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“We’ll see about that,” said Eph, already halfway across town. “You and I. We’ll see it together.”

Sotheby’s

SOTHEBY’S, THE AUCTION house founded in 1744, brokered art, diamond, and international realty sales in forty countries, with principal salesrooms in London, Hong Kong, Paris, Moscow, and New York. Sotheby’s New York occupied the length of York Avenue between 71st and 72nd Streets, one block in from FDR Drive and the East River. It was a glass-front, ten-story building, housing specialist departments, galleries, and auction spaces—some of which was normally open to the public.

Not this day, however. A private security detail wearing breathing masks were posted outside on the sidewalk and inside behind the revolving doors. The Upper East Side was attempting to maintain some semblance of civility, even as pockets of the city fell to chaos around them.

Setrakian expressed his desire to register as an approved bidder for the impending auction, and he and Fet were issued masks and allowed inside.

The building’s front foyer was open, rising all the way to the top, ten levels of railed balconies going up. Setrakian and Fet were assigned an escort, and taken up escalators to a representative’s office on the fifth floor.

The representative pulled on her paper mask as they entered, making no move to come out from behind her desk. Shaking hands was unsanitary. Setrakian reiterated his intention, and she nodded and produced a packet of forms.

“I need the name and number of your broker, and please list your securities accounts. Proof of intent to bid, in the form of an authorization for one million dollars, is the standard deposit for this level of auction.”

Setrakian glanced at Fet, twiddling the pen in his crooked fingers. “I am afraid I am between brokers at present. I do, however, possess some interesting antiquities myself. I would be happy to put them up as collateral.”

“I am very sorry.” She was already retrieving the forms from him, refiling them in her desk drawers.

“If I might,” said Setrakian, returning her pen, which she made no move to touch. “What I would really like to do is to view the catalog items before making a decision.”

“I am afraid that is a privilege for bidders only. Security is very, very tight, as you probably know, due to some of the items being offered—”

“The Occido Lumen.”

She swallowed. “Precisely, yes. There is much… much mystique surrounding the item, as you may be familiar with, and naturally, given the current state of affairs here in Manhattan… and the fact that no auction house has successfully offered the Lumen for sale in the past two centuries… well, one doesn’t have to be especially superstitious to link the two.”

“I am sure there is also a strong financial component. Why else go on with the auction at all? Evidently Sotheby’s believes that its sale commission outweighs the risks associated with bringing the Lumen to auction.”

“Well, I couldn’t possibly comment on business affairs.”

“Please.” Setrakian laid a hand on the top edge of her desk, gently, as though it were her arm. “Is it at all possible? For an old man just to look?”

Her eyes were unmoved over her mask. “I cannot.”

Setrakian looked to Fet. The city exterminator stood up and pulled down his mask. He produced his city badge. “Hate to do this, but—I need to see the building supervisor immediately. The person in charge of this property itself.”

The director of Sotheby’s North America rose from behind his desk when the building supervisor entered with Setrakian and Fet. “What is the meaning of this?”

The building supervisor said, his face mask puffing, “This gentleman says we have to evacuate the building.”

“Evacuate the… what?”

“He has the authority to shutter the building for seventy-two hours while the city inspects it.”

“Seventy-two… but what about the auction?”

“Canceled,” said Fet. He punctuated that with a shrug. “Unless.”

The director’s expression flattened behind his mask, as though he suddenly understood. “This city is crumbling around us, and you choose now, today, to come looking for a bribe?”

“It’s not a bribe I’m after,” said Fet. “The truth is, and you can probably tell just by looking at me, I’m something of an art fanatic.”

They were allowed restricted access to the Occido Lumen, their viewing occurring inside a private, glass-walled chamber within a larger viewing vault located behind two locked doors on the ninth floor. The bulletproof case was unlocked and removed, and Fet watched Setrakian prepare himself to inspect the long-sought tome, white cotton gloves covering his crooked hands.

The old book rested on an ornate viewing stand of white oak. It was 12 × 8 × 1.8 inches, 489 folios, handwritten in parchment, with twenty illuminated pages, bound in leather and faced with pure-silver plates on the front and rear covers and the spine. The pages themselves were also edged in silver.

Now it made sense to Fet. Why the book had never fallen into the possession of the Ancients. Why the Master didn’t just come and take it from them right here, right now.