False Gods (Sins of the Father 2)

“I don’t like our chances here.” Florian peeked over a bush, trying to get a better view of the yard. “No cracked windows for me to sneak some vines in, either.”

Shaking my head, I sighed. “Not that it’d help that much. We don’t even know where he’s keeping Mistleteinn. I mean, look. How are you going to find it? His collection looks huge.”

“What are we talking about?” said a third voice.

I almost screamed. Sterling’s head was poked between us, his cold, dead arms draped over our shoulders. I’d forgotten that about him. Sterling had all the beneficial traits of a vampire. He had improved strength, an inability to die barring some very specific conditions, the works. But he was exceptionally good at two things: being super fast, and being super sneaky.

“Will you not do that, please?” I hissed. “You almost made me crap my pants.”

“That would have been hilarious. Imagine.” Sterling squeezed my shoulder, leaning against my back as he peered over the same bush. “So what are we looking for, exactly?”

“A sword.” I gestured vaguely at the Whateley house’s enormous windows. “But that’s really all we know. I don’t have a description or anything.”

“And it’ll be tough to find regardless.” Florian pointed at the house. “Look at all that stuff in there.”

To be fair, Wyatt Whateley made an effort to make his collection as presentable as possible, and you’d never get away with calling it a mess. But the man kept a lot of paraphernalia around. Like, a lot. He was lucky to have so much space to keep it in. There were glass cases for every last precious item in his collection, too: sensitive-looking books opened to specific pages, ancient pottery, statuettes made out of precious, rare materials. But no sword.

“Just you let Uncle Sterling handle this. Follow my lead.”

Florian blinked at me. “Uncle Sterling?”

I groaned. “Bad joke from back at the Boneyard. My father, Samyaza? His blood brought Dustin back, so the joke was that Dustin was also sort of my father.” I rolled my eyes and thumbed over my shoulder at Sterling. “Which makes this jerk think that he’s my uncle.”

“Respect your elders, damn it.” Sterling tugged on me by the scruff of my jacket. “Uncle Sterling says we’re heading in. Now.”

Was he joking? I glowered at him, ripping his unsettlingly cold hand away from my jacket. “It’s really cute that you think you’ve got this covered, but how are we supposed to get in there? Throw a brick through the window?”

“I could throw Sterling through the window,” Florian offered. “That might work.”

Sterling rolled his eyes. “Amateurs. Look.”

He pointed at the far left wall of the house. I almost slapped myself on the forehead. The front door was ajar. We could just strut into the place.

“Wait.” I held my hand out against Florian’s chest, knowing correctly on instinct that he was always so excitable about getting a move on. “How do we know there wasn’t a break-in? Maybe someone’s already in there. Shit. Did someone beat us to the sword?”

“Highly unlikely.” Sterling pointed at the driveway, then the sidewalk. “That’s probably Whateley’s car, and there, on the street. That’s a guest. Also, listen closely.”

It was unmistakable. Soft jazz was streaming out of the doorway, along with the clearly titillated musical laughter of more than one person.

“He’s hosting someone.” Sterling sniffled and rubbed his chin. “Maybe a lady friend. Or a buyer. Either way, they forgot to shut the door behind them, which works for us.”

“So what do you propose we do, exactly?” It was a challenge, yes, but surely Sterling wasn’t suggesting that we just waltz in there uninvited.

“I’ll do all the talking.” Sterling grabbed the edges of his leather jacket, tugging. “I’m good at dealing with rich people. Let me handle this.”

Florian’s mouth was partly open as he marveled over Sterling’s harebrained plan. “You’re really good at this.”

“Oh, well, you know how it is.” Sterling grinned at me as he stretched, rolling his neck around, his joints popping. “I’m an old hand when it comes to this kind of stuff. Mason’s great in a fight, but he’s a goody two shoes. Not very useful for breaking and entering.”

I perked up, my spine stiffening as I bristled. “I am, too.”

“Shut up.” Sterling pulled on us abruptly, lowering us behind the bush. “Someone’s coming.”

Heightened senses were definitely part of the vampire skill set, and I credited Sterling’s for warning us about what was approaching. Footsteps from inside the house leading to the front door, first of all, followed by a voice.

“Hang on in there, Wyatt, I just need to get something from the car. You really are twisting my arm on this, you know.”

It was a man’s voice. Wyatt’s voice joined it in pleasant laughter, and it was so familiar that I just had to poke my head up over the bush, to see for myself.