“You can stick the politeness where the sun don’t shine,” I muttered, then handed the ticket to the collector at the main door and went in.
The next room was vast and had obviously once been the main mail sorting area. There were three rows of exhibits here and, at the rear, a sign stating there were more up the stairs. There were also about a dozen people wandering around and a guard for each of the aisles.
I scanned the room for security cameras and saw four—one on each corner. Between them and the glass covering the majority of the display tables, there was little chance of snatching the key inconspicuously—if it was here, that was.
I made my way to the first aisle and slowly walked through, lingering near each table for several seconds to see if I got any reaction to the items within. This aisle seemed to be a mix of pistols and swords, but none of them set off the internal radar. I walked on.
It was a slow process and one that was utterly nerve-racking. Not just because I needed the key, but because of the rising expectations of the man who followed so closely behind me. Of course, the growing sense that the shit was about to hit the fan didn’t help all that much, either. By the time I reached the end of the last aisle, I was so wound up, I was shaking.
I flexed my fingers again, trying to relax. A hard thing to do, given the tension radiating through me and around me. Tension that was mine, Lucian’s, and Azriel’s, all combining to make a stomach-churning mix. How I was managing to not throw up was a miracle.
“There are more exhibits upstairs.” Lucian wrapped his fingers around my upper arm and propelled me forward.
I wrenched my arm free, but bit back the anger and somehow managed to say, almost civilly, “I’m well aware of that. There’s no need to manhandle.”
He glanced at me, the amusement playing about his lips at odds with the cool distance in his eyes. “You and I both know that you are not averse to a little force now and again, no matter how much you might say otherwise. This morning’s efforts are a case in point.”
Which explained the bruises I couldn’t remember getting. God, how had I ever been fooled by this man?
Because he hid behind magic and years of pretending to be what he never was, Azriel said.
You weren’t fooled.
No, but then, there were other reasons for that. He paused. Be wary. The Raziq approach.
Concern shot through me. How many? God, don’t fight them—
I will do what I must, he said, in a tone that suggested he wasn’t about to listen to reason no matter what I said. You worry about finding the key. Let me do what I am here to do.
I grabbed the banister and began climbing the stairs. You’re here to keep me safe and find the keys. Getting dead isn’t a part of that.
I have no plans in that direction.
It isn’t your plans I worry about.
Ah, but you should, Risa, he said, his mental tones soft and almost wistful.
I frowned. Azriel, I really don’t need to be worried about your motives on top of everything else, so quit it.
I wasn’t talking about motives, he said, then, in more normal tones, added, But as you say, this is not the time. Razan have arrived.
Fear shot through me. What about the Raziq? And how many Razan?
I reached the top of the stairs and hesitated. The floor plan was a mirror image of the one below, but there were more people up here. My gaze swept the walls. Another four cameras. I wondered if anyone was watching them, or if they merely recorded events for viewing later if something went wrong.
Because something was most certainly about to go wrong. Just not in the way they suspected.
The Raziq keep their distance and wait. There are six Razan. Azriel hesitated. They do not feel right.
Oh, great. Meaning?
They have been infected with magic.
My stomach twisted a few more knots. You mean like the ones who attacked us when we lost the first key?
The same. His mind voice was grim. I will stop them, but it will attract attention. It is also possible they are little more than a diversion. Stay wary.
“I suspect your mind is not on what you are supposed to be finding,” Lucian murmured, cupping my elbow and propelling me toward the row of long rifles. “Wouldn’t be bitching to the reaper, would you?”