Seven Kinds of Hell (16 page)

I waved my hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know the story. It’s just…stupid. Pandora’s Box is a myth, a metaphor. No real Pandora, no real Box.”

“No more a myth than you or I.” Grayling blotted his face with his handkerchief. “There are objects in the world with untold powers to confer on their possessor, scattered and hidden. That idiot Parshin wants these because he wants the unspeakable power that he believes comes with them. I have seen documents, carefully guarded, by those who don’t want the Box found. But my colleagues
and I are very close to locating it, so close. Do you have any idea the value of such a thing? Of what secrets it would unlock?”

He gestured to the figurine. “And this is the key. Rather, one key of four.”

Hadn’t Claudia said something about the Fangborn being “Pandora’s Orphans”? But it had to be a metaphor, nothing more. Right? And, oh God, who were Grayling’s “colleagues”?

I couldn’t help looking back at the figurine. The Beast certainly thought it was real; it might be nerves, but I could almost feel the two figurines vibrating inside my backpack.

A prickle up my spine forced me to turn away from Athena.

Grayling held a large pistol, pointed at me. He wasn’t enchanted any longer, but he was very pleased with himself.

“Give the figurine to me,” he said. “I know you have it with you.”

“I don’t—”

“You wouldn’t dare leave it anywhere else. Open your bag, now.”

“I can’t! Dmitri—!”

“I have no desire for Dmitri to get near this. You can leave that over there and then remove yourself before I call the police. I’m sure they’d be very surprised to hear you broke into my house in order to add to your collection of ill-gotten antiquities.”

“Your word against mine,” I said. “People saw us in the restaurant.”

“Yes, but I’d have shot you first.
You’d
have no words at all.”

I stared. The Beast was strangely absent when I could have used it most. I reached into my bag and pulled out a figurine.

Disaster. It was the wrong one, the broken figurine I’d identified from my treasure box just that morning. Why on earth—?

Too late. I’d never felt so human, so vulnerable. The Beast should be raging, that pistol so close to me, but there was nothing. A calm hollow in the back of my head that I couldn’t extend to the rest of me.

Grayling glanced at the figurine in my hand. His face paled, then flushed.

After a moment he said, “My dear. You are full of surprises. This is not what you acquired from the museum. The source that tracked that key to the museum had a description of it; many people are looking for it. And in this room,
we
have three of the four keys to the Box, from the oracular temples of Didyma, Delos, and Delphi. That puts us close, oh so very close. We only need that from Claros.” He snapped his fingers. “Place it on the pedestal. And the other. Quickly.
Now.
”

Cursing the lack of the Beast, instead of placing my figurine on the pedestal, I grabbed at Grayling’s. It was fastened to the base and didn’t move.

The pedestal was rigged. An alarm went off. Grayling did not look concerned. “You have thirty seconds before the police come. You can leave the other figurines here now and live, or you can stay and die.”

He was telling the truth. I couldn’t even attack him in my human form and hope to escape in time. The police wouldn’t help me rescue Danny, and he knew it. I dumped out the third figurine, took my bag, and fled through the secret door and out into the garden, tears burning my eyes.

I didn’t go far. Hugging the wall, I watched and waited from the shadows of the next house over. This wasn’t over, I promised myself. There had to be another way; crazy as he was, dangerous as he was, Grayling wasn’t invulnerable.

I had to get back in there, get my figurines and the one Dmitri wanted.

Seconds later, a police car pulled up. Grayling met them at the gate, an apologetic look on his face. My hearing was so acute, I could follow it all: He traded pleasantries with the two cops, an accidental trigger of the alarm. There was no mention of me. They returned to the car and left shortly thereafter.

I waited a few more moments, giving Grayling time to reassure himself he was safe. I was about to go in there and try again, but just as I was summoning myself, another car pulled up to the house.

This was driven by a man I hadn’t seen before, but for some reason, when he got out of the car, I was paralyzed by the sight of him. I’ve learned if you pay attention to the little things about people, you can read them pretty well, and this guy was the worst kind of trouble. Didn’t need the Beast to tell me that. His menace was subtle. It wasn’t a swagger, but a kind of assurance that said he knew how to get what he wanted. It was like a billboard, too: clean-headed with three parallel scars along the back of his skull; clothing that was expensive but too tight because his muscles were jacked; nose busted and rearranged a few times; eyes that saw everything.

He went to the door, knocked. When Grayling answered, he invited himself inside and shut the door behind them.

I looked at the passenger seat of the car; it was one of the cops who’d been by earlier.

The television went on then, too loud. A police drama, by the sounds of it; a repeat of an American show I’d seen a dozen times. Then I realized that some of the noises didn’t make sense.

My skin went cold, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I was listening to the sounds of violence between Grayling and his guest. I tried desperately to summon the Beast—now was exactly the time for it! I closed my eyes, tried to remember what it felt like, tried to play on my fears, the bad taste in my mouth when I saw the clean-shaven guy—

But the Beast was strangely absent. I knew it wasn’t only a threat to me that brought the Beast, not after the episode with the guy at the theater years ago. I cursed my ineffectiveness.

Any impulse I might have had to do something—rescue Grayling, call the police—was quashed when I looked toward the
unmarked police car. The officer was smoking, his head turned away. No way he couldn’t hear it. He was in on it.

I waited, praying it would end soon.

It ended too soon. The stranger left hurriedly, tucking something into his pocket, a frown on his face. He hadn’t gotten what he’d gone in there for, I could tell. The cop stubbed out his cigarette on the heel of his shoe, placed the butt in his pocket. Without a word, they drove away.

I hated what I was about to do, but I was desperate to save Danny. I was about to take advantage of what I knew was a crime scene—possibly a murder—in order to get my figurines back.

To my shame, the thought that I might save Grayling’s life hadn’t occurred to me.

The smell bludgeoned me before I reached the front steps. It was like a butcher shop, meat and blood heavy on the air. Holding my breath, I went in—the front door had been left unlocked—and was astonished at the amount of blood. Although the walls and the artifacts were dripping with scarlet spatters, a massive puddle had been spilled in the center of the room, soaking into the mosaic floor. Although one side of the puddle retained its perfect edge, the rest had been smeared, by Grayling being dragged or crawling away. A small amount of rough twine was soaking scarlet, a visceral image. His pistol was on the floor, its bullets scattered and useless. He’d never had a chance to use it, had been overpowered too quickly. The bloody smear led out to the room with the reconstructed painted walls.

The Beast was back, making up for its brief, calamitous absence with its response to Grayling’s blood. The effect was the same as in Danny’s apartment: Grayling’s blood smelled like
him.
I would recognize it again, even just by the sight of it, I was convinced. The molecules danced, eager to share their story with me…

I felt the Beast pacing in the back of my skull, but couldn’t afford to be a wolf now. Why hadn’t it showed up before, when I
could have used it? I tamped down the wolfy urges, even though I had the distinct impression that if I let the Beast out, I would be able to read Grayling’s blood like it was the contents of his wallet. But there was no time for that now and no place for a wolf now.

Grayling had, quite remarkably, pulled himself up against the nearest wall. A hundred little cuts covered his body, leaving a bloody patchwork. A piece of duct tape covered his mouth, abrasions on his wrists where he’d been tied. Panic filled his eyes when he realized someone was in the room with him, but he relaxed, only a little, when he recognized me.

I stooped, motioning to the duct tape. He nodded. I made a face—
this is gonna hurt
—and he nodded again. I pulled it off, taking a bit of skin with the tape. But now he could breathe more easily; his nose had been smashed in. I could see a splinter of cartilage gleaming through the tear in the skin. This wasn’t good.

“Who was it?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t—” He coughed. More blood. “Don’t know. Not Dmitri. Someone…I’ve never seen before. He smelled of the law, of governments, to me.”

No time for a dying old crook to wax poetic. “What did they want?”

“The figurines. I could not…would not…let him have them.”

I swore.

“He also asked about
you,
” he said. He gasped as he tried to sit up. “There wasn’t much I could tell him.”

A cold, lead weight settled in my stomach. “I’m going to call 911,” I said.

“No—”

“I’m sorry. I’m not going to stick around. I’m going to take my figurines and leave. I’ll call before I leave. Fewer questions for everyone.”

“No, I mean—” He coughed again. “The emergency response number is 999.”

“They’re in the secret room?”

He nodded.

I went to the kitchen. The door was shut, but the shelves were askew. No one looking, however, would have noticed anything else.

Careful not to touch anything, using the sleeve of my hoodie to cover my hand, I pushed the keypad, entering the code Grayling had used. I opened the door.

My two figurines were there. But this time, so was the other figurine, the one Dmitri wanted, loosed from the pedestal. Grayling had been comparing them when his unwanted callers arrived.

Now I felt the Beast grow urgent:
Go now, quickly.
Was it some kind of Beastly magic, or just common sense and panic?

I didn’t think about it. I snatched them up and returned to the main part of the house, shutting the doors behind me.

I held up the three artifacts. “I’m taking yours, too. I would have paid before, but now I’m thinking I’m owed something for having a gun pointed at me.” Maybe I could use the third to bargain for Danny.

Grayling was gray now. I stashed the three figurines in my bag, found his phone, and using a pencil, tapped on the buttons. When the operator answered, I gave him the address. “An ambulance. Hurry.”

I hung up and turned back to Grayling. He held something in his hand, and for a moment I was afraid he had another pistol.

It was an address book.

“Take it. There are two keys tucked into the back. At the Paris address—Rue Mouffetard—in the cupboard opened with the smaller key, there is something that may help you. Someone else is now interested in the figurines. Take it, but whatever you do, keep all these things out of Dmitri’s hands.”

He made a noise that might have been a laugh. “Of Dmitri Parshin, and all my visitors tonight, you are the least bad choice.
Save these things from the others, but don’t let them fall into the abyss of history…”

I didn’t have time for the truth or his ramblings. I couldn’t tell him the
first
thing I’d do with the figurines was trade them to Dmitri for Danny. “I’ll do my best. I have to leave now. Tell them a stranger walking by called the ambulance, then left. It’s close enough to the truth.”

He nodded, his eyes half-lidded, his gaze only for the paintings of the muses in the room. I might as well have already gone.

The two-tone wail of an ambulance grew louder as I fled down the street.

I found my way back to the Tube station. There were a flock of messages for me on both my phones, and I flicked through them nervously. The one Dmitri had given me rang, and I jumped a mile.

It was Dmitri. “Did you get it?”

My next sentence counted. I’d only get one chance to keep Danny alive. “Grayling is dead.”

“You killed—?”

“No. He pulled a gun on me and tried to take my figurine. I barely escaped with it. Shortly after, someone broke into his house and tortured and killed him.” If it wasn’t true yet, it would be in a matter of minutes. “I’m afraid he told whoever it was about me. It wasn’t your people, was it?”

I could practically hear the sneer over the phone. “You do not warrant that kind of redundancy.”

“Convince me Danny is still alive.”

“A photo, within ten minutes. Let us say, I will send two a day until we make our exchange. Danny may not look as pretty as he does now, the longer you wait.”

I bit my tongue, willing myself not to respond to his threats. “I’m hiding. If they find me, they’ll get the figurine.” A flash of inspiration hit me. “As it is, I have a lead on how I might get the other figurine. A contact of Grayling’s is supposed to have it, for
conservation,” I improvised. “I’m going to get it from him. You’ll hear from me in twenty-four hours, one way or the other.”

“Do nothing until you hear from me. Danny’s life depends on it.”

Like he had to remind me. “I’m not staying put. You can reach me with this phone, but I’m not waiting for whoever killed Grayling to find me. You…you didn’t see the body. You know what a creep Grayling was; the guy who killed him is
worse.
”

A reluctant grunt was all the permission I got. Dmitri hung up.

A vibration alerted me; a message with the picture arrived. It was Danny. He looked OK, not beat up, but worried. He had one middle finger showing, a subtlety perhaps lost on this Russian captor; Danny knew enough international slang to be able to insult almost anyone he wanted. At least he was well enough to secretly express his discontent.

I checked into a crowded hotel in central London, then collapsed with fear, jet lag, and worry.