Page 5

Chapter five

W hen Odelle picked Antony up at the park two days later, people again stared at him, albeit more surreptitiously. Drew had taken Odelle’s words to heart: Antony looked sharper than the blades he forged. His preference for the color purple persisted, reflected in the deep amethyst of the suit he wore. Odelle couldn’t have picked a better outfit herself, and that was saying something.

Odelle tapped on her steering wheel, giving a quick honk to get Antony’s attention. He jumped visibly at the sound, head whipping back and forth, and Odelle giggled. It gave him the look of a tourist from the country, overwhelmed by the traffic noises of the city. The expression was endearing on him, but she mentally waved that thought away.

Odelle gestured him over once he caught sight of her, and he slid into the passenger seat of the car. Once his seatbelt was buckled, Odelle pulled away from the curb, cutting off a cab speeding far too fast for the business of the street. The cab driver laid on his horn, and Odelle barely restrained herself from taking her hand from the accelerator lever to flip him off.

“Worse than chariot races,” Antony grumbled from the passenger seat.

Odelle chuckled. “You’re not wrong. At least horses have agendas of their own and don’t exactly want to run into each other. Cars have no judgement, so the drivers can make them do whatever they want.”

She chanced a glance at Antony out of the side of her eye. Her heart hammered for a second as she thought he was staring at her exposed thigh, sticking out above her prosthetic where her pencil skirt had ridden up. Instead, though, he stared at the gear shift on the center console, and the levers sticking out below the steering wheel. His curiosity knew no bounds.

“These make the car accelerate and stop,” Odelle said, gesturing to the levers and hoping to distract herself from her still pounding heart. “Most people use pedals with their feet, but, well—”

Odelle gestured towards her legs, and Antony frowned.

“I’d think it would be safer for everybody to just use their hands. They seem much more coordinated than feet,” he commented.

She felt inclined to agree. But considering she had strapped her feet on in the morning for as long as she could remember, she supposed she was biased.

“I made up some business cards for you. They’re in the glove compartment. Right in front of you—the lever…there you go. People always assume you know what you’re doing if you give them a business card.”

Odelle gave Antony the rundown of her plan. She realized while setting up this interview that she wasn’t going to be able to recruit a camera man to come with them without raising too many questions. So she and “Antony Athenos” were there to gather some statements from Frederick Whitehall about his private collection and select which items should be featured. As far as Mr. Whitehall would know, a camera man was going to come later to collect some footage.

As Odelle parked in front of the gray stone home in Lincoln Park, she reminded Antony, “Let me take the lead. I’ll ask most of the questions, and you just make a few comments about the collection to prove you know what you’re talking about. ”

Antony nodded silently, looking pale, freckles standing out even more than usual. Odelle wanted to take pity on him, knowing that he was out of his element here. Still, they needed to get to the bottom of this.

Frederick Whitehall answered the door and beckoned them inside with all the pomp of a king welcoming visitors to his court.

“Welcome, welcome. It’s such an honor to have you, and I’m so glad you wanted to feature our humble collection in your special piece on Classical Greek antiquities.”

He shook Antony’s hand heartily, and Odelle thought she saw Antony suppress a wince at his grip. After all, Mr. Whitehall was built like a linebacker past his prime, his arm nearly as thick as Antony’s torso.

Meanwhile, Odelle looked around, hoping to spot Mr. Whitehall’s wife and confirm that she was the woman Odelle had met at the fundraiser. As if summoned by Odelle’s thoughts, a bird-boned woman emerged around the corner. Odelle shot a pointed look at Antony, glancing at the woman and raising her eyebrows.

“Mrs. Whitehall,” the woman introduced herself, offering a hand. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, and when she shook Odelle’s hand, she only grasped her fingertips, as if she’d rather not be touching her at all.

Odelle bristled but plastered on her best reporter smile. Getting up-in-arms never helped anybody get information.

“Yes, we met at the fundraiser last weekend,” Odelle remarked. “I complimented your crown.”

“I wouldn’t remember,” Mrs. Whitehall commented as she shook Antony’s hand. “I received lots of compliments on it that night.”

Antony squinted at Mrs. Whitehall, looking her up and down. Odelle surreptitiously stepped on his foot before he could say anything. No matter how rude Mrs. Whitehall was, they couldn’t risk offending her before they were even out of the front hall .

“That’s actually exactly why I’m here,” Odelle interjected cheerily. “So many people would be interested in your collection, especially your fantastic new addition. I was actually already doing a feature on the archeology team that excavated it, and I thought it would really enrich the story to show the crown in your private collection.”

Mr. Whitehall began prattling on about his antiquities, talking about how he had first started his collection when he studied abroad in Greece in college, as he led them up the stairs. Odelle made sure to nod and oh! at the right moments, but she was conscious of Mrs. Whitehall trailing behind her and Antony. Something about her quiet presence reminded Odelle of a vulture circling, waiting for a carcass to scavenge. The sooner they could figure out if this crown was what the Shadow was after and get out of there, the better.

Up two flights of stairs, Mr. Whitehall led them into a room that had been arranged like a small museum gallery. Low glass cases lined the walls and a few plinths in the middle held black and red pottery. Odelle stopped in front of an amphora as Mr. Whitehall regaled her with tales of how he lent a piece to a museum in London. Odelle pretended to admire the geometric patterns and the image of Aphrodite riding a shell on the pottery as she listened, but instead watched Antony in her peripheral vision. He gravitated towards the glass case sparkling in the center of the room like a crown jewel. Mrs. Whitehall trailed after him, as if she too were magnetically drawn to the tiara on the stand. Odelle had hoped to give Antony a moment unobserved with the crown.

“Mrs. Whitehall,” Odelle interjected when Mr. Whitehall paused to take a breath. “Have you accompanied your husband on any of his trips to Greece?”

The woman turned her back to Antony and said something in a frosty tone that Odelle didn’t absorb. She was too busy watching Antony bend down until his nose nearly touched the glass as his eyes widened. His breath would have fogged the glass, but he didn’t appear to be breathing. Then he began reaching for the latch to the case and Odelle sprang into action.

“Antony!” she all but shouted.

The Whitehall’s spun to look at Antony where he stood by the crown. Unfortunately, instead of jumping back like Odelle had thought he would, Antony lurched forward in surprise. His forehead connected with the glass corner with a thud, and he grabbed at the plinth to avoid falling over.

Mrs. Whitehall gasped and clutched her chest in a reaction that was such a caricature of shock that Odelle would have laughed if she wasn’t so distracted. Instead, Odelle swore as Antony looked up to reveal blood dripping down his brow. She stepped around Mrs. Whitehall to reach Antony, who touched his head and then stared down at his fingers as if confused as to where the blood was coming from.

“Oh don’t get blood on my rug!” Mrs. Whitehall gasped behind her, and this time Odelle didn’t suppress her face of annoyance. Her back was turned anyway as she inspected Antony’s forehead.

“There’s a powder room across the hall,” Mr. Whitehall supplied, much more helpfully.

Odelle grabbed Antony’s elbow and dragged him out of the room before Mrs. Whitehall could have an aneurysm. She located the bathroom and pushed Antony inside, shutting the door behind them. Odelle looked around and snatched up a fluffy, white hand towel. She supposed she could have used a tissue to mop up the blood now dripping into Antony’s eye, but the Whitehall’s had enough money to replace one hand towel—and Mrs. Whitehall deserved it after caring more about her rug than a bleeding man .

Antony squeezed his eye shut as Odelle tried to dab the blood from it, squinting at her with his good eye. Trying to get a better look at the injury, Odelle pushed at his shoulder until he sat on the closed toilet seat behind him. The cut seemed to be shallow and ran up into Antony’s hairline. Odelle pushed his hair back from his face with one hand to get a better look at it, wiping some blood from his cheek with the cloth. As Antony looked up at her, the intimacy of this position struck her.

Antony’s copper curls were silky under her fingers and his knees brushed her thighs as she stood before him. His gaze was dazed—most likely from the blow to the head—as he stared up at her, eyes wide and lips slightly parted.

“That was graceful,” Odelle commented to dispel the tension in her chest. Still, the knot under her breastbone lingered as she brushed her fingers across his forehead. Now that she could see it properly, the cut seemed to be bleeding disproportionately to its size. Only a narrow graze ran across his forehead to his hairline. Odelle remembered Drew saying that head wounds tended to look more serious than they were, as scalps bled so easily.

“You surprised me,” Antony defended.

“So giving yourself a head wound wasn’t your brilliant strategy to get us out of there?”

“No, I just panicked,” Antony admitted.

Odelle snorted.

“I guess your warrior sorcerer reflexes are a little rusty after two thousand years of isolation.”

Odelle was disappointed when Antony didn’t retort, instead just dropping his gaze to the tiled floor as she pressed the towel to the wound to stop the bleeding. The resulting silence renewed Odelle’s awareness of their proximity. Unable to think properly while she stood so close, she let Antony take over applying pressure to his head. She backed up and propped herself against the counter, as if maximizing the space between them would drive away the feeling of his hair between her fingers.

“So I take it that crown is an Eteria artifact?” Odelle asked, breaking the heavy silence.

Antony nodded.

“Unmistakably—although the power of it seems different than I remember. It’s unfortunate I didn’t get it out of the case to have a better look at it before…” Antony gestured vaguely at his head with the hand that wasn’t holding the towel.

Odelle folded her arms. “Actually, I’d say we’re lucky I interrupted you. I don’t think the Whitehalls would take very kindly to you handling their priceless antiques without asking first.”“Eteria craftmanship is very durable. It would be difficult for me to damage the crown even if I wanted to.”

“Yes, but the Whitehalls don’t know that.” Odelle resisted the urge to clap a hand to her forehead in frustration.

Antony frowned. “We came here to find the crown. Now that we know that it’s Eteria made and imbued with powerful light, we can’t just leave it here. It’s a danger. I’m surprised that the Shadow hasn’t outright attacked the Whitehalls for it already,” Antony argued.

“Stealing a priceless artifact is not high on my to-do list,” Odelle countered. “We can’t just waltz out of here with it. We’d be arrested for sure, and as much as I would love to see the legal system try to figure out whose jurisdiction an immortal sorcerer who lives in a pocket dimension falls under, I really don’t want to go to jail.”

“What if we… replaced it?” Antony hedged.

“Ancient artifacts are irreplaceable, that’s kind of what makes them so valuable.”

“They’re usually irreplaceable because the means to make them are lost. That crown is Eteria made though, and I’m a Smith. I could make one that would be indistinguishable to anybody but a member of the Eteria.”

Odelle hesitated, “Didn’t you guys lose your powers after the Defeat? How will you make a replacement?”

“Our powers were only severely diminished, but I won’t need to use them nearly as much if I don’t want to make a crown with magical properties,” Antony explained.

“Well, as long as you can make sure it’s indistinguishable. I don’t want the weight to be slightly different, so when we switch it out, we set off booby traps and poison darts fly at us.”

“The Whitehalls protect their collection with poison darts?” Antony’s eyes were as round as saucers.

Odelle waved him off. “Ask Adam to show you some classic movies sometime.”

“You make a good point, though. We will need to make a plan to switch the crown with the replica without the Whitehalls realizing.”

Odelle glanced around her at the pink marble bathroom that looked like it had been taken straight out of a French chateau.

“Well, I may not be a professional thief,” Odelle admitted, “but I have watched enough heist movies to know that we shouldn’t make our plans while standing in our mark’s bathroom.”

Antony blinked and looked around him, as if he had momentarily forgotten where they were. He pulled the now thoroughly stained hand towel from his head and gingerly prodded his forehead. His fingers came away dotted with some copper flakes of dried blood .

“I don’t think I’m bleeding too much anymore,” he observed. “We can probably make our excuses to head back to the Sanctuary and make plans.”

Antony stood and looked around, holding the formerly snowy towel as if he didn’t know where to put it. Odelle plucked it from his fingers and dropped it in the sink. Mrs. Whitehall could clutch her pearls over the mess later.

Relief washed through Odelle as she opened the bathroom door to find the hallway empty. The Whitehalls overhearing her conversation with Antony would certainly put a damper on their plans. She poked her head into the gallery room and found Mrs. Whitehall inspecting the crown’s case, as if Antony’s head might have been hard enough to dent it, and not the other way around.

Catching sight of them, Mr. Whitehall came to the door.

“Is everything alright?” he asked. At least he had the decency to seem genuinely concerned.

“Oh yes, it doesn’t seem to be a bad cut,” Odelle reassured. “I think I should take him to see a doctor just in case. You know, see if he needs a staple and check if he has a concussion.”

Antony offered a dazed smile that didn’t provide much evidence for him not being concussed.

“Of course, of course,” Mr. Whitehall conceded, beginning to usher them down the hall. Just before she turned away, Odelle caught a last glimpse of the crown in the case. It gleamed brilliantly in the lighting of the display, but something about the way Mrs. Whitehall leaned close to inspect it made Odelle’s stomach clench.

The feeling was quickly dispelled as Mr. Whitehall led them to the door, asking about when they might come back to finish up and send a camera man, impressing on them how privileged he felt to have his collection featured. Odelle reassured him that they would be in contact, reasoning that it might give them an opportunity to switch out the crown. Mr. Whitehall seemed so pleased that Odelle almost felt guilty about misleading him, but she reminded herself that owning an Eteria artifact put him and his wife in danger.

As they slid into her car once more, Antony prodded at his head again. Odelle flipped down the sun visor to show him the mirror.

“Don’t worry,” Odelle said as she began pulling out of the parking spot, “It’ll go nicely with all your other battle scars.”

Antony shot her an odd look, but Odelle was too busy maneuvering around the car that had parked unnecessarily close behind her to pay it much attention. It didn’t take long to get to Millenium Park, traffic on Odelle’s side for once. The amount she had to pay for parking reminded Odelle why she took the bus almost everywhere, but it was what it was. The price of city parking was the least of her concerns when she was on her way to plan a heist with a band of sorcerers.

Approaching the mirrored shape of the Bean in the middle of the park, Odelle paused to take a moment to collect herself before she stepped through the portal. Just focus on the Sanctuary, and she’d be fine. Then, her heart stuttered as Antony’s fingers slipped between her own. They weren’t callused or rough like she’d imagined the hands of a magical blacksmith to be— not that she’d dwelled on what Antony’s fingers would feel like, or at least she’d tried not to. Instead, they were smooth and slightly cool from his lack of gloves in the winter air.

As Antony stepped forward and pulled her into the portal after him, Odelle definitely wasn’t thinking about the Sanctuary. Since Antony led her, though, it didn’t seem to matter, and they emerged onto the gently sloping lawn. The sparks from the portal lingered on her skin for a moment. Then Antony withdrew his hand from hers and hastily wiped it on his suit jacket, and it was as if Odelle had been doused with a bucket of cold water. So much for them being a good team. After being alive for millenia, Antony just had the maturity to work with Odelle when he had to, even if he didn’t like her. And here Odelle was again letting his kind manner go to her head and burrow under her skin.

Antony led the way into the Sanctuary and Odelle trudged up the hill after him, reminding herself that she could also be mature. She could be mature about Antony while showing him just how capable she was, even if she wasn’t a magical warrior.

Antony led Odelle down a series of identical marble corridors. Reaching a closed door, Antony knocked, and a deep musical voice beckoned them inside. Stepping into the room, Odelle found it to be the opposite of all the ones she had seen so far. Where they had been barren and empty, this chamber burst with life. So many plants grew in pots or in baskets from the ceiling that Odelle instantly felt ashamed of the single spiny cactus struggling to survive on her kitchen windowsill.

A familiar man in an emerald-green peplos stood by a Ficus, watering it out of a red and black earthen jug that looked not all that dissimilar from the antique Odelle had been admiring in the Whitehall’s gallery earlier. Thad looked up and a wide smile split his face, his rich ochre skin radiant in the light spilling in from the open ceiling. An advantage of living in a pocket dimension with no weather was the ability to forgo ceilings with no consequences.

“We finally got the other Zvezda sister to visit the Sanctuary!” Thad exclaimed, putting down his pot and striding over to Odelle, where he gave her an easy hug. Even though Odelle had only met him a handful of times, the way Thad welcomed her felt like the greeting of an old friend. When Nora had described how easily she had become friends with Thad, Odelle had assumed it was due to their friendship in a prior life. Now though, Odelle suspected it was just Thad’s natural charisma.

Thad released Odelle and turned to Antony. The corners of his mouth turned down as he caught sight of Antony’s head.

“Unfortunate you only come to visit me when somebody is bleeding,” Thad bemoaned with a sigh, turning towards a trunk at the foot of his bed and rifling around within. He emerged with his prize held high.

“Steri-strips?” Odelle asked skeptically, “Those don’t strike me as standard in a magical healer’s kit.”

“But this magical healer has a secret weapon,” Thad agreed as he returned to Antony to inspect his forehead and clean the wound with a gauze pad. “I know a certain emergency medicine doctor who will nab me supplies from the stockroom. Drew even brought be a suture kit.”

“Please don’t make me your guinea pig for trying it out for the first time,” Antony implored, as he bent so the shorter man could reach his head more easily.

“I won’t,” conceded Thad, “On the condition that you tell me exactly how this happened.”

Antony filled Thad in on their investigation of the crown and the activity of the Shadow in the city. With every sentence, the furrow between Thad’s eyebrows deepened. When he finished patching up Antony’s head, he folded his arms over his chest.

“We can’t just leave the crown there,” Thad echoed Antony’s sentiment from earlier.

“That’s what I said,” Antony agreed, “but Odelle objects to grand larceny.”

“I didn’t object to stealing the crown,” Odelle retorted. “I object to getting caught stealing it, and we didn’t have any sort of plan. ”

“Ah yes, stealing something without a plan is just petty theft,” Thad agreed sagely, “An elaborate plan is really what gives a heist its sex appeal.”

Odelle and Antony snorted in unison.

“Sex appeal wasn’t really my top priority,” Odelle admitted, “But we do need a plan.”

“We have half of one,” Antony pointed out, “I’m going to make a replica of the crown so we can replace it, and the Whitehalls will be none the wiser.”

Thad looked unconvinced. “Do we have time for that? With our current access to the Light, casting a piece like that will take—”

“Three days,” Antony interjected.

Thad’s eyebrows shot up, but Antony gave him the sternest look Odelle could imagine from him.

“Well, you better get to work then,” Thad said, although he still looked skeptical. “And we need to make sure the Shadow doesn’t hurt anybody while trying to get the crown in the meantime.”

Antony nodded. “I’ll find Ezra on my way to the forge. He can put a guard on the Whitehall’s home, watch for any Shadows.”

Thad nodded in agreement and Antony turned to leave the room. He stopped in the doorway and looked over his shoulder as if to say something, but then thought better of it. Antony disappeared around the doorframe in the blink of an eye. Odelle stared at the empty doorway, unbalanced at the quickly changing situation. She was relieved that it wasn’t just her and Antony working together anymore. Thad’s presence would cut some of the tension that lingered between them, but still—Antony’s sudden exit left her unsure. Where she stood with the Eteria members outside of being Nora’s younger sister had been left painfully undefined .

“I guess that leaves us to get to planning then.” Thad clapped his hands and turned to Odelle. “Got any bright ideas?”

Odelle twirled a lock of her hair in thought.

“You know, I just might.”