connected me to Santoro in the first place.
He was the one who gave me the burner phone and the dead drop instructions.
He was the one who told me to beat Marcus and burn your apartment and make it look like an accident. "
Marcus set his coffee cup down. The sound was too loud in the quiet bar. "You beat me because someone told you to."
"Yes."
"You broke my ribs because someone told you to."
"Yes."
"You left me in an alley because someone told you to."
"Yes." Leo's voice was barely a whisper now. "I know it doesn't matter why. I know the why doesn't change what I did. But yes. Someone told me to. Someone paid me to. Someone who knew exactly how to find you, exactly when you'd be alone, exactly how hard to hit you without killing you."
Marcus was silent for a long moment. His bruise was nearly gone, but the memory of it was still there—in the way he held his shoulders, in the way he favored his left side, in the way his hands trembled when he was tired.
"Why didn't you kill me?" Marcus asked. "The instructions said to beat me. They said to break my ribs. They said to leave me in the alley. But they didn't say to kill me. Why?"
"Because the person who hired me doesn't want anyone dead. Not yet. They want you scared. They want you vulnerable. They want you so afraid that you'll make mistakes. But they don't want you dead. Not until they've gotten what they want."
"And what do they want?"
"The flame. The origin chamber. The first wand. Everything the original Mara built. Everything your great-great-grandmother passed down through the generations. They want the network. They want the power. They want the secrets. And they're willing to wait for it. They've been waiting for decades."
Finn flipped through his notebook. His handwriting was cramped and eager, filling page after page.
"If they've been waiting for decades, then they're part of the original network.
They're a descendant. Someone who inherited the knowledge but not the flame.
Someone who feels like they were cheated out of their birthright. "
"Or someone who was cast out," Mara said.
"The original Mara had four priestesses.
Ruth, Catherine, Margaret, and my grandmother Mira.
She trained all of them. She trusted all of them.
But what if one of them was corrupted? What if one of them wanted the flame for themselves?
What if one of them passed that resentment down through the generations? "
"The testament," Finn said. "The 1998 entry.
The one that was unsigned. The one that said the fourth priestess would know the author's name and speak it.
What if the author wasn't a priestess? What if the author was the person who's been watching?
The person who's been waiting? The person who hired Leo? "
Mara touched the pendant. It was pulsing again—that strange, in-between rhythm. Not cold enough to be a warning. Not warm enough to be reassurance. Something in the middle. Something uncertain.
"The 1998 entry was written by someone who knew the original Mara's name.
Someone who knew the fourth priestess's obligation.
Someone who knew the three sacraments and the spiral staircase and the origin chamber.
But it wasn't signed. It was written in a hand that wasn't my mother's or my grandmother's or Catherine's or Ruth's or Margaret's.
It was written by someone else. Someone the original Mara didn't name. "
"A ghost," Cole said. "Another ghost."
"Not a ghost." Mara looked at Leo. "A living person. A descendant. Someone who's been waiting for the fourth priestess to rebuild the network so they could take it from her."
Leo nodded slowly. "The instructions I got—they were specific about the timing.
Burn the apartment after the fourth priestess finds the spiral key.
Beat Marcus after the fourth priestess calls the Hartleys.
Make it look like Santoro is behind everything.
Make her scared. Make her desperate. Make her rebuild the network as fast as she can.
And then—when the network is rebuilt, when the descendants are called, when the origin chamber is opened—take it from her. "
Mara's blood went cold. Colder than the pendant. Colder than the February dawn.
"The fire," she said. "The beating. The threats.
They weren't trying to destroy the network.
They were trying to speed it up. They were trying to make me rebuild it faster.
They were trying to get me to call the descendants and train the keepers and open the origin chamber.
And I did all of it. I did everything they wanted me to do. "
"You didn't know," Cole said.
"I should have known. I should have realized.
The fire happened the night after I found the spiral key.
The beating happened the night after I started training Marcus.
The threats escalated every time I got closer to the truth.
I thought Santoro was trying to stop me.
But he wasn't. He was a distraction. A patsy.
A convenient enemy to keep me from seeing the real one. "
"Who?" Cole asked. "Who's the real enemy?"
Leo took a deep breath. His hands had finally stopped trembling. His coffee was cold, forgotten in his grip.
"I don't know their name. But I know how to find them. The dead drop—the place where Tommy Chen left the instructions—it's still active. Whoever hired me is still using it. If we stake it out, we can catch them. We can find out who they are. We can stop them before they make their next move."
"And where is the dead drop?"
Leo's eyes met Mara's. "Under the old Walnut Street Theater.
The abandoned one. The one they've been trying to tear down for twenty years.
There's a maintenance door in the alley behind it.
12th and Walnut. The dead drop is in a loose brick in the wall.
Second brick from the bottom. Third from the left. "
Finn was already writing. His pen moved across the page with frantic eagerness.
"The Walnut Street Theater was built in 1809.
It's one of the oldest theaters in the country.
During Prohibition, it was rumored to have underground tunnels connecting it to half the speakeasies in Center City. Including—"
"Including the Velvet Rose," Mara finished. "The original Mara used the tunnels. She mentioned them in her diary. She said they connected the Velvet Rose to the Walnut, the Forrest, and the Locust Street Theater. A network beneath the network. A hidden city beneath the city."