"G.o.ds," I said. Like the sun had finally broken through polluted clouds, I grinned. Seamus couldn't be allowed to read the daemon workings, and Dmitri needed daemon magick.

"Luna?" said Sunny with concern. "Is something the matter?"

"Sunny," I said, grabbing her hand. "You have to help me steal the Skull of Mathias."

CHAPTER 27.

Sunny thought I was patently insane, of course, and went home after making me promise not to do anything stupid. I duly promised, because stealing the Skull wasn't stupid. It was the solution to all of my problems.

It was why I was driving recklessly into the city, dodging taxis and pedestrians who probably had the right of way. I parked the Fairlane in the valet slot in front of Shelby's building. The valet glared at me when I got out, and then at the Fairlane with its poor dangling headlight. The glare said I'd better come up with one h.e.l.l of a big tip if he was going to drive this undignified piece of c.r.a.p around the block.

Shelby answered the door herself this time, and I was relieved to see that her leg was encased in one of those cloth walking casts instead of the Frankensteinian swath of bandages she'd gotten at the hospital.

"Did you come back to give me a hard time again?" she asked morosely. I noticed that most of the art I'd seen on her walls was gone and her apartment was dark except for a single light next to her chaise.

"No," I said, stepping in. "I wanted to ask you something, and-wasn't there a lot more furniture in here before?"

Shelby blinked. "You came to ask me about my furniture?"

"No, no, something else," I said. Her apartment wasn't just spa.r.s.e, it was d.a.m.n near empty.

"Uncle Seamus cut me off," said Shelby. "I'm losing my lease at the end of the month. Sold off some things for a deposit on a new place."

Oh G.o.ds. If I had ever felt worse about a decision I'd made, I was hard-pressed to find it. She was sitting here in the dark like the little match girl and I was about to ask her to partic.i.p.ate in something even more egregious.

"I'm sorry," I said lamely. "If there's anything-"

"Forget it." Shelby tilted her chin up. "You make the same salary I do, so please don't try to salve your guilt by offering to help me." She hobbled back to the chaise and flopped down. "This was a long time coming, anyway. Ever since my father died. Seamus was devastated, did you know that? He loved Daddy. Big brother watching out for littlest brother and all that."

"Shelby, Seamus is not who you think he is," I said carefully, trying not to let any of what had happened to me at Seamus's behest creep into my voice.

"He never got over me letting him down," Shelby mused. "Figured it was my mother's fault. Did you know I spent a month in a hospital when I was fifteen? I tried to swallow a bunch of Percodans. Seamus made me so miserable."

"My father was an alcoholic auto mechanic," I offered. "And not even a good one either."

Shelby laughed, once. "I'm named after a car. The 1967 Shelby Mustang. Hardtop. Baby blue. My father was driving it the night he died."

I stayed silent, and Shelby sighed, braiding and unbraiding the end of her long blond waterfall of hair. She looked up at me and stared, as if she'd just woken up. "What happened to your face?"

"Seamus," I said. "And his hired pit bull, Joshua."

"What did you do?" said Shelby, with no surprise. "Must have been something that shook him pretty badly, if he risked beating on a cop that way."

I took a breath. I didn't want to, had no right to ask Shelby what I was about to ask, but if I didn't the deaths would keep piling up. The blood of O'Hallorans and Blackburns, blood witches and caster witches, would run in the streets if I didn't put the Skull back where it belonged.

"I went to him and told him I knew that he'd killed Vincent Blackburn. And I know about the Skull too, Shelby. Everything your uncle has been ..." I left out the part about the evidence being in a crumpled little ball on Seamus's floor last time I'd seen it.

Shelby nodded. "That'd do it." She rubbed her leg. "You got away though. He won't like that."

"Well, he'll like this even less," I said. "I'm going back to the tower, and I'm going to steal the Skull." I fixed Shelby with my most severe stare. "And I need you to help me."

She sat in silence for a long time, still as a store mannequin. "I should hate him," she said finally. "He doesn't love me. He's made my life h.e.l.l. He lied to the whole family, about keeping that filthy blood witch relic under our roof." Shelby sighed. "You realize that trying to swim with Seamus is like dousing yourself in blood and jumping in a pool with Jaws."

"He's not the worst thing I've ever come across," I said honestly. Definitely second worst. A close second. But she didn't need to know that.

"I wish everything were so black and white for me," said Shelby. "You have it really easy, Luna, you know that? Good, bad, and no in between."

If only she knew just how in between I was. I'd kill to have Shelby's clean conscience.

"What do you need from me?" she asked. I breathed out a quick thank-you to the bright lady.

"I need to know where Seamus keeps the Skull," I said. "How to get into the tower after hours, and I can handle whatever else crops up." I hoped it was Joshua. One electric shock to the t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es wasn't enough for that jerkoff.

Shelby nodded slowly. "Okay," she said. "Okay," a little stronger. She had a new light to her face, drawn and shaken as it was. I thought that she might just come out of this whole thing all right, if any of us lived that long. If I got the Skull from Seamus. If I didn't, I had the feeling that as soon as he translated the inscriptions, my credit card fees and Shelby's bare apartment wouldn't matter much at all.

"It'll be dark in a few hours," said Shelby. "Hand me that pad and pen?"

I saw the set on her one remaining side table and pa.s.sed it to her. "It will be dark," she said again. "You can stay here until the sun goes down, if you want."

"As long as you don't expect me to braid your hair and talk about boys," I said. One side of her mouth curved up.

"I'll draw you a map of the building with the cameras and security routes," she said. "At least the ones I know of. The Skull is probably in Seamus's private safe, in the apartment he keeps adjacent to his offices."

"Thank you," I said, meaning it. Never mind that I didn't know how to crack a safe, despite that idiotic rumor about cops being the best criminals. If I could open vaults and get away with it, I'd be living on my own private island, with a yacht and a helicopter to land on it. That, and a closet the size of Fenway Park to hold all of my designer shoes.

"Don't thank me," said Shelby, "because aside from the map, all I can offer you is luck."

The sun was a thin smear of orange over the bay. I got my car keys and jacket. "I'll be going," I told Shelby, tucking her hand-drawn diagram of Seamus's apartment into my pocket.

"Don't bother calling if you get it," said Shelby in her oh-so-encouraging way. "I have a feeling I'll find out soon enough." She had the grace not to add that if I didn't get it, I wouldn't have to call either, because I'd be dead or beyond the point where talking was strictly possible.

I let my mind wander as I drove the few blocks to the O'Halloran Tower. I should have called Sunny. Too late now. If she knew what I was up to she'd call Mac and he'd raise all kinds of h.e.l.l and screw the whole thing up. I should have been nicer to Trevor the last time we talked. I should have never let Dmitri Sandovsky into my life. He was the only one I didn't have any regrets over.

"Stop talking like you're going to die," I told myself, in my rearview mirror. "It's depressing as h.e.l.l."

The tower was quiet at seven p.m., one lonely security guard stationed by the camera bank in the lobby and one receptionist who'd pulled the short straw at the information desk. I scanned the list of bra.s.s plates posted just to the right of the door and picked out a name on a high floor. I ignored the guard, because a normal civilian would, and went to the receptionist.

"Maybe you can help me?"

He looked up, bored. "What do you need, miss?"

"Could you tell me which office Gerard Mansfield is in?"

The receptionist clicked at his computer. He was wearing a cheap polyblend vest that was supposed to make him look professional and his nametag said emmanuel. I felt bad for Emmanuel, because I was probably going to get him fired.

"Suite seventy-six, on the thirty-eighth floor," he said.

"And the elevators are still running?" I asked with a perky smile. "Mr. Mansfield's expecting me."

Emmanuel gave me a look well beyond his years, that said he was wise to my line of BS and wasn't inclined to go for it. "If he were expecting you, he would have told you that the elevators stop running without a keycard at six o'clock."

Dammit, I had factored in cameras and Joshua's force of thugs, but I hadn't counted on a smart minimum-wage slave blocking my path.

"It's a very personal personal appointment," I purred, placing one hand on his arm. I should have unb.u.t.toned the top b.u.t.ton of my shirt, or worn tighter jeans, or something. Emmanuel wasn't going for it. appointment," I purred, placing one hand on his arm. I should have unb.u.t.toned the top b.u.t.ton of my shirt, or worn tighter jeans, or something. Emmanuel wasn't going for it.

"Lady, if you don't have business in the tower, you're going to have to leave," he said primly.

"Okay, fine," I said. "I'll level with you. I'm Jess McMillan with the SEC. Mr. Mansfield contacted us confidentially some time ago with information about inappropriate activities within the O'Halloran Group."

"SEC?" Emmanuel frowned. "Like whistle-blowers and stuff?"

"Exactly like that," I agreed. "We're very concerned about certain transactions Seamus O'Halloran has been involved in."

"That guy's a sc.u.mbag," said Emmanuel. "You know he cut health benefits for hourly workers last year?"

"That's why it's so important I get to see Mr. Mansfield right now," I said. Emmanuel shot a look at the security guard, who was reading something with a bikini-clad woman on the cover, and then handed me a white plastic square.

"Keycard," he said. "It'll get you all the way to floor forty. After that it's all private codes anyway."

"Thank you for all your help," I said sincerely.

"Hey, if I get to see the execs led out of here in handcuffs with news cameras flashing in their faces, it'll be enough," Emmanuel said.

I didn't tell him that in Seamus's case, I really hoped he got his wish.

The upper floors of the tower were all dark. Gerard Mansfield had long since gone home, but a cleaning cart sat at the end of the hall with a radio perched on top, playing that song about being all out of love.

I pilfered the key ring off the cart and found that they were neatly labeled masters with floor numbers on the face. Number 38 unlocked Mansfield's door and I slipped inside, leaving the lights off.

A quick search of Mansfield's desk uncovered a fondness for organization, chewing on the ends of pencils, and chocolate-covered cherries. What a saint. I almost felt bad about using him this way.

I found Mansfield's keycard under the candy box, slightly sticky but usable. I had almost made it back into the elevator when the cleaning woman came around the coiner and saw me.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "This floor is closed for the evening."

c.r.a.p. Somehow I didn't think an unscheduled visit from the Junior League would fly, so I smiled sweetly and said, "No "No hablo ingles, senora." hablo ingles, senora."

"You stay put," she said, loudly and slowly. Like that ever helped. "I'm calling security. You stay!" she barked at me when I reached for the elevator call b.u.t.ton.

If she alerted Joshua's men, I'd be screwed. I took a quick step, shifted my weight, and came in with a right jab just under her cheekbone. Her head snapped around and she folded before she even felt any pain.

This was a p.i.s.s-poor heist, I reflected as I dragged her into the elevator with me and swiped Mansfield's keycard for the top floor. James Bond never had to punch out a cleaning lady.

The elevator door opened into blackness at the top of the tower. Seamus's office was ghostly in the lights from the city below, but I could make out the desk and chair and bar, and even the crack in the plaster where I'd fallen into the wall. Behind the crack I saw the gleam of a metal door.

I turned on some lights, sent the elevator to the bas.e.m.e.nt with the cleaning lady, and carefully pulled away the broken section of the wall. The steel door leading to Seamus's private apartment s.p.a.ce was small and scarred, like it had survived a few previous a.s.saults. There was no alarm pad, no high-tech laser grid, but even from here I could feel the p.r.i.c.kle of the ward marks that sat like invisible barbs on the surface of the door.

Brute force would not get me through the door. If I touched it, I'd end up extra crispy for Seamus to find tomorrow morning.

"Thanks a lot, Shelby," I muttered. As much as I had convinced myself that this break-in was a bad idea, I felt irrationally disappointed to be foiled by something as simple as a fire door. I slumped in Seamus's high-backed chair with a sigh.

His phone caught my eye, neat prelabeled b.u.t.tons for LOBBY, GARAGE and SECURITY.

The idea that popped into my head was terrible and dangerous, along the lines of sailing across the Pacific in a garbage scow or buying up real estate in Pompeii. But bad ideas always appeal to me, so I picked up the phone and punched the b.u.t.ton.

The voice that answered was gravelly, like it had been catnapping and was trying very hard to disguise the fact. "Security."

"You've got to help me!" I said, putting just enough teenage scream queen in my voice to sound breathy and terrified. "There's someone trying to get in!"

The voice perked up. "Where are you, miss?"

"Floor sixty!" I squeaked, and slammed the phone down. That would get their blood pumping. No one was supposed to be in here except Seamus, I was sure.

Now I had probably sixty seconds before Joshua's thugs burst in. I ran to the switch panel on the wall, slapping them in turn until one rolled heavy black shades down over the wall of windows. I switched off the few ambient lights and waited by the hidden elevator door with my back against the wall.

It was total soft blackness. A plain human would be hard-pressed to locate their own hand in front of their face. With my night vision, I could see the darker-than-dark shapes of furniture and the soft glow of light around the edges of the curtains. It wasn't much, but it would be enough.

The elevator whirred and I heard the soft ding from the interior just before the door rolled back.

I lashed out at the first person out of the car, a squat man with his gun and flashlight both poised in a textbook military stance. The gun, I noticed as I rotated his wrist and slammed the b.u.t.t backward into his face, was a high-end Sig-Sauer P226. Nothing but the best for Seamus's own private army.

The second guy in the elevator let out a yell as his bleeding partner fell back into him, and got off a wild shot into the darkness. I waited for him to emerge from the car, the light he held quivering like a dying Tinkerbell.

"Who the Hex is out there?" he demanded. "I've got a gun."

The elevator door closed, plunging us into blackness again except for the thin beam of the flashlight. I stepped in behind the thug and grabbed his gun arm, yanking it backward into a submission hold before he could react. Speed is everything in a fight. The security thug struggled with me and I kneed him in the kidneys. He grunted and went to the ground.

"You'll never get away with this!" he promised, although in the dark I could have been a poltergeist for all he knew.

"Keys," I demanded, putting pressure on his wrist joint. A few more millimeters and I'd be breaking it. I didn't want to do that if I could help it, even though the guy probably deserved it.

"Keys to-ah! Keys to what?"

"O'Halloran's apartment," I snarled in his ear. "Give them to me."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he cried, in a not-very-convincing display of innocence. I leaned over his shoulder so he could see me and let my eyes luminesce to gold. The thug's breathing stopped with a short, sharp intake and he started to shake underneath me.

"Oh, Jesus."