Dying Is My Business

I fell limply back against the car. I slid off and felt someone catch me before I hit the sidewalk. Then I was gone.

Twenty-three

An unfamiliar weightlessness buoyed me. I was numb, my senses completely cut off from the outside world, but it wasn’t the same kind of numbness I knew, the kind that came with cold or shock. This was something altogether different, something I’d never experienced before, as if I were no longer inside my own body. Was this sleep?

If it was, I was surprised that my mind was still active. The darkness that had enveloped me as soon as I closed my eyes was gone, and I found myself standing before a brick wall. I recognized it immediately, even before I saw the brick with the eye-like symbol carved into it. The Ehrlendarr rune for magic. It was the wall from my earliest memory, and yet, something wasn’t quite right. The sparkles of light that had played across the bricks, the curling wisp of smoke, they were absent. Somehow I understood it was too soon, that whatever had caused them hadn’t occurred yet.

This wasn’t my earliest memory, I realized. Impossibly, unbelievably, this was just before it.

I sensed a presence behind me, someone I couldn’t see. A male voice spoke, rich and smooth as oil.

“What if I told you everything you thought you knew was a lie? What if I could show you? All you have to do is—”

“Wake up,” Isaac said.

My eyes snapped open. I was groggy, the fleeting images in my head evaporating like so much steam. Had I been dreaming? Actually, genuinely dreaming? I’d never dreamed before, not anytime I could remember, and the fact that my first dream was slipping away so quickly filled me with panic. I struggled desperately to hold onto it, even a remnant of it, a single image, but it was already gone. It left me feeling like someone had died. But if I was capable of sleeping, capable of dreaming, it meant I was closer to normal than I’d thought. That was monumental.

As my grogginess wore off, I found myself seated in a luxuriant, antique chair. Isaac stood in front of me, his arms crossed.

“I told you you’d sleep,” he said. He looked smug. I wanted to wipe the smirk off his face with my fists.

I tried to get up but quickly discovered I couldn’t. My wrists were tied together behind the tall back of the chair. I struggled against the binding, but the more I pulled, the tighter it held. Whatever it was, I could tell right away it wasn’t handcuffs. There was no bite from the hard edges, no cold metal against my skin. It didn’t feel like rope either, or cable, or plastic wrist ties. Instead, it felt warm, buzzing with a slight vibration.

“Where am I?” I demanded.

“Welcome to Citadel,” Isaac said, spreading his arms. “Welcome to my home.”

So this was Citadel, their base of operations. Just the room we were in was big enough to live up to its namesake. Octagonal in shape and paneled with dark, finished wood, it spanned nearly three thousand square feet of floor space. Beneath the wrought-iron chandeliers that hung from the twenty-foot ceiling, glass display cases held crystal obelisks that throbbed with light, glittering multicolored geodes, and primitive carvings of creatures with human bodies and animal heads. Mahogany bookshelves were crammed to bursting with dusty old tomes bound in cloth and leather. The walls were adorned with framed oil paintings that looked centuries old; ancient shields and sigils of wood, clay, and metal; and multiple sets of masks, each wearing a more ghoulish expression than the last, fashioned from copper, bronze, and gold.

A marble sculpture stood in each of the eight corners of the room, statues of bizarre creatures atop stone pedestals. The largest was a rearing centaur, almost life-sized, his marble hand pulled back and clutching an iron spear as though he were about to hurl it at an unseen enemy. Beside it, a carpeted staircase led up to another floor, where I had no doubt there were more rooms just as big and cluttered as this one.

I’d never seen Underwood’s home, only the fallout shelter where he conducted business, but I always imagined it looked very much like this, with every nook, corner, and shelf crammed with his own private collection of stolen goods. Isaac Keene was like Underwood in that way. He was a man who surrounded himself with strange, curious, and probably very valuable objects. It must have taken him years to put this collection together.

At the far end of the room, two tall, stained-glass windows arched, cathedral-like, to the ceiling. Between them, Isaac had set up some kind of workstation with six video monitors attached to the wall, their screens currently dark. Directly beneath them was a long, sturdy walnut table. Computer equipment, reams of loose paper, and numerous books had been cleared off it and stacked in piles on the floor to make room for the single item that now sat in the middle of the table. The box.

I whistled. “This is some hefty New York real estate. What’d you do, cast a spell on the co-op board?”

Isaac didn’t so much as chuckle. “I’ve got a lot of questions for you, Trent. We’ll get a chance to chat soon, very soon, but until then, I need you to sit tight.” He turned and walked out through an open, polished cherry wood door across the room. Through it I could see a short hallway that led outside.

“Was that supposed to be a joke?” I called after him, struggling against my bonds. They held tight. I cursed under my breath. I thought about breaking the chair to get my hands free, but from the feel of it I knew the wood was too strong for that. I twisted around as far as I could and caught a glimpse of something bright glowing around my wrists. I sighed and slumped in the chair. Just my luck—Isaac had used magic to restrain me. I couldn’t slip, unknot, or break my way out of it if I tried.

How had I let it come to this? Time was, I could have gotten the box off two people like Bethany and Thornton in thirty seconds flat. Instead, I’d held back and botched it. Why? Was I growing soft, or just growing soft for them? For her?

Isaac and Gabrielle entered from outside, supporting Thornton between them. They gently moved him toward an old-style, porcelain clawfoot tub that had been filled with water and set up in the middle of the room. Bethany and Philip came in behind them, staying close in case Thornton stumbled or fell. Gabrielle took the long coat off of Thornton’s shoulders and let it fall to the floor. The remains of the Anubis Hand in the pocket hit the carpet with a muffled thud. Thornton could barely walk. He was so emaciated that he looked like he’d died weeks ago, not just last night. His eyelids drooped, half-closed. If any lights still pulsed on the amulet in his chest, I couldn’t see them.

“It’s called a Methusal spring,” Gabrielle explained as they approached the tub. “It’s the same spell the dryads in Central Park have used for centuries to extend their lifespan, ever since the pollution made them infertile. It has enormous regenerative properties. The dryads are very protective of it and don’t normally share it with anyone. I had to call in a lot of favors for this.”

Bethany paused, knitting her brow. “Gabrielle, maybe we shouldn’t do this. It’s only going to cause him more pain. He’s been through enough.”

“No, if anything can help him, the Methusal spring can.” Gabrielle turned to Thornton and murmured in his ear, “It’s going to work, baby. I know it is. There’s so much more we’re still going to do together. The annual naming of the manticore cubs, the mermaid migration down the Hudson River. Remember how much you liked that one last year? How the mermaids’ song got stuck in your head for weeks?”

Thornton didn’t answer. He was so far gone he couldn’t anymore. Philip helped them lower Thornton delicately into the tub, still in his clothes. Bethany hung back, watching and chewing her thumbnail nervously. As soon as Thornton was fully submerged, the water lit up with a rich, golden glow that reflected off their faces.

Gabrielle knelt beside the tub and reached into the water to take Thornton’s hand. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “If this is going to work, it’s got to come from you, Thornton. You’ve got to want it. You’ve got to fight.” She pulled his hand out of the water and kissed it. One of her braided dreads came loose and fell in front of her face, but she refused to let go of his hand to push it back. “Please, baby. I need you to stay with me.”

There was a long silence. All I heard was the gentle sloshing of the water and my own breath. I looked from one face to the next. Any of them could be the one who’d betrayed us at the safe house. Gabrielle’s full attention