Page 21 of Glimmer and Burn (Unity #1)

“Oh!” Miss Foster nodded and she adjusted her dress, twitching her skirts around awkwardly.

Even Devin knew ladies didn’t make dramatic shows of fixing their clothing in mixed company.

“Sorry,” she whispered as she adjusted her spectacles with the tip of a long, thin finger, “Just, uh, the material is—”

“Tell me you didn’t hide a book in your dress,” Miranda scolded.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Miss Foster said with a sheepish smile. She adjusted her skirts again and three books hit the floor. They were small and thin, but still. Impressive.

Miranda covered her face in her hands.

“Well, you can’t think I would be wasting my entire evening dancing,” Miss Foster scoffed, “Honestly.”

“It doesn’t matter. I need you to create a distraction for the guard. Something…loud. Something that will lure him far enough away from the stairs for us to slip past.”

Miss Foster nodded along. “Not a problem. I’m very good at making a scene.”

“Not usually on purpose,” Miranda mumbled just loud enough that he caught it as she pushed past him. He felt her skirts brush against his legs and he stepped back to avoid her plowing into his shoulder.

He and Miranda got into position just out of sight and signaled to Miss Foster, who gave them a very intentional thumbs up before casually meandering down the hallway toward the guard.

Miss Foster cleared her throat and drew the guard’s focus. “Excuse me, sir, but is that a genuine Martinelli sculpture, or a reproduction?”

The guard blinked. “Uh…I couldn’t say, ma’am, but you’re not supposed to be in this part of the estate—”

“Oh, of course, obviously,” she interrupted, “I was just fascinated by all these elaborate pieces.

The theme is rather scattered, these two pictures are at least three centuries apart while the architecture of the building is clearly a nod to the mid-century modernist style founded by Calpernicous Dredge.

That's not to say it's not truly lovely! These are amazing pieces and all the details throughout the home would put a museum to shame. I mean, the wainscoting alone reflecting the Faery Deviation Era is,” she paused to take a breath before continuing to babble while the guard’s eyes glossed over, “Masterfully crafted. I’d bet anything this is no Martinelli recreation.

You know he used demonic muses in his work?

From well before the war when that was still taboo.

I've never been able to see one this close, in person, can I just get a closer look?”

“This is her idea of distraction?” Devin hissed, unamused. Unless Miss Foster’s goal was to put the guard to sleep, he didn’t see how this would accomplish anything.

“Just…give it a moment. Any second now…” Miranda watched the scene intently, awaiting something Devin couldn’t sense.

Lydia had reached the sculpture in question, examining every surface with her eyes before reaching out with her hands.

“Ma’am, you’re not supposed to touch that—”

Lydia jolted back, her hand nicking a corner of the sculpture. It wobbled dangerously in place.

“Here we go,” Miranda whispered.

The guard and Miss Foster watched silently as the sculpture tipped and shattered against the floor.

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry.” She bent to scoop up the pieces.

“Wait, don’t touch anything.” The guard left his post to attend to her. Devin and Miranda raced for the stairs.

“Thank the Divine!” Lydia’s voice carried as they ascended to the upper floors. “It was a reproduction after all. You can tell by the cross sections here.”

The hallways upstairs were not nearly as dark and laborious. There were a few guards patrolling, but the pair of them were able to time their movements enough to avoid detection.

Until they found a promising room with two guards outside it.

“Well, love, what’s your plan?”

Miranda narrowed her eyes. “I thought I wasn’t in charge anymore?”

He smiled. Even when he was conceding control to her, she still had to argue. “Fine, if you don’t have an idea—”

“Shut up, I do have an idea. I’m going to take them out. Help me get close enough.” She dragged him to her side, hooking her arm through his and then giggling into her hand.

Ah, he knew this ruse. The ‘pretend we’re looking for somewhere to swive but we got lost’ ploy. However, he was hesitant to even pretend amorous intent with Miranda right then.

“Hey,” the guards turned toward them, “You’re not supposed to be up here. Keep all liaisons downstairs.” The guard pointed to direct them away from the room.

“Oh, how embarrassing,” Miranda covered her face quickly, pulling away from Devin dramatically. She was overacting, but it was a charming attempt. “I assure you, I don’t normally do this sort of thing—”

The guard sighed. “Of course, ma’am. I’m sure your intent was entirely innocent. Either way, see that you find yourselves downstairs. These halls are off-limits. How did you even get past—”

Miranda struck like a viper, leaving Devin’s side and striking once for the female guard’s throat, turning her cry into a gargled gasp. In the same motion, Miranda caught the woman by the waist, twisted, and dropped to a knee as she took the guard to the ground.

The second guard only just recovered enough to open his mouth, intending to call for aid, but Miranda unsheathed the woman’s dagger and threw it so the pommel hit him perfectly between the eyes. He collapsed as Miranda rolled and caught the dagger before it could clatter against the polished floor.

The entire attack was over in less than a minute.

Devin’s mouth hung open. Miranda stood and brushed the loose strands of hair from her eyes.

She adjusted the ridiculous dress back to its proper place.

He knew she was powerful, but when he had joked about her besting him he hadn’t ever truly meant it.

Now, he wasn’t sure he’d last two minutes against her.

He cleared his throat and adjusted his own clothes, his pants growing uncomfortably constricting.

“Let’s drag them inside so no one sees,” she began to pull one by the ankles and Devin grabbed the other.

Once inside, he locked the door. Turning to the room, he found a stock of brandy and took a quick drink before dousing the guards so that they appeared drunk and not knocked unconscious.

The alcohol numbed his Sight, but also worked to ease the unbidden desire that had abruptly flared again—after he had so carefully tempered his lust back when they were downstairs—as he watched her dispatch both guards single-handed.

Miranda was already searching, methodically opening every drawer and examining every shelf. Devin wasn’t convinced they’d find anything of importance that way. Graves wasn’t likely to have anything incriminating where anyone could find it by opening a drawer.

“Nothing,” Miranda snapped, slamming another drawer closed. “This is all the sort of stuff in my father’s study. Just business papers and boring shit. Nothing about experiments or the dead fae.”

Devin searched the room from a distance, remaining in the center as his eyes swept over books and shelves and paintings.

“What are you doing?” She asked, annoyance clear in her tone. “Hello? Are you even looking?”

“Graves is a man of secrets, love. We’re not looking for drawers or folders, we’re looking for a secret compartment or a hidden door.”

“That makes sense.” She returned to searching the desk and he hovered just behind her, this time checking the bottoms and sides of drawers for catches or hinges, calculating the depth to see if it aligned with the outside. After several minutes, Miranda found a latch to a hidden drawer.

“He’ll have a key or secret way to open it,” Devin said, heart pumping a little now that they were on the verge of actual discovery. Being in a place like this, where worse than danger awaited if they were discovered, set him on edge.

“We don’t have time for a key,” she said, jamming her fingers in the seam of the drawer and pulling.

It was the hasty option, sure, but now it would be difficult to cover their tracks.

The board creaked and snapped open, thankfully not in pieces.

It should close smoothly when they finished.

Devin pulled his eyes away from the flexing muscles in her arms. She could break him in half.

“Well? Is it what you were looking for?” He insisted, as she lifted a drawing that diagramed the body of a Night Fae.

It was a well-drawn figure, but distinctly scientific in nature with thin lines labeling various parts.

Except, instead of arm, leg, or hand, it listed powers.

Strength. Stamina. Speed. Reflexes. Above the figure was a picture of a single crimson droplet, the only colored part of the drawing.

Devin huffed, irritated. They’d already stayed too long. There was no time to keep looking.

Miranda, however, was silent.

“We can’t linger any longer,” he insisted, nearly taking her by the arm before thinking better of it.

“It’s the Divine’s blood,” Miranda said, voice hollow. “Quick. We can’t take this or he’ll know it’s missing.”

Devin paused. That was impossible. The Divine’s blood wasn’t a tangible thing that existed. It wasn’t bought or made. It only existed in…

Guardians.

Miranda grabbed a sheet of paper and a quill from the desk. Her hasty re-creation was…not as accomplished. When she finished, she stuffed the copy down her bodice and carefully arranged the drawer back together.

Voices outside the door meant their time was up, growing closer and clearly calling out for the guards passed out on the floor.

Lydia’s distraction had no doubt reached Graves’s ears and he was cautious enough to make sure the rest of the house was clear.

It was only a matter of time before he realized two guards weren’t at their posts.