Flipping the box closed and staring at the sigils still flaring across it.
“They’re done using this space.” Ström watches the box. “The thieveshave cleared out. I don’t know how long ago, but there’s nothing of their magical imprint left here for us.”
“What about that box?” Bjorn comes forward, frowning. “Doesn’t its presence here mean they’re not quite finished with this warehouse?”
“This was left for me,” Ström says as he peruses it. A terrible smile lifts one corner of his lips as he gazes down at the box. “A sweet littlefuck you… if I ever retrieved enough of my missing memories to come find it.”
“How so?” I ask Ström now, as I step to his side, wrapping an arm around his waist as I gaze down at the box with him.
“Because I gave this to her, our mysterious thief woman.” Ström’s smile is bitter. “It was something I found in my early treasure hunts for her, long before the enemy Bone Mage drakaina came into play and started using us for our services. I gave this to her as a gift. It had silver earrings inside, an amulet, and a bracelet full of moonstones. I thought they would look amazing on her—silver with moonstones is a symbol of deep love for Blood Dragons, you know. She sold them at a rare finds auction, then laughed at me, sayingI should know better than to give trinkets of love to a woman who only needs my adoration to hold me. Forever.”
“Jesus. What a piece of work.” I stand at Ström’s side, gripping him around the waist. “She is so on my fuck list, and not in a fun way, whoever she is.”
“She’ll get hers when we find her. I promise it,” Bjorn says now, supportive, as he comes to Ström’s other side, gripping his shoulder.
“I know. I hate her as much as you both do.” Ström’s fingers stroke the lid of the silver box. He sighs, harsh. “But some part of me still loves her. The part of me that got me tethered to her vast, horrible power, way back when I was young, gregarious, and ever so fond of the ladies.”
“You’re still fond of the ladies.” I shake him sweetly now, and it gets the smallest smile out of him. “But seriously, she is mincemeat when we find her. Anything else about her you can recall after seeing this? Something that might help us identify your mystery thief, or find out where sheis now?”
“No…” Even as Ström says it, he closes his eyes. I feel him rock as another memory hits him—as this one does, I feel Aesa’s Truthstone upon my breast ring, as if this is the memory we have to follow.
It’s not a lonely cliff or an abandoned warehouse now that I see, but a busy club. Booming with bass music and riveting gunmetal sounds, it’s a Euroclub somewhere here in Copenhagen, I understand as Aesa’s stone hums all through me, flashing a brilliant red.
And Ström knows where it is, as I see a vision of him now with the red-haired thief woman, done up to the nines in early 1900s garb, entering the party. But this is not a current vision of the club anymore, as they make their way to the bar. A vision almost a full century out-of-date, I see Mikkel and Lærke Thorsen maneuver through the throng, dressed to the nines in retro fashion and ready for a night out.
Except this is their place, I understand through Ström, as we retrieve this memory.
And the red-haired thief is their VIP guest.
As the thief woman and Ström are shown to the highest red velvet booth up over the swanky dance floor, Mikkel and Lærke slide in with them.
Hailing one of their servers for some bubbly, so everyone can chat.
21
FIND
Later that night, we’re gussied up and ready to party. Though we struck out finding the twins before at their club near the Old Palace, Ström feels reasonably certain we’ll find Mikkel and Lærke Thorsen tonight at their club we are headed to now.
The place Ström saw in his vision today at the warehouse was their flagship club—a spot here in downtown Copenhagen called The Chartreuse. Just as we dressed up to find the Thorsens in Sweden, we’ve put on our best tonight to find them in their home city. Bjorn, Ström, and I look like a million bucks now as we saunter down the gilded stairs of theForgyldt Burhotel. Emil Beck’s eyebrows rise as he stops speaking with one of his hotel hosts.
Maneuvering to us, his smile wide.
“Out on the town tonight with your guests,HerreAxel Larsen?” he asks as he looks us up and down appreciatively. There’s a lot to look at, if I do say so myself.
Bjorn is wearing a classic black tux that fits him perfectly, showing off those mighty shoulders and drop-dead waist, and that tight shelf assI so much love to grab. Ström has on slender, tawny leather pants that buckleallthe way up, plus shitkicker boots and a ripped white t-shirt, inset with lace that still manages to be edgy and manly.
Though Bjorn wears no jewelry, Ström has paired his ensemble with a set of leather wrist cuffs, which make the most of the lean, mean cording of his forearms. Bjorn’s muscles speak for themselves, their ridges even visible through his tux, he’s just that built. Ström’s shirt gapes at the half-buckled neck, showing the last of his ornate clan tattooing upon his chest.
Yum, yum.
I’m wearing my classic best color, a dark lavender mini dress with a sweetheart bodice and ruching so it hides all the knives I insisted wearing on my thighs tonight, though Ström tells me I’ll never be able to get weapons into the Thorsen’s flagship club.
Still, I have to try, as I adjust the diamond and amethyst pendant necklace I’m wearing tonight, plus matching hoop earrings that throw the light, and a thick bracelet around my wrist. My high heels are black stilettos with silver spikes all over them.
Good in a fight, if it comes to that.
“We’re out on the town, but we need an invitation to a club, Emil. Think you could get it for us?” Ström leans an elbow on the high counter of the desk now, flashing a dashing smile.
