Master of shadows, p.19
Master of Shadows, page 19
Deirdre tapped her chin thoughtfully. “It’s worth looking into.” She laughed, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before. Sometimes it’s hard to merge my two worlds—the nonmagic and the magic.”
“That is something I can totally understand.” Jayne remembered all too well the shock of realizing there were necromantic grimoires right under her nose in her precious libraries. “But…does it ever bother you?”
Deirdre’s nose was already in a book. “Does what bother me?”
“Merging your two worlds. Do you ever feel like…you’re going to lose one of them?”
Deirdre looked up, her face sobering. “Why would you think something like that?”
Jayne sighed, sagging back in her chair. “I don’t know. This whole craziness with La Liberté screwing around with my magic and stealing first Ruger and now Cillian, it makes me wonder who I was before all this happened.” She gestured nonsensically with her hands. She couldn’t stifle the feeling of utter helplessness when she couldn’t access the Torrent. And thinking about what Cillian must have gone through to look like he did in that photo made her sick to her stomach.
“Jayne, even before I knew you had magic, I envied you.”
Jayne’s eyebrows lifted. “Really?”
“Really. When I first met you, you were this smart, confident, kickboxer librarian who was clearly incredibly smart. You had this air about you that told me you could handle anything. And that wasn’t just your magic talking. It was you.”
Jayne pressed her lips together, unconvinced.
Deirdre leaned forward, pressing her hand to Jayne’s shoulder. “You are more than your magic, Jayne. Never forget that. One thing I learned from Alarik was that magic has the ability to completely consume a person. Just like it did for him.” She paused and took a shaky breath, her face crumpling for a moment.
Before Jayne could stop herself, she said, “I’m sorry.”
Deirdre stared at her. “For what?”
Jayne hesitated. She almost said, For killing him, but she wasn’t sorry about that. Still rattled by the frequent memories of the act, yes, but…not sorry Alarik was dead. Instead, she said, “For everything he put you through. And…for your loss.”
Deirdre offered a sad smile. “Thank you. For the record, I don’t resent you for taking his life. I really don’t. He’d become a monster. I’m not sorry he’s gone. I just…I spent so many years desperately searching for the man I fell in love with, trying to bring him back somehow. But that version of Alarik died years ago, leaving a power-hungry tyrant in his place.”
Sorrow filled Jayne’s chest as she tried to imagine a less scary Alarik. But she couldn’t. How twisted had he become to completely shift into a new person? Had he once been kind and gentle? Someone Deirdre could love? Jayne almost wished she could’ve met that version of Alarik.
Deirdre went on, “Jayne, my point is, you are different from Adepts like Alarik. Magic is just one side of your multifaceted persona. You’re also a fierce fighter. A researcher. A loyal friend. And a doggedly determined TCO officer.”
Jayne grinned at that. Chagrin filled her, flaming her cheeks. “Sorry, I don’t know where all this came from. You must think I’m an idiot, complaining to you about my magic when…” She trailed off, now feeling even more idiotic.
“When I don’t have magic?” Deirdre smiled wryly. “Honestly, I think I’m one of the few people you can talk to about this, because I don’t have magic.” She shrugged, her expression lightening. “I think sometimes you Adepts need a reminder that a whole world exists out there without magic. Some people live long, fulfilling lives without ever knowing about the Torrent.”
Jayne stared blankly at her for a minute. Wow, she thought. Had she really needed that reminder? She’d always thought herself to be down-to-earth. But maybe magic had gone to her head. “Well, I sure hope you don’t think I’m a self-absorbed Adept with an inflated ego.”
Deirdre laughed. “Not at all.”
Relief filled Jayne until she felt like she was breathing fresh air for the first time in days. It seemed so silly to think she was nothing without her magic. Of course there was more to her than that. She was a kickass kickboxer. An enthusiastic researcher. A lover of fantasy books. A quoter of movies. And a damn good librarian.
A small smile lit her face as she happily dived back into her research.
27
TRÈS RICHE
Long after Deirdre had fallen asleep on the couch, politely declining Jayne’s insistence that she take the bedroom, Jayne remained at the table, researching well into the night.
She’d already blown through several cups of tea to keep her awake. She knew she couldn’t possibly get any sleep knowing Cillian was enduring all manner of horrors when she still hadn’t found the Book of Shadows. Besides, they had already wasted one day. Only two left before Gina would start cutting off fingers.
Jayne shuddered, closing the book titled Fifteenth-Century Painters and moving on to Illuminated Manuscripts Unlocked.
When she reached a section about the famous fifteenth-century illuminated manuscript known as Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry—The Very Rich Hours of the Duke of Berry—she froze, certain her muddled, exhausted brain was playing tricks on her. She slid the massive text closer and read aloud, “The intermediate painter of the Très Riches Heures is often referred to as the Master of Shadows due to his usage of shadows in his style of painting. Though there is no documented proof, the Master of Shadows is believed to have been Barthélemy van Eyck, a miniaturist also known as the Master of René of Anjou. Scholars believe he worked on the illustrations between the 1420s and the 1440s.”
She looked up blankly, not seeing the room. “Oh my God. I found him.” She hastily returned her gaze to the text, skimming for any other reference to the Master of Shadows. It wasn’t until she turned the page that she read one other passage about the book: “The Très Riches Heures is located in the Musée Condé in Chantilly, France.”
“Deirdre!” Jayne shouted.
Deirdre uttered a short yip before sitting bolt upright on the sofa. “Beg pardon?” she mumbled sleepily.
“I found him.”
Deirdre shot up in mere seconds, rubbing her eyes as she hurried over. She bent over Jayne’s shoulder, squinting as she read the text.
“The intermediate painter of the…Très Riches Heures…” She trailed off with a gasp. “Oh my God…”
“I know, right?” Jayne exclaimed. “We thought the Book of Shadows was a grimoire, but it’s not. It’s a book of hours—a collection of prayers. It’s mostly illustrations, and I’m certain the shadowed illumination is found inside it.”
A high-pitched, excited giggle burst from Deirdre’s mouth. She shook Jayne’s shoulders with enthusiasm Jayne had never seen in her before. “Jayne, you did it!”
Jayne’s brain was firing off one idea after another as everything slowly came together. “We’d speculated that maybe he hid his magic in his illustrations. It makes sense that he’d hide it in something simple. Something easy to overlook because he wanted it to stay hidden.”
Deirdre laughed again, practically giddy from this revelation. “Did you find out where the Très Riches Heures is located?”
Jayne turned the page and pointed to another passage.
“The Musée Condé in Chantilly, France.” Deirdre clapped a hand to her forehead. “Of course! It’s in a museum, not a library!”
“We need to get this information to Amanda,” Jayne said, rising from her chair. “It’s early enough that we can catch the first train to Chantilly. Then, we’ll grab the Book of Shadows—”
Deirdre raised a hand. “Hang on. You can’t just steal the book.”
Jayne blinked at her. “What?”
“Think about it. It’s not something you can walk out with, like at a library. It’s in a museum. There’s a good chance it will be on a special display, and that whatever they have out isn’t the real thing anyway. The real book will be in the vaults. There will be alarms in place.”
“Okay, that makes sense. But I should be able to magic us into the place, and get the alarms turned off, right? We’ll need to swap it out with a forgery to buy ourselves some time. How long will it take you to put that together?”
Deirdre’s head jerked back, her expression incredulous. She sputtered a few times before finding her voice. “I—Jayne, this will take time. It’s nothing like the grimoire I was preparing to forge before. I need specific materials. This is a book of hours, illuminated, and it’s—”
“We don’t have time,” Jayne said, trying not to snap at Deirdre. It wasn’t her fault. “Okay. Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll talk to Amanda. I’m sure she can work her CIA voodoo to get whatever materials you’ll need. Keep in mind, this means we now need two forgeries. One for the museum, and one for La Liberté. After we nab the book and replace it with the fake, we’ll give the book to you to make a more precise copy, then make the trade and get Cillian back.” Jayne clapped her hands as if everything was settled.
Deirdre gnawed on her lower lip. “You make it sound a lot easier than it is.”
“The plan is flawed and full of holes, but we can do this. I know we can. Cillian’s life depends on it.” Jayne took Deirdre’s hand and squeezed. “Are you with me on this?”
Deirdre nodded solemnly. “I’m with you.”
“Good. We need to get to Montmartre, now.”
When Jayne explained their situation, Amanda’s worried face turned thoughtful. She didn’t speak, though, which made Jayne want to throttle her boss. Wouldn’t be the smartest move, but it would be satisfying. She tried again.
“You see the issue, I’m sure. We have to get our hands on the book, like, now.”
Ruger came into the living room, carrying a plate of croissants fresh out of the oven. He put it on the coffee table, and the delicious scent made Jayne’s stomach audibly rumble. “Help yourself,” he said, amused. “What’s up?”
“Other than we need to stop time so Deirdre can make a forgery of the grimoire? I’m open to ideas.”
As she said it, it hit her. Apparently, it hit Ruger as well, because their eyes met, and in unison, they said, “Time Catch.”
Amanda was shaking her head before the syllables danced out of the air. “No, no, no. No way. We are not making a Time Catch. That is expressly forbidden by the organization’s bylaws.”
“Forbidden?” Jayne asked. “Why?”
Amanda cocked a brow. “Really? Both of you have been kidnapped and held in Time Catches. You know how dangerous and harmful they are. It is illegal magic, dark magic. And it’s not how we operate. Should magical law enforcement organizations take to making Time Catches, we would be no better than those we seek to stop.”
Amanda was shaking slightly. Jayne didn’t know if it was from fear or fury. She certainly looked angry at the mere suggestion. How was Jayne to know Time Catches were illegal? It made sense—they took an exceptional amount of magic and did seem to be the lairs of the big baddies they’d come across, but still.
“What’s your idea then? Because we’re running out of time.” Jayne tapped the top of her wrist impatiently, then moved the hand to her chest. “‘There’s nothing left except to try,’” she declaimed.
“You’re quoting books again,” Ruger said. “What’s that from?”
“A Wrinkle in Time. Madeline L’Engle. It seemed appropriate.” She flashed him a grin, but he frowned in response.
“Wrinkles in time,” he murmured, then looked at Amanda. “The Time Catch simulation. Could we put Deirdre and the tools she’d need into the simulation? Will it work for a nonmagical?”
“No. Civilians can’t exist in Time Catches. It won’t work.”
Deirdre, who’d been silent through the whole exchange, raised a hand shyly.
Amanda huffed out a breath but called on her as if she were a star pupil. “Officer Green? You have something to say?”
“Alarik, my former husband, took me into a Time Catch once. It felt awful, but I was able to cross in and out. He was…” Deirdre wavered, looking at her feet. Jayne squeezed her friend’s shoulder.
“He was testing to see if you survived it?” she asked softly, and Deirdre nodded.
“What an arse. But you were okay?”
“It felt quite odd, like I was rippling, somehow, coming loose from my skin. But yes. I survived. Obviously,” she added with the ghost of a laugh.
Jayne grabbed a croissant and tore off a chunk. “We should try it. At least we know Deirdre can’t be hurt by a simulation.”
Amanda was leaning forward now, almost toppling off the sofa in her excitement.
“Would you be willing to try, Officer Green? We will certainly find another way if you’re uncomfortable with this plan.”
The coddling version of Amanda was surprising, yet again. Was she only prickly with Jayne?
Deirdre had picked up a croissant, too. She put it down carefully and squared her narrow shoulders. “Yes. I will. This—the grimoire—it’s too important not to try.”
“It’s settled,” Ruger said, clapping a big hand against his knee and standing. “You ladies eat. We’ll prepare a portal and warn Katie Bell we might need some of her clerics to help. I’ll have Hector bring the simulation. He’s the best we have at Time Catches.”
“Hector? My mentor Hector?” Jayne asked.
“Your mentor Hector?” Ruger asked incredulously. “What am I, chopped liver?”
“Long story,” Jayne replied, waving her hand. “He helped Cillian and me work on the spells to find you.” She gave him her sauciest grin. “Don’t worry, Rug. You’ll always be my first.”
“Jayne,” they all groaned.
An hour had passed before they were all assembled. Hector and three young Adepts dressed in CIA Casual—khakis and blue button-down shirt—stepped into the living room of the Montmartre safe house. Hector introduced them as Katie’s clerics. They carried leather bags filled with all the tools Deirdre would need to assemble the forgeries.
Hector himself carried a small red leather rectangular box with a gold latch. There was a spell on the latch; Jayne could see the air shimmering around it.
“Hiya, Hector.”
“Miss Thorne. Where is Mr. Pine?”
“Kidnapped. By the same jerks who took Ruger.”
Hector looked truly disturbed. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m fond of that Rogue. He has spirit.”
“That Rogue will be happy to hear it. Thanks for coming so fast. We need to hurry this along, folks. Can you cast the simulation now? I’ll take Deirdre and the clerics inside, and we’ll make the grimoires.”
They all lined up on one side of the living room and watched Hector carefully set the box on the floor.
“I’ve adjusted this to be what we needed based on what Katie thought would be appropriate. The clerics have all the materials we could find. Ready?”
“‘Ready, Santa!’” Jayne called. Everyone looked at her. “Rudolph,” she said, brows furrowed. “Don’t you people like holiday classics?”
Shaking his head, Hector murmured some words to release the latch, and opened the box.
A library shimmered into view.
“Ooh,” Jayne breathed. “Good. Books. This I can manage. How long can we stay in here, Hector?”
“The record for the simulation is two weeks. After that, it degrades completely. You’ll notice it isn’t the same as a real Time Catch right away. Just…pay attention. If you hear a clock ticking, you have to get out immediately.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Don’t test it, Jayne,” Amanda snapped. “We don’t need to lose anyone else.”
But it was Ruger who laid a hand on her arm. “She’s not joking. If you hear the clock ticking, get out. I’ve already told Amanda, but La Liberté knows we use the clock as a warning signal. They used it against me in their Time Catch. We haven’t had time to change our simulation yet, so it’s imperative that you leave the moment you hear it. Just in case they’ve managed other mischief. Am I clear?”
The vision of Ruger battered and hurt, and Cillian in the same boat, made Jayne drop all pretense. “Fair enough. Everyone heard that, right? If I hear the clock and call to abort, you do not hesitate.” There were murmurs of assent from her team. “All right, Deirdre. Take my arm, and we’ll step right through. Let’s go cook up a book.”
Without another word, Jayne dragged Deirdre right through the shimmering veil.
As far as Time Catches went, this one was downright cozy. The only reason Jayne knew it wasn’t real was the fact that she could see the living room of the Montmartre safe house, with Ruger, Amanda, and Hector standing there staring in at them as if they were in a fishbowl. They didn’t move. It was like they’d frozen solid.
Deirdre gaped beside her. “This is kind of weird.”
“It is,” Jayne replied, feeling a deep chill running down her own spine. This library was as unnatural as a three-headed cat. “Are you feeling okay?”
“A little nauseated. We’d better hurry.”
“Agreed. What do you need?”
“The materials.”
At her words, the clerics leaped into action, opening their satchels and spilling the contents on the table. Vellum, parchment, inks, and, thankfully, pictures and models of the book of hours. Deirdre didn’t waste any time; she started giving orders, and soon they were all working hard.
Jayne loved every second of this. Deirdre was spectacularly talented, and the clerics almost seemed clairvoyant, anticipating everything Deirdre needed almost before the words left her mouth. It was like watching a neurosurgeon rewire a brain.
When they grew tired, the library provided coffee, tea, and scones. One of the clerics smiled at Jayne through a crumble of dough. “Katie said you enjoyed them, so she sent some along in the box.”
“Katie is my new best friend,” Jayne said, dumping a pile of clotted cream on a chunk of scone and shoveling it in.
