Page 46 of Thief of Night (The Charlatan Duology #2)

Unusual Selves

Solaluna had a gate along its entrance, with a call box on the left hand side. Past that, all you could see were trees—no buildings at all. A low fence ran in either direction from the gate, but if the security was as lax as it seemed, Charlie could have just jumped over it with no one the wiser.

“Welcome to Solaluna,” came a voice from the box.

Charlie looked at Red and nodded toward the speaker.

“This is Remy Carver,” he said, acid in his voice. “Checking in.”

As the gate lifted, he raised the car window. “Pretending to be him feels like spitting on his grave.”

That was Charlie Hall, using everyone around her. She could blame her upbringing or Rand, but whatever the reason, it had become her nature to look for an angle. And Red was full of angles.

“But you’re right. This is what he wanted for me,” Red went on, surprising her. “To live. To have everything I could take. And throwing that gift away would be worse than anything I could do to his memory.”

She gave him a stunned look. “So you’re taking the money?”

“When this is over,” Red said. “I am taking everything.”

The road led up a hill to a large white building full of windows. As she drove up, she spotted a waving man in a navy jacket and a pink baseball cap with SOLALUNA written across it in white type.

Beside her, Red had put on sunglasses, which made him look appropriately hungover and had the added bonus of hiding his eyes if they started to smolder unexpectedly.

“We can park your car for you,” the man said, when Charlie rolled down her window.

She got out, thankful for the Porsche so she wasn’t asking the attendant to drive a beat-up white van.

Charlie had done her best to prepare for this venture in the short time she’d had—a little black dress, hair slicked tightly back, natural makeup, tights, and Adeline’s Prada boots on her feet. She hadn’t had an appropriate coat so she just hadn’t brought one.

Her tattoos peeked out over the neckline. Bad for business, Rand had told her, when they’d come across another criminal who had them. Too memorable .

But that had been the reason she’d ended up getting them.

Charlie had transformed herself so many times she’d stopped knowing who she was.

She’d needed something to hold her in place.

Something to ground her. Something that said this is Charlie Hall’s leg, marked with stars.

This is Charlie Hall’s throat, inked with scarabs.

The attendant took their one small suitcase out of the back of the Porsche. They followed him inside.

Red was in dark pants, black shoes, and a fine cashmere sweater. Over it, he had on a wool peacoat. He looked as though he belonged, and not just because of the clothing.

The scents of rosemary and eucalyptus filled the lobby like the inside of a high-end spa. A huge rose quartz lamp sat near a small seating area with nubby-looking cream chairs.

A woman smiled at them from behind a hotel desk of light wood. “Remy Carver?” He had broad shoulders and a lot of money. Who wouldn’t smile? “I just need a form of identification and—would you like to use the card on file?”

Charlie opened her mouth to spin a story.

“Can I see your phone?” Red asked the receptionist, before Charlie could speak.

“Mr. Carver?” she asked, obviously confused.

“Please,” he said, putting out his hand.

She took it out of her pocket, unlocked it, and placed it in his palm.

He pulled up an article about being found in his father’s basement when everyone had thought he was dead, then handed her phone back to her. “I don’t have a driver’s license right at the moment, but there’s a photo of me in this article.”

Oh, that was clever.

The woman behind the desk looked flustered. “I guess that is all we need.”

From his wallet, he took out the credit card that Adeline had given him and placed it on the counter.

Charlie nearly choked. He’d just wiped away her need to fix things with Topher’s credit card.

“Here’s your key, Mr. Carver,” the woman said. “There’s a private butler that services the cottage. I am sure you’ll have everything you need, but if not, you can call me.”

“I should have copied down your personal number,” he said, in a tone that was as privileged and flirtatious as Charlie could have asked for.

He was good at this. Good at improvising. Good at acting relaxed, like someone who had come to Solaluna for a restful, restorative weekend, not to steal shadows from the Cabals.

The woman behind the desk met Charlie’s eyes, guilt in her expression. Charlie wasn’t sure that meant the receptionist wasn’t tempted, though. Remy Carver seemed like a terrible boyfriend, but an interesting one-night stand.

Maybe Red looked very comfortable playing the part of the rich socialite because he was one.

If he took everything that was being offered to him like he said he was going to, it wouldn’t be pretend. Assuming he could escape the Cabals, that was.

The woman went on, “We’ll have your things brought to the cottage, but in the meantime, you’re free to tour the main building and the grounds. If you’d like someone—”

“We’ll show ourselves around,” Red said, with maybe a little too much firmness. He softened his words by slinging his arm around Charlie’s shoulders, leading her off in the direction of the library. “Come on, darling. Let’s get lost.”

Her neck went hot with what felt like forbidden pleasure.

She hadn’t worked like this with anyone since—well, ever.

With Rand, she hadn’t been his equal and hadn’t had a choice.

With Mark, he’d been too much in competition with her for her to trust him to back her plays.

Even with Vince, they had been pretending too much to see one another clearly until the very end.

Charlie and Red passed the entrance into a dining area. It was mostly empty, save for an elderly couple silently sharing a large teapot and a three-tier spread of sandwiches. They weren’t dressed formally and no labels were obvious on their clothing, but they still exuded the gloss of money.

She wondered how far off the mark she’d been in her own styling. Her hair was wrong, she decided. But, of course, Charlie didn’t need to pass as a wealthy girlfriend. Only the girlfriend of a wealthy man.

“We need to find where they’re keeping the shadows. If I could look at the bookings at the front desk, maybe I’d recognize a name.” She’d told Red about her visit to Mr. Punch on the way over. “Otherwise, we’re going to have to search rooms.”

“The registration for the conference itself might be easier to get to,” Red said.

Charlie thought it was unlikely that Cabal attendees would be listed in the registration rolls with everyone else, but it would be foolish not to check. “Let’s go befriend someone who can get us access.”

He smiled back at her, one wolf to another.

The wood-paneled library featured a long bar with a gleaming pewter top running along the far wall. Cream-colored leather love seats were arranged around low coffee tables with rose quartz tops. Candles flickered in pink glass vessels.

Charlie thought she heard the word “penumbra” from a table of middle-aged men. That was promising.

If she paid close enough attention, she could pick out more conference attendees. She needed to know if they had badges or anything else she could easily forge.

A woman in a button-up white shirt with a tie came over to their table and handed them drink menus with gilded edges. Charlie ordered a glass of rosé that she didn’t intend to drink. Red asked for a martini.

She raised her eyebrows at him when the woman left.

“Let me guess—not my usual order,” he said. “But then, I am not my usual self.”

“I like all of your selves,” Charlie said.

Red smiled. “Some better than others.”

“I like you, ” she said.

He looked away, like he couldn’t quite believe it. Or maybe he just didn’t want to hear it from her.

Charlie made her voice light and changed the subject. “Don’t look, but I think those gentlemen over there are here for the retreat.”

Red kept his eyes on her.

Charlie opened her mouth to say something as a man stopped beside their table. He had on a white polo shirt and another of those Solaluna hats.

“Hello, Mr. Carver? Ms.—”

“Lena Hall,” Red said, waving toward Charlie.

She gave what she hoped was the smile of a woman who was about to have a luxury weekend retreat with her boyfriend.

The man grinned. “I’m Michael, your butler. If you’re done here, I can take you to your cottage. Your luggage has already been moved.”

“So long as we can bring our drinks,” Red said with lazy swagger.

“Of course.” Michael caught the eye of the bartender, who was shaking up the martini, and nodded his chin in the direction of the outside.

“Do we need to settle up—” Charlie said, glancing toward her bag.

“No need,” Michael told her. “We want things to be easy here.”

Charlie bit the inside of her cheek, angry at herself. Lena-the-girlfriend shouldn’t be worrying about whether a bill was paid.

They carried the drinks out to a golf cart. Charlie drank half the wine she told herself she wasn’t going to touch, trying to keep it from spilling as they bumped along a narrow dirt road to a fairy-tale-looking cottage with gingerbread trim and pale blue French shutters.

Michael parked the golf cart in the driveway, then handed the keys over to Red. “You can call the front desk for a pickup if you don’t want to drive yourself.”

Red took the keys without comment.

Michael opened the door and showed them into a sitting area.

Two sleek cream couches had been arranged in front of an electric fireplace with an arts-and-crafts-style mantel.

A coffee station sat on a long stone-topped side bar, beside a welcome basket overstuffed with fruit, chocolates, cookies, and wine.

Red walked through to the bedroom while Michael chatted to him about amenities. When they returned to the sitting room, Red sprawled on the couch as though he owned it.