Page 75 of Caelum

SIXTEEN

EVE

As I knocked on a plain brown door with a frosted glass window labeled with Ibramovicz’s surname, I sucked in a sharp breath to calm myself down. To ready myself for the door opening and coming face to face with a man who, according to some of Sam’s contacts on the Silk Road website—a site that was believed by law enforcement agencies the world over to be shut down—was the best fence in this part of the world.

After news of the break-in at Silbermann & Hertz’s bank last night, he’d been most interested to see us, and the loot my Chosen had claimed for us rested heavily in the purse I had slung over my shoulder.

It was the first time I was in proper clothes, and to be honest, I was surprised at how good I looked.

Well accustomed to tight yoga pants but overly baggy men’s shirts, this neat skirt suit with low-heeled shoes, which I kept wobbling on when Frazer or Stefan would let go of their hold on my elbow or hand, made me look pretty feminine. It was a sight I wasn’t accustomed to, and it was something I quite appreciated.

The skirt curved about my hips and thighs which, because of all the exercise, had grown tighter, and its high waistline showcased my rounded hips and slim stomach. I wore a ruffled shirt that did devious things to my breasts and had me fearing they’d pop out of the bra one of the guys had picked for me—which meant it was seriously impractical—and that was topped with a slimline jacket that tucked into my waist. The red heels were a blast of color amid the black suit and creamy gold shirt .

With my men at my side, dressed in suits that had my eyes flaring wide every time I cast a look their way, I realized that someone was getting lucky tonight.

Me.

Them too, but it was me who counted the most , I thought with an inward smirk. This tag teaming thing really saved on time and doubled up on the pleasure. Why most women didn’t do it, I wasn’t sure, but though I was late to the party, there was no way I was leaving for home first.

As the door creaked open, a Hasidic Jew was revealed to me. He had graying ringlets tousled on either side of his cheeks, and he wore a plain black suit. I only knew what a Hasidic Jew was because Samuel had warned me not to be surprised by his appearance.

My current trouble was coming across people and scenarios I’d never seen before. A little like a newborn staring out at the world in wonder, but people mistook my wonder for scorn, and that simply wasn’t the case.

I was walking the world, free to roam—well, to a point—and there was no way I wasn’t going to see everything there was to see. But, sometimes, things just surprised me. Like the croissant. Only they didn’t get offended if I gaped at them in delighted wonder.

Small surprise that everyone at the New Order cult was miserable as sin. They were missing out on so much! Automated washing machines, croissants, and yoga pants were just three things I’d come to love.

The ringlets held my attention for a second before I managed to turn my attention away from them and to the man himself. Ibramovicz was a dealer. A middleman. He would put us in touch with people who were interested in what we were selling—be it illegal or otherwise—for a cut.

Considering the deal we had on the table was very illegal, it surprised me to realize that the man was very religious. How did that even work? Didn’t his job go against his religion?

Humans were, I was coming to see, hypocrites. It wasn’t news to me. Not after the New Order. But still, the belief was being rammed home now.

“Ms. David?” the fence asked, his head tilted to the side as he cast a weather eye over my appearance.

I didn’t actually have a surname, but Samuel had found it amusing to give me the name of Solomon’s father.

“Yes.” I smiled.

He swept out a hand and stepped to the side to let me in. When Frazer and Stefan moved with me, he tensed, and I raised a brow.

“They can wait outside if you wish it, but you can understand my hesitance in traveling without security with the items I’m carrying. ”

Ibramovicz, apparently seeing the sense in that, nodded to a desk where there were two spindly guest chairs waiting for me to take a seat.

The office was innocuous enough, containing a wooden desk that was peeling at the corners and a desk chair that appeared to be covered in some kind of rose felt. The walls held a few bland pictures I thought could have been purchased in any home store a few decades ago, and the floor was covered in a worn, brown carpet that hid way too many stains from unsuspecting eyes.

All in all, it looked recyclable.

Like it was pushed together and pulled apart at a moment’s notice to give Ibramovicz somewhere to discuss business.

When I took a seat, Frazer stepped behind me while Stefan sat beside me. Ibramovicz’s own chair squeaked as he rocked back and, steepling his fingers, he asked, “You wished to see me?”

“Yes, and you know why.”

He tilted his head to the side. “It is to my understanding that you have items that might be of interest to certain people in my ken.”

“Is this room wired?” I asked, posing the question Samuel had insisted I utter.

Ibramovicz snorted. “I’d be a fool to wire the room.” My question seemed to ease him somehow, and he rocked forward. “Where did you get these items?”

“From someone who shouldn’t own them. Someone whose father used to run the Dachau prison camp.”

Ibramovicz’s mouth tightened. “Nazi scum.” When he spat, twisting his head to the left, I jerked in surprise. “Wassermann always liked to say that his father’s arm was twisted into joining the Nazi party, but there have always been whispers about his illicit gains.” He beckoned with his fingers. “Show me.”

I reached for my purse and unbuttoned it, then unfastened the chunky bronze zipper on the leather satchel. As I reached in for the velvet pouches we’d used to contain the jewels, I bit the inside of my lip. I knew he wouldn’t see the move, but the slight pain helped ease my nerves.

I felt jittery inside, and that was the last thing Ibramovicz needed to sense. A man of his years, in this profession, would be good at reading people. Another fact Samuel and Eren had warned me about.

When I placed the pouch on the desk, the scored and scratched wooden surface looked even cheaper against the rich velvet. When I tipped open the flap, Ibramovicz inquired, “How did you even get into the vault?”

My lips curved. “It’s about who you know in this world, and what they know.”

The old man’s eyes flared with amusement, and he grinned at me. “This is very true and very wise for one so young.” He cast a glance at my men. “You’re all very young for a life of crime.”

“Hard choices can force your hand,” I stated, my tone sage. I carefully began pulling out the pieces we knew would be of most interest to him. The others were back at home and Samuel, as we agreed, was trying to see if he could figure out the original owners.

Sadly, it wasn’t looking too hopeful. Some bore jeweler’s marks, but most didn’t. They were just exquisite pieces that were worth a small fortune.

Ibramovicz hummed as I revealed the large sapphire cabochon and an emerald choker that glinted like green fire in the harsh overhead lighting. I’d not tried on any of the pieces, even though the little girl in me would have liked to dress up. Would have appreciated such sparkle against my skin, but these jewels were forged in blood, and that would never interest me.

When I pulled out a necklace that Samuel told us could also act as a tiara, which was basically a chain of diamonds with long fronds that, when pinned to a lady’s hair, could stand upright, Ibramovicz hummed again. “ Sehr schon ,” he whispered, and I marveled yet again at how the words, no matter the language, were ones I easily understood.

His fingers traced over the pieces, and I could see the Euro signs in his eyes as he calculated their worth and tried to ascertain exactly who he might sell these pieces to. His interest was so focused on those items, as we’d intended, that he didn’t even notice the bland signet ring. It was worn at the edges, the symbols faint, smoothed over by time itself. Of course, it was man-made, but we’d spent a fortune on getting this produced and within an eight-day period of time.

Sam’s connections had done us proud. Beneath the worn markings, there were symbols that, according to Bartlett and Avalina, a man like Drekavac would recognize and understand.

As I tapped the ring against the wooden desk, the sound caught the fence’s attention. He stared at it then frowned at me. “What’s that?”

My lips curved. “Hopefully enough to set me up for life.”

That had his frown deepening. “What is it?” The man didn’t like being toyed with.

“From the etchings? I’d say a very important signet ring.”

“How would you know what these etchings mean?” he scoffed.

“A man on my team recognized them. He is Jewish. Devout.”

“Devout and a thief? I think not,” he sneered with a snort.

“Aren’t you a thief, Herr Ibramovicz?” I countered sweetly, not appreciating his remark when he was a pious scumbag. “Selling stolen goods to other thieves?” My smile appeared. “We are what we are, and we do what we do. Among our own kind, we shouldn’t judge, should we?”

Though he didn’t reply, I could tell I’d hit a nerve because a muscle pulsed in his smoothly shaven jaw.

“What are these symbols then?” the man eventually asked as he took the ring from my fingers and peered at it through a loupe.

When Samuel had set up this meeting, he’d only mentioned the jewels. Not the signet ring, so I knew the fence’s surprise wasn’t feigned. “My friend is a very intelligent man. He read Theology at Oxford,” I lied. “It is, he says, the Seal of Solomon.”

Ibramovicz frowned at me once more, then he began to laugh. “That thing does not exist.”

I didn’t lose my cool because I wasn’t tense for once, and I’d seen the sparkle of interest, of covetousness, in his eyes. “You’re holding it,” I reassured him. “Why do you think we targeted Wassermann’s bank vault in the first place. Little whispers, Herr Ibramovicz, that we listened to.”

“You mean you heard gossip of this? In all my years, I never heard a whisper,” he retorted scornfully.

Liar, I thought.

Ibramovicz worked for Drekavac and had done since he was a young man. The Original Ghoul had been on the hunt for this for only God knew how long.

“Perhaps you don’t know the people you should. My grandfather was an important man in MI5. He was the one who told me about Wassermann in the first place. Told me that not all Nazi war criminals were punished as they truly deserved.” Ibramovicz squinted at me, his rage evident even as he agreed with my words wholeheartedly. “I began to grow curious about such a man, and when my partner,” I reached up and grabbed the hand Frazer had placed on my shoulder, “indulged me, we discovered the truth. Believe me or not, but that is the Seal of Solomon, and I’m looking for a buyer.”

For a few seconds, he looked at me. The passage of time made me feel like it was endless, though. As though he were reading into me, and at that moment, I just felt so young, like a baby in comparison to this man who had seen, done, and dealt with so much. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the people he met with in his line of work, and how much experience that gave him over us .

The sheer fact he regularly handled Drekavac, an Ancient, was enough to petrify me.

I didn’t care if Frazer and Stefan were Ghoul slayers extraordinaire, that wasn’t much hope against a gun the fence potentially had in one of the drawers in his trashy desk.

“If it’s authenticated,” Ibramovicz began slowly, “then I may have someone interested in buying that particular piece.”

The second those words fell, my heartbeat increased and steadied instantly. I knew that if, by a flash of my expression, I portrayed any relief I felt, he’d smell a rat and all the work we’d gone through would be for naught.

He seemed to stare at me for an age as though testing my resolve, but I tried to remain passive, tried not to look as strung out as I felt.

“We have a meeting with Wilmut Schneefarbe later on,” Frazer stated, his tone cool and calm. “If you can arrange a meet with the buyer beforehand, then you’ll get our business.”

Fury flashed in the other man’s eyes. “Schneefarbe is a money-grabbing?—”

“A lady is present,” Stefan bit off, the words as angry as Ibramovicz’s who instantly flushed.

The fence cleared his throat. “Apologies. But I’ll be in touch. Same number, correct?”

“Yes.” I tipped my head to the side and passed him a card. “We’ll be taking the goods with us.”

“But—”

“No buts,” I told him with a smirk. “You and I both know what we’ve got here. We’d be fools to leave it behind. The buyer can view it for himself and bring any technicians he’d like to authenticate the piece. As it stands, it has to happen in front of us or not at all.

“This ring is going to pay for my grandchildren’s university education,” I assured him with a smirk. “I don’t intend on just giving it away for free because some shady businessmen think I’m a moron because I’m young.”

Nostrils flaring, the older man dipped his head. “I understand and I’ll be in touch.”

I got to my feet and held out my hand. Begrudgingly, he stood and clasped my fingers in his. I was impressed that he didn’t try to squeeze the heck out of my hand, considering he was angry with me.

“It will be a pleasure doing business with you, Herr Ibramovicz.”

The man’s tight smile told me he wasn’t sure if that was likely, but he was more irritated than suspicious, and in my eyes, that was a definite win.